It took an unwavering four months worth of teeth–grinding effort for the boy to return your one sided communciation attempts: a hand moving from side to side halfheartedly from the opposite window. For that entire day you wore an unstoppable grin as you hopped and skipped about, humming triumphantly while doing usual chores and housework left behind.

In mid sweep of cleaning your navy–blue bedroom, you left the broom leaning against the doorknob and stood there in the center, thinking. As if an idea had lit up in your head, you pull up the hems of your long sleeves and rolled them into uneven lumps on your elbows that would've warrant a long lecture from Ma about ladylike behavior if she were home these days.

Fortunately you had the whole house to yourself but other than the obnoxiously loud clock tiking and passing chatter of townspeople when they walk a little too near, to be stuck with nothingness and nothing to do or think, you wouldn't call it a fortunate thing.

Sucking in a deep breath, you pushed hard at the side of the bed. Face sheen with redness, your arms trembling and wobbly knees bent to keep steady as the bed tenaciously moved inch by inch with a heavy groan, turning it to your desired angle. 

And finally, done. Panting in satisfaction, you brought your arm up and wipe away the incriminating evidence of labour; sweat pearling above your brows and lips, a wide smile as you looked over your new bedroom layout.

The curtained window now stood leveled with your large blue bed, the foot of it pointing in your right direction and where you'd place your head faced the left side. You now could sleep with a clear view of the boy's window, and his to you. If you were to grow cold, the thick blankets and pulling the curtains closed would be enough. 

No one would notice, you felt sure as you tucked yourself in, the moonlight shining across you in bed with a warming touch. No one at all except for the boy looking at you that night and for the many other nights.

 .   .   .

"Cupcake, you're going to be homeschooled! How fun does that sound?" Pa said joyfully, a phone squeezed between his ear and shoulder as he stirred a bowlful of spicy salad. The kitchen seemingly a sparkling mess as courtesy of Pa if he were in a hurry. 

At the table, you were almost finished with your fried rice and eggs when you stopped and looked up at Pa. 

"Homeschooled?" You repeated, the idea sounding terrifying at first then you asked. "Papa, aren't there any schools here?" Surely this town had to have some public schools or a tutoring center but staying at home didn't seem so bad.

Your question probably went unheard of as Pa bobbed his head a little too aggressively. He turned around and facing you, eyes directed towards his phone. "—Of course I'm still here, honey. And," he glanced over to your form eating, "Cupcake! Your tutor will be here soon. Put on something warm and uh. . . Yes, more decent." Ah, Ma must be on the other side of the phone.

Absentmindedly you nod, chowing the last spoonful of rice and got up to wash your plate. But Pa stood infront of you blocking your way, this time his phone in hand. 

His expression seeming a mix of conflicting happiness and dread looking at you when he sucks in his lips, "your mother and I will be coming home late. There's money in the fridge if you want to order some food, remember Cupcake, in case of an emergency, go to your neighbor's house to call us or ask your tutor." Late again. You wondered what kind of jobs your parents have been working, maybe another overseas trip but without warning?

"Cupcake, you know Mrs Christine and Jemma? They're very welcoming so don't be a stranger and ask them for help if you ever need," Pa reassures you. He is always friendly to people, just like Ma but you doubted either of them would tell you which people were trustworthy.

You watched as he grabbed a rubber lid and secured it around the salad bowl with an audible pop. Soundlessly you went to the front door and opened it readily as Pa packages the bowl in a recyclable plastic bag. You waved goodbye at Pa when he slipped on his crocs and ruffled your hair. And as he had one foot out the door, in a flash of panic you flung out and grabbed the end of his shirt, scaring both of you.

 You hurried out the words off your tongue before they got swallowed again, "Papa, could I please go outside and explore? I won't return too late, I promise." You raised your eyes up at Pa, staring brightly without a blink. He must've been in a rush because Pa just nodded nervously, "not too late, Cupcake. Before it starts to get dark alright?" Quickly he pat your head and ran off in into the overcast street with the package, passing the family car parked nearby. 

That was easy since it was Pa. Would Ma even get curious if she found out you plan to go out everyday, she wouldn't know for a certain period of time. You wanted to push your luck a little. And so you did.

Getting your hands on a thick jacket, you pulled it over your pajamas and zipped yourself up warm and cozy, blindly snatching a few dollers out of the jar in the fridge before heading out of the door, heart booming and nerves stirring. How long has it been since you've stepped outside and just walked— the last time you remember feeling the chilling winds combing through your short hair was two years ago on your twelve birthday. 

Cold nipped at your every skin exposed that even being draped in sunshine had no help to your shivering form. As you strolled on the pale pavement and looked around the town you were staying in; you let out a relieved exhale at the easy to memorize simplistic layout, a singular road with a faintly cracked white line, the houses on your side of the street paralleled to the ones on the other side of the road. If you stared hard enough forwards, the road feels to be narrowing along with the colourless houses, like there was no ending in this town to run from. 

Everything mirrored each other to some degree, the two story houses, the precise location of trees bare of leafs, except for your family's car being the only vehicle on the entire street. The thick grey air starting to form around you permeated the streets, wisps of mist clinging onto your every step further into the lifeless town. 

With each person you pass by your head turned, eyes drawn to their extraordinary clothing ranging from blooming frilly collars and deep saturated plump skirts that fan out almost to the moon, and even their accessories of shiny top hats and lace gloves felt too much but you couldn't help the smile propped on your face at them. Wherever you looked— the people strolled and stopped and chatted in a variety of flourishing tunes unfamiliar to you, they all appeared to be living in their own world.  

The dim sky bearing down a weight on your shoulders at some point in walking, you sped up at a faster pace as a heavier weight burned into the back of your head, and a nagging urge from your gut made you want to look back. And when you did glance back, the searing stares of the people turned away, their low whispers continuing to follow you as you made your way out of their sights, fast. 

A thumping in your chest increased and ignited the nerves throughout your body into blindly entering the shop closest to you. The cooling air hinting with musky wood and vanilla beckoned your welcome into a mellow painted room, toasty shelves upon shelves decorate every inch of the place and a shiver crossed the nape of your neck. 

"Ah!" A grunt came from behind the wooden counter near, slowly an elder–looking man rose and stretched his back as best he could without much struggle, a few pops sounded and he breathed out relieved. He squinted at you, his little white moustache flaring in emotion, "a new customer! Oh hello there dearie, what could this old man get you?"

Your eyes darted around at the polished shelves then back at the old man, "books please." Was what your brain managed to come up and you couldn't find anything else to say, tightening your lips in a lock after you added a polite "sir". There was something consolating about knowing nobody else had witnessed your awkwardness, except this kind looking old man. 

He brought together his wrinkly hands and rubbed them, a warm moustached smile as he spoke. "Well you have come to the right place, young Miss. In here are many great books in stock. I presume you are wanting a comic? I've had multiple orders for the latest issues of 'The Lone Giant's Adventures'! I am sure you will enjoy it, even my own grandson buys it every time when the weekly release is out!"

His light hearted prattling reminded you faintly of fond memories from your old home, how long has it been since you've last talked to your relatives? Years felt longer, time felt longer here.

Meekly you nod, in truth you just wanted a place to hide for a bit but, watching as the old man scrambled out of his chair and passionately rush into the deeper parts of his store in frenzied search of the comic for you, didn't make you want to leave yet. You troubled him enough as it is. 

"I got it! Here you are, dearie." He handed you a taped cardboard package within a flash, letting go once both your hands were secure around it, not too heavy nor lightweight, a perfect size to carry exactly alike to your stuffed animals. You muttered a thanks and asked, "how much is this, sir. Er— I don't know if I have enough money." A mistake on your part when you didn't count how much cash you pocketed. Dame it.

Your internal complaints to yourself were silenced as a ringing laughter erupted from the old man, his moustache jiggling as if laughing along. "No worries dearie, it will only be 2 dollars for a newcomer." That isn't a bad price. 

Using your free hand to retrieve the exact amount from your jacket pocket, you settled the dollars ontop of the smoothe counter. Tilting your head slightly at the old man who took in the cash, you couldn't help but to ask: "is it obvious that I'm not from here?"

He beamed in response, "very much. Don't be a stranger, dearie and please come in any day." Bowing your head politely, you turned to leave the bookstore, arms protectively around the comic package. A series of dry coughs stopped you in your tracks, and the old man's voice rang out.

"Ah— Dearie, don't be out too late. You best return home now, don't want to be getting lost." He warned, the lightheartedness gone from his voice. The daylight from outside suddenly feeling more somber, darkening against your skin with every passing second. 

You could barely give a nod before sprinting off towards your house, heart racing at your heels to hurry, the fog spreading its tendrils of grey over the town enough for you to notice. 

 .   .   . 

When you had reached at your street, panting from the run that didn't last as long as you wished. Standing there infront of your house door is a tall slender lady, whose black glossy coils were tightly wrapped in a lilac head–scarf matching the long coat dress she has on. As if sensing your presence, she snapped her head in your direction and grinned with pure delight. "You must be Holly, daughter of Marriott and Saira, is that correct?" 

"Yes," you nod while catching your breath, looking up at the older looking lady. "Are you the tutor, Miss?"

"Mmhmm, I sure am." Her crinkled sapphire eyes piercing into yours as if they could see everything, then she extended a hand out, the many golden rings blinding on her black skin. "Moet is my name, it is lovely to finally meet you little Holly." 

You stretch out and shook the woman's hand quickly, her palm felt like fire against yours. Shocked, you pull back fast without thinking but she still kept smiling wide, folding her hands together like you did no wrong. You almost believed her but Ma wouldn't.

"You too, Miss Moet. Um, would you like to come in?" 

You gesture to the door and open it when she nodded paitently, the door silenty shutting behind you as you welcome her further inside the empty lit house. She made a beeline straight for the kitchen, humming as she opened the fridge in search of something.

You nervously glance at the clock looming over the dining table, the hand on the verge of stabbing 2PM in the afternoon. It wasn't so late, at least that's what you thought. Yet the old man's warning repeated in your head: 'don't be out too late.' How were you suppose to know what that mean. 

"Got it here," exclaimed Miss Moet as she drew out a silver container, calling your attention to it. "It's your dinner, little Holly. Your father asked me to not only tutor you but also to take care of you for the time being. How does rice and mashed potatos with vegetable soup sound?" 

"Okay." You said, unzipping your jacket and hanging it on the coat hanger by the door that never got used and placed the package on the couch, not planning to open it. 

Miss Moet takes her time to reheat the food in pans and boil the soup, scooping a bowl of steaming hot rice for you at the table. Dinner was served shortly and on time as your stomach emitted low growls. She chuckled and ruffled your hair as you ate your meal together with her, sitting across the table comfortably, the clock softly tiking in the background.

"There won't be enough time today for your sheduled lessons but. . ." Miss Moet looked at the clock thoughtfully before her eyes widened, "why don't you have a sleepover at my house? Your father bought all the books there from me and we should be able to finish an hour of subjects revision for an 8th grader!" 

You were taken aback and it must've shown on your face because she slowed down her enthusiasm and smiled brightly, teeth glowing like a winter's first fall of snow. "I'll call your parents to tell them about it. Now go on! Pack whatever you think you'll need for the night, don't be shy about asking for anything— my daughter's older clothes will fit you if you ever need of them." And off to pack, you did while she chattered on the phone. 

Stuffing into your old school-bag; some sets of pajamas to change into incase if you sweat a lot, a tube of toothpaste, toothbrush and your water bottle. What else... Your gaze strays across the room and to the nightstand beside your bed, the light glinting off the jewel encrusted hairbrush Ma bought you afew years ago from a local marketplace. It looks fancy, not expensive enough for you to get robbed of and so you took it with you. 

Briefly you looked out the window near the bed, feeling discontent at the pitch blackness staring back from the boy's window that not even the sunlight could penetrate through. He's usually there at this time. Did someting happen? Maybe you were out for too long and he didn't want to wait anymore. That's possible 

"Little Holly, have you finished packing?" Miss Moet shouted from below the stairs. 

You turn away and scrambled to your feet, putting on the school-bag, "yes!" You answered, hastening down the wooden steps to meet her.

"Good, good. Let us go then." She was already at the door with flats on, dusting off her coat-dress in wait. 

You were about to leave with her, when you caught sight of that cardboard package sitting on the couch. There's nothing worse than being bored, and there won't be much to do at another's house. You felt bad for the old man's efforts... plus you did pay for the comic... 

You stood hesitant in your whirlpool of thoughts, when suddenly you felt a burning pat on your shoulder for a second. Miss Moet retracted her hand and motioned to the couch, "bring whatever you may wish to bring, little Holly. Go on now." 

And with her encouragement, you carried the package in your arms the entire walk to her house which was short considering it's right next door. The house on the left. She ushered you inside, not wasting a single moment as the door closed behind cutting off the mist trying to pry in from outside. The streets were appearing obscured in clear waves of mist by now, like veils of ice.

"Shall we shall our lesson then," Miss Moet asked gleefully. Her hands clasps together. 

You could only nod silently. The sharp tiking of a clock following in sync with your heartbeat. 

.   .   . 

The flipping of folded pages and recollection of pens and pencils brought you back from the short daydream you were living in. Paitent hands turn over the heavy book cover, closing it. You released a long breath, relaxation and peace filling in your mind as you slouched in your chair.  

"And that will be all for today!" Miss Moet says contently as she moves the pile of stacked books to the side. Then asked, "how do you feel?" 

"Like resting please," you huffed, staring up at the pale yellow ceiling. In comparison to the monochromatic theme of your house, Miss Moet's had a lively array of ivory whites and the lightest babyblue walls almost giving a magical feel whenever you swept a long look around. 

Laughter tinkled from across the table, "I am sure you're tired. Oh look at the time! You wouldn't be able to get home if you were to be out right now, you are lucky, little Holly." You weren't a mindless kid, following directions is easy espeically with your house being next door. 

Miss Moet continued, blabbering about how she learnt a new pie recipe leaned and something else along the lines of cooking, you weren't paying much attention. Your head leaned further back to read the time, the upside down clock made it difficult along with how the fancy black numbers were curled and decorated with fluorescent colours. '4PM'

The chair tilted back an alarming inch from your leaning weight, causing you to bolt forwards, heart quivering with a tremble. "Careful now, your mother wouldn't like you hurting yourself," Miss Moet said with a friendly warning tone. "Shall I show you to your room, it is getting late." It's still evening, you wanted to say but tied down your aching tongue.

You nod sheepishly and stood out of the chair, leaving the study room behind along-side the heel of the older woman. She led you through the paintings graced hallway and up the marbled stairs, walking past several doors till she halted at the last door. A creamy sand door with a polished bronze doorknob. 

"The guest bedroom is cleaned daily, if you have any troubles than please be kind to inform me of it. I am responsible for your safety here," Miss Moet motions to it, smiling star-bright. "I have to go prepare dinner for my grandson now, he is one picky little stinger so I hope he doesn't bother you."

You thank her as she leaves, opening the door into a medium sized room accompanied by a single bed and desk at the side and a locked window. Clean and slightly fancy looking, there wasn't a single dusty corner and the white walls themselves glittered in the light. A new experience was exactly what you've been wanting since the move into this town and its been too long since you've had a sleepover at anyone's place. 

You threw your schoolbag on the neat bed, plopping on the blue sheets beside it. Your eyes wandered towards the package you placed, sitting on the desk. as you scratched the edges of tape off the cardboard package and freed the top open, taking out a thick comic book. Its glossy cover beneath your fingertips felt a blemish free smoothness, the title reading: The Lone Giant's Adventures – Issue #180. 

What drew your attention was the epic illustration on the front cover depicts a tall burly giant wielding an axe appearing rusted beyond the years, he wore only a kaftan, whose greenish skin scarred with starry tattoos of constellations and many dots was exposed. His bare bulging chest, roughened features, the giant stood an intimidating height surrounded by walls of forest that could only reach his thick neck.

The art felt so impressively realistic, the way the sunrise glowed from behind the giant's form and shone inbetween the crooks of branches and clustering leaves. The giant's eyes were so real, full of life and willpower of a lifetime, though terrifying, you couldn't shake yourself of the trance as you continue staring into those obsidian depths, almost sinking into them. Until a pitter patter came from the door. Very light knocks, though soft, was enough to pull you away from admiring the comic further as you set it down on the bed.

You cracked a small gap opening the door, peeking out into the hallway through the tiny vertical gap. Nothing. Nothing except for the delicious smell of mushrooms and roasted chicken drifting by your nostrils, slipping into your room. You shut the door slowly, carefully without a sound. Maybe you misheard, it could happen, your knew senses couldn't be trusted sometimes.

The moment you sat back on the bed, a knock sounded from the door. And then followed up with another blunt knock, this time even clearer and stronger as if the person on the other side was growing courage to do so. So you did hear right the first time. 

It's probably Miss Moet, she seemed like the type to knock but that many times? You weren't sure. You went to answer the door, and as it swung, you raised your head expectedly to meet eyes with... nothing but air. Confused, you then looked down to your eye level, and there standing infront of you was a familiar looking white haired boy with downcast eyes, towering afew inches than you. 

His pale hands squeezing at the sides of his trousers, a trail of banadages covered his entire left leg till the toes, the bad leg's knee bent at an awkward angle. He was silent as you were. Waiting for each other to make a move, or to say something. 

You had enough of standing around and opened your mouth, "are you the one who threw the rock into my bedroom?" It was the last question on your mind but better than asking what you could help him with when you had nothing at hand.

He bobbed his head once. The white hair on his head swaying lightly at the movement, fluffy and shiny, each hairstrand like silver. Your fingers twitch, wanting to touch it to see if it really is as soft as it looked. It could just be the light from your room illuminating his hair to a snow-white, but you swear his hair was grey the last time you saw him.

"Your name?" A breathy voice escaped from his pink lips, mesmerizing you. You blinked, pulling your gaze away from his silky hair to his youthful face. He avoids your gaze like its poison.

"Holly. I'm Holly."

He nods once more. His hands that were clenching at his sides lessened their grip.

"And you? What's your name," you asked patiently. Watching his blank face, the fluttering of his long dark lashes as he breathed deeply. Lifting his head, the light streaming across his features, he slowly brought up his eyes and locking them with yours. You couldn't look away even if you wanted to, which you didn't. They were black. His eyes barely had pupils at all, as if the darkness had devoured them.

The abyss itself seemed to be diving into the very depths of yourself, the most darkest pair of twilight, starless and bright, and reflecting back an image of you in them like a black mirror. Both you and the boy didn't break eye contact.

Finally he swallows his nervousness and speaks with pure clarity, "call me Prince." His words sounding as gentle as the breeze passing by. 

You are the one nodding this time, a polite smile on your lips. "Prince." You say, a softness mirroring his tone. And he smiles, deciding to copy you. "Holly." 

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