The sun descended below the waves, painting the sky in purple and pink. Outside, the annual festival hummed to life. Laughter and music drifted in through the window, carried on the salty breeze. Kate, who lived for half of a decade and an extra year, perched on the window seat and watched with wide eyes. Her imagination danced with the distant revelry. She pictured herself skipping through the hordes of people, twirling in a dress with vibrant colors like the sunset. She makes new friends, their faces unknown but their smiles warm. Maybe even Mama and Papa would join her, their faces alight with joy instead of the worry lines that seemed permanent these days.

With a sigh, Kate blinked, the vibrant scene outside dissolving. The room felt empty and dimmed around her, despite the toys piled high and colorful books lining the shelves. It was a room filled with remnants of a past she barely remembered, a past filled with more than one child. The furniture, a shade lighter than the weathered wood of the house, stood out like a misplaced puzzle piece. The room itself was bigger than hers downstairs, a lingering reminder of a time when more than one small bed had filled the space.

On a dusty shelf, a collection of mismatched toys sat forgotten. A chipped and tainted blue-painted boat, a well-loved wooden doll – each item held a ghost of a memory, a whisper of siblings Kate only knew through faded photographs and stories whispered in hushed tones. She worried about these unseen siblings, with faces that grew fuzzier with each passing day. Did they need their things? Why were they all tucked away like forgotten treasures? A shiver ran down her spine. Mama and Papa had turned the room into a kind of storage, a stark contrast to the joyful world Kate had envisioned outside.

But Kate was a survivor. She pushed the unsettling feelings down, reminding herself that her siblings were likely chasing dreams far away, not pining for dusty toys. Taking a deep breath, she cleaned her room up, the sounds of the festival faded into the background, replaced by the imaginations of adventures and the whispers of her imagination.

The salty breeze carried laughter from the festival. Rusty burst in, his boots thumping. "Katey Plum!" he boomed. Kate, lost in daydreams, whipped around, a smile lighting up her face. She launched herself at him, giggling as he caught her in a hug.

"Papa!" she cried, burying her face in his chest. Rusty's smile faded as he saw the festival outside. "Not tonight, sweetheart," he said gently. "These nights are... not safe. You could get sick." Kate's face fell, but she nodded, trusting him. "But," Rusty grinned, "how about a pet after work? A little friend for you?" Disappointment vanished. "Papa?" she breathed, eyes wide. "A mouse, maybe?" Rusty suggested. Kate beamed. "Yes, Papa! A mouse!"

Rusty ruffled her hair. "A mouse it is, then. When I get back." He winked and left, the house filled with the promise of a new friend, not the emptiness of the festival, I will buy a mouse just for you." With that, Rusty pulled the heavy oak door shut behind him. Once filled with the warmth of his presence and the comforting rhythm of his deep voice, the house suddenly felt hollow and cold. Kate left alone with the echo of his departing footsteps, clung to the image of her father's playful wink and the promise of a tiny, furry friend nestled in her hand.

The excitement that had bubbled in her chest moments ago began to simmer, replaced by a growing sense of isolation. Unlike before, when Papa's booming laugh and playful spirit filled every corner, the silence now felt suffocating. Even Ms. Clover, usually a constant presence in the house, seemed to have retreated further into her world.

A floorboard creaked above, a sound that usually signals Ms. Clover's descent for a shared cup of tea or a quiet story before bed. But today, the silence stretched on, broken only by the bells of the outside streets.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, Ms. Clover appeared in the doorway. Her face, usually etched with worry lines that softened when she looked at Kate, now seemed like a mask. Her eyes, once pools of warm hazel, were distant and emotionless, like polished stones reflecting a grey sky.

"Kate, are you alright?" When it came, her voice was flat and devoid of the usual gentle lilt for a normal mother, yet for Miss Clover, the average.

Kate, mirroring her mother's lack of emotion, nodded slowly. It wasn't the enthusiastic, joyful nod that usually accompanied her answer. This nod was devoid of life, a mere mechanical movement of her head.

A heavy silence descended upon them, thick and suffocating. It stretched on for what felt like hours, filled only by the ghosts of laughter and warmth that used to permeate the house. Ms. Clover, her body stiff and unyielding like a statue, stood there for a moment longer before turning and making her way back downstairs, the rhythmic creak of floorboards announcing her retreat.

Kate left alone with the shadows gathering in the corners of the room, hugged her knees to her chest, a single tear tracing a path down her cheek. The promise of a new pet, once so bright, felt overshadowed by the hollowness that had settled in the house. Tonight, the wait for her father and his love felt particularly long, and the silence seemed to mock her with its emptiness.

As the sun sets, the town comes alive with the lively sounds of people chatting, laughing, and music wafting through the air. However, for the miners toiling away in the depths of the mines, this nighttime merriment can be a significant distraction, causing their morale and patience to wane. Thankful like soldiers in the face of adversity, some miners steadfastly continue their work, while others, lacking in resilience, hastily seek an escape from the challenging circumstances.

The stale, damp air hung heavy in the mine tunnel, clinging to Rusty's sweaty skin like a second shirt. The rhythmic clang of pickaxes against rock echoed like a mournful death march, punctuated by the hushed muttering of the miners. Defeat is at his shoulders, a bitter taste in his throat. He'd been at it for hours longer than usual, each swing of his pickaxe a testament to his love for Katey Plum and the woman he knew wasn't waiting for him with open arms, Clover. He envisioned Kate's wide, sparkling eyes as he promised a pet, his voice a silent chant amidst the clanging: "Mine harder for Katey Plum, Mine harder for Katey Plum."

 Meanwhile, back at the Anderson Household a strange feeling washed over Kate downstairs. It was a prickling sensation of unease, a tremor that resonated not in the ground beneath her feet, but deep within her gut. Driven by this inexplicable worry, she bypassed her usual playtime and ventured downstairs, the wooden floorboards creaking softly beneath her bare feet.

She found Ms. Clover wrapped up on the Chair, a book clutched tightly in her hands. The air hung heavy with a stifling silence, broken only by the faint rustle of turning pages. "Ms. Clover?" Kate asked hesitantly, her voice barely a whisper. Ms. Clover flinched, startled from her daze. She lowered the book slowly, her face etched with a weariness that seemed to go beyond her years. Her eyes, usually a warm hazel, were clouded with a distant sadness.

"Yes, Kate?" she replied, her voice strained and devoid of its usual warmth. "Why do you and I not talk that much anymore?" Kate continued, her brow furrowed in innocent curiosity. "The last time we had fun together was... a long time ago, ever since something happened with those buried boxes."

Back in the mines, A sudden shout pierced the oppressive silence. "Hey, I found something boys, some kind of red emerald?" A wave of curiosity rippled through the men, their eyes darting toward the source of the commotion. Rusty felt a flicker of hope – maybe this was their lucky break, the answer to all their prayers.

He pushed himself closer, the rough rock scraping against his calloused palms. A collective gasp filled the air as the light from their lanterns illuminated a sight they'd never witnessed before. Nestled within the rock face was an emerald, unlike any Rusty had ever seen. Its surface shimmered with an unearthly red glow, and pulsating within its depths, The size of the emerald is almost to a child with the beads pulsed with a soft, inner light.

Back on the House, "It's nothing, Kate," Clover stammered, desperately trying to change the subject. "Just grown-up things you wouldn't understand." But Kate persisted, her childish innocence oblivious to the storm brewing within her mother. "Are those boxes from someone you know, Ms. Clover?"

The question struck a raw nerve. The room began to shimmer, the words on the page twisting and warping before her eyes. The scent of old paper mingled with the drip of decay, a phantom sensation that sent a shiver down her spine.

Returning to the mines, A greedy glint sparked in the eyes of his fellow miners. Visions of riches and a life beyond the confines of the mine danced in their heads. "We could sell this for a fortune!" exclaimed one, already reaching for his pickaxe. Another, more cautious, held him back. "Hold on, this might be something new, something valuable."

Rusty felt a knot of unease twist in his gut. An unseen hand seemed to grip his heart, squeezing tighter with each passing moment. He saw the emerald not as a source of wealth, but as something beautiful, yet strangely unsettling.

The air crackled with tension as the miners argued, their voices a racket against the backdrop of the dripping water. Finally, a compromise was reached. They'd mine only the top half, leaving the bottom and the strange bead untouched. A collective cheer erupted, a sound that sent shivers down Rusty's spine. He wanted to scream, to warn them of the danger he felt radiating from the glowing stone. But it was too late. The pickaxe arced through the air, the clang against the emerald making a death of an impact...

The emerald violently shook, The bead within the emerald began to pulsate wildly, its light growing in intensity, and rubble nearby flanged as if someone was throwing it on hard force, then blinding light erupted, engulfing the tunnel in its brilliance. The air grew hot and thick with the smell of flames.

Panic seized the miners. Their faces, contorted with terror, were frozen mid-scream, the explosion muffling their cries for help. Rusty, caught in the swirling light and heat, could only accept his fate. A weak smile touched his lips as the world dissolved into a blinding inferno. His last thoughts: Clover, Kate. A single, bitter chuckle escaped as the pain subsided, replaced by memories of the happy family he once had. Ironically, the light brought him into darkness, the searing pain fading into recollections.

Kate was the first thing on his last sight, memories flicker to a few hours ago, to the first time he laid his eyes on his child, soaked and drenched. A disembodied voice echoed—Rusty's, projected from his mind. "I'm sorry, Katey Plum," he thought. "I never fulfilled that promise. But I cherish the time you were in my life. You and I, we understood each other."

Clover's raging sea of ups and downs, every maddening but also vulnerable moment... Rusty scoffed internally. "They said double-edged swords were more risk than reward. Clove, I wish I could have done more, and helped you more. But you were the best, even if you were a self-destructive madwoman. I was always there, as friends, and now as lovers should be..."

He reached his final point, standing in the darkness. A light, blurring his vision, appeared. Silhouettes of a group of people emerged. He sensed their eager joy as they ran toward him, the light following. "Well then," Rusty said, his voice fading into a ghostly whisper. "I thought death would be a disappointing ending. Yet, I've got some kids on those clouds to take care of. Farewell..." Before he could finish, everything vanished with Rusty, as a sudden, earth-shaking boom shattered the joyous festival outside. Panic erupted as the mine collapsed, sending smoke and debris into the air. Shrieks and shouts filled the air as people scrambled away from the scene.

At this moment after the mines exploded, A racket of sounds filled Clover's ears, – the choked sobs of a child, the desperate pleas of a husband, the heart-wrenching screams of a mother. The book slipped from her grasp, clattering to the floor with a dull thud, and Clover fell off the Chair with a loud thud before she finally saw Kate who looked like a rotting corpse with Clover closing her eyes as she tears up.

"SHUT UP! SHUT UP!" Clover screeched, her voice raw with a primal terror. Her eyes darted around the room, searching for the source of the unseen voices. "I DON'T WANT YOU TO BE WITH ME, I AM A CURSE TO THE FAMILY I MADE WITH YOUR FATHER, I AM THE AXE CUTTING HALF OF MY..."

Tears welled up in her eyes, blurring her vision. The once-composed facade crumbled, revealing a woman ravaged by grief. Her voice, now frail and choked with emotion, trailed off into a broken whisper, "My children..."

Kate, frozen in fear by her mother's sudden outburst, watched with wide eyes. A conflicting mix of emotions swirled within her – fear, confusion, and a strange sense of protectiveness towards the woman who seemed to be unraveling before her very eyes.

Just as Kate tentatively reached out towards her mother, a loud rapping on the front door shattered the tense silence. The sudden noise snapped Clover out of her hallucination, leaving behind a raw vulnerability in her eyes. She wiped away the tears that streamed down her face, her movements shaky and desperate.

"Stay here, Kate," she rasped, her voice barely audible. "Don't move."

With forced composure, she rose and moved toward the door, her steps heavy with dread. Opening it, relief washed over her—it was just a neighbor, asking about the commotion at the mine. Clover, still reeling from her recent breakdown, felt a jolt of fear as the word "mines" resonated, sending a tremor through her. Why? A flicker of memory surfaced—Rusty, Clover's worried face, 

Her voice was laced with unshed tears, saying, "Kate, I'm going to find your father. You'll be the one in charge right now."

The memory shattered, leaving a gaping hole of terror. Rust. The mines. No. It couldn't be.

Ignoring the neighbor's stammering, Clover bolted out the door, her heart hammering. The once-festive street, now deserted, was slick with rain. The cold, relentless downpour soaked her. Each step was a struggle, her legs numb and shaky, the ground treacherous underfoot. The mine loomed ahead, a stark silhouette against the tear-streaked night.

As she drew closer, a chilling realization dawned. The familiar structure was gone, replaced by shattered rock and debris. Festive banners lay crumpled and muddied, a stark reminder of lost joy. Dread turned to certainty as she reached the scene. A cordon of worried townsfolk, held back by grim officials, confirmed the tragedy. The air was thick with burnt earth and a metallic tang that made her stomach churn.

An official, his face filled with grief, confirmed her worst fears. "Freak accident," he said, his voice gruff. "Some impact within the mine. No survivors." No bodies. Just dust, a grim reminder of extinguished lives.

The world dissolved into a blur of grief. The rain continued each drop stinging. Tears, indistinguishable from the rain, flowed freely. Her heart, a hollow drum, beat a rhythm of despair. Rusty. Gone. The man she loved, her child's father, was another victim of this family's curse. A bitter laugh escaped, devoid of humor, laced with despair.

Looking at the desolate scene, a lonesome echo of the war-torn landscapes her eldest children used to describe, a terrifying thought took root. She was a burden—a plague, bringing death to those she loved.

A gust of wind whipped around her, carrying fine, grey ash that settled on her skin. Numbly, she brushed it off, then watched in horror as it smeared, revealing a horrifying truth. It wasn't just ash—it was remnants of a life, extinguished, a life she had failed to say goodbye to.

The realization hit her like a tidal wave. Kate. Her daughter. In her despair, she had almost... The thought was unbearable. But the seed of responsibility, buried under self-loathing, refused to be extinguished. With a shaky breath, she turned from the devastation, her heart leaden. 

She had to find Kate.

TO BE CONTINUED