For a girl of twelve, Nadia Lembrook was acutely aware of very little beyond herself. She moved through life like a fat caterpillar, gorging on every drop of sap she could find.  She donned a heavy cloak, a constant warm embrace of her friendships; one hung from her shoulders in layers, another lay curled up inside her sleeve, and the last slept beneath the buttons at her throat.
The weight of the cloak chained the frightful swallow in her chest. At times, she would become absent-minded and forget her fortune. Her mind would morph into a parched and restless creature, never quenched with enough knowledge. Eternally itching, wanting. Nadia could eat and eat, devouring each score and line. It was never enough. An internal starving that could not be satiated. It began with her eyes wandering, her heart skipping a beat, her nose bracing for a trace of what was to come, her tongue heavy, awaiting, her fingers stretching, reaching for more and more and more.
Her imagination was tumultuous, a slow-burning pile of coal that would not yield, would not die, hungry for every word and score she had ever been denied, but no, it was a light. A purpose. A promise that she wrapped herself so tightly within until it constricted her throat.
Her lungs burned, pinching as the yellow-striped snake looked at her, his narrow eyes slanted. She learned not to struggle, for the swallow in her chest could flutter and cry with all its might, only to draw the snake tighter. Squeeze her until she was - until she was tight and cosy. Until she was fine, and the snake wrapped around her legs like a docile kitten.
The truth was, Nadia found her reality in the mere sparks, kindling for the carriage ride to her dreamland, away from the snake at her legs and the grief in her chest, toward somewhere the air did not cost her anything to swallow.
A cold drop of something landed on her shoulder, dragging her up from sleep.
She peered at her hands, cupping the murky water with a determined fascination. A face wavered in front of her, the image rippling as the wind tore across the water.
The snake pressed open a singular eye.
She stilled, afraid to move. Grief wormed its way through everyone differently; that is what the wind whispered as it danced through her hair, cupping her cheek tenderly. If she pressed her nose higher, eyes squinted, she could picture her bedroom again within her palms. Heaped blankets and gowns waltzed across her room as an orchestra bubbled from the window, the tune playing a wondrous melody. The chandelier above reflected the golden dewdrops of sunlight, rainbow music notes cascading upon her head as she tried to join the feverish dance. She was offered a steaming tray of tarts and soup, and her fingers danced over the stinging metal with valour.
"This is Durrington on yer' left. Ten minutes and yer'll be at 'e home."
The voice was smothered by the cellos, the roaring cry of the violas, and the scent of berries under her nose.
Nadia stilled, dropping the tart in surprise. It was frozen and bitter.
The gowns faced her, headless and fabric rustling with dislike.
The music stopped.
The wind died down.
Her eyes flew open once more, and she noticed the sky had turned a fearsome grey; her bony fingers dug into her arms like icepicks. Snow was falling, suffocating her past in a gruesome sheet of sterile white.
It was time to move on; the wind whispered in her ears, pushing her forward. She fought back, digging in her heels like a wild stallion.
Papa blinked in confusion as the snow began to gather upon his stilled figure. He was buried amongst the daisies and the wild, roaring sun of the west. That is what she chose to believe.
Nadia had never pictured Durrington before, though she remembered dying there every winter. In place of towering tenements tangled with hissing vines and luscious gardens was a vast and brittle land. The wind was quiet here; there were no trees to dash between or clouds to race.
Nadia became sentient for the first time when she was told they would become farmers; the notion was scoffed at. A lady did not sow in the dirt.
Psh, the dirt. The dirt, which should be dense, golden, and sparkling like a koi, was gnawed bare, dusty as a skeleton, brittle as bones.
The singular road they rode upon was much less a road and, in truth, the arching spine of an ancient creature. The carriage was a rib cage of a tree; her bottom sat upon a wooden board, the rocky grooves of the spine shattering her tailbone against a divot in the god-forsaken dirt.
"The signs are wilting, sagging as if they were dying! How can we fit in here with the peeling paint and houses that could fit mice? There are more cattle than people; who am I to make friends with? Take us back, Mama, I can't bear to soil my last pair of fine shoes in this filth," Nadia whined, her fingernails digging half-moons into her knees.
Mama refused to speak and had not done so since the greed of World War 1 had devoured Papa. Her voice had been sweet as honey, the golden hum of peace and virtue. A testament of faith.
Nadia feared the darkness that now crept in the wake of silence, rattling its cage ferociously for release, for respite.  Mama had joined Papa in the coffin, her frail arms wrapping around the thin air with a silent sob, so now what remained was her carcass.
Nadia knew this with certainty.
Mama had eyes like the dead.
Irises now devoid of colour, the blueberries of her soul had been plucked and replaced with cold milk.
The beginning of winter began with the picking of unripe fruit.
Mama glided into the open arms of the new house, both sighing in relief as they rejoiced in each other's horror.
The house did not share the same joy for Nadia; the timber floor moaned beneath her feet, and the windows squealed like frightened piglets when she passed a room.
The itch was crawling up her body once more, creeping like an army of ants to the length of her fingertips.
The days stretched long. The sun was sultry, the ground baked hard, and her belly bellowed for more than rice pudding and tomato soup. Time morphed into something she could not fathom.
They had moved to Durrington to set up a farm, rearing cattle and crops for dairy and grain. Without Papa's income, Nadia had counted the coins herself and knew there was nothing left to keep the estates or the staff. The Great Depression had struck, and so, the remaining Lembrooks marched onwards to the countryside with only a pocketful of shillings.
Nadia worked outside during the days, fixing fences and herding cattle, whilst Mama sat upon the porch, rocking in her chair, forever looking skywards.
Winter turned for the worse; the fields dried bare as a virgin mother, and the rain stopped visiting. The animals were sold for meat, and the next steps were uncertain.
Mama had taken the last handful of coins and walked listlessly down the dirt road, a neighbour recounting that she had all but become swallowed.
Nadia was now thirteen and lost.
Her skin was slick with a layer of grime that the cold water could never rub away. Her stomach growled, and she turned in her bed, clenching her fists to her gut as she cursed.
Firm. Dark. Silent.
She focused on desperation, hollowed with the desire to escape her reality.
Oh, how she had forgotten this wondrous talent, this delightful capability she held.
The moist stench of the floorboards would unfurl into a sea of branchless trees, and the darkness would flicker with shapes until an assault of colour swept in, a brilliant hue that placed every item into place.
As she adjusted her eyes to the depth, she realised she had finally returned to her dreamscape.
She gasped as the familiar, unblinking eyes of a giant stag appeared.
Two magnificent antlers sprouted from his head, leathery-brown branches spanning the width of her arms. When the Stag approached, he reached the height of her chin before raising his regal head. His nose touched her shoulder, the tip cold and moist.
"Oh, my dear Ludo! I knew you would be here waiting for me. Where shall we go today?" Nadia rejoiced, throwing her arms around her old companion.
"It is your last dream, and you are running out of time." The stag murmured, steering her toward ruby-red tiles, though the hills behind curled like fingers beckoning trouble, "We must follow the path before it closes."
"That is ever so bothersome." She complained. She denied the first part entirely.
"Time is everything, young one. You cannot change fate."
It had been weeks since she had last spoken a vowel, her throat itchy with desire to connect with another being. She didn’t care for the circumstances or the topics; a flooding sense of relief washed over her.
Ludo sighed, low enough that she felt an unbecoming sense of guilt, "Let us move onwards."
With hesitation, Nadia followed the Stag down the path, growing more agitated as the vibrant colours and singing flowers began to choke, withering as she stepped by.
She stepped backward suddenly. Ahead, a girl appeared - pale, hair limp, eyes empty as Mama's.
Her forehead collided with an invisible surface. She was sprawled on the ground, her heart shuddering in her chest. Heat roared in her ears.
"Ludo?" She called out helplessly as she collided with another wall. The strange girl was following her, face disgruntled at the panic.
It was a maze, she recognised after slamming into the hard surface once again.
Walls and walls confined her, forcing her down the path. closer to the palm of fate. The snake hissed, sharp fangs catching on her delicate skin.
She placed a hand on the glass, sobbing.
The girl was not chasing her; no, it was a reflection. The girl was herself. The sight of utter human decay was her.
No, she refused. It couldn't be true. She pressed another hand against the glass and willed the scenery to change, begging for a release. She didn't want to see what she had become any longer.
"Let me out! Let me out!" Nadia screamed, a roar erupting from her throat.
Glass shattered, the tone taut and piercing.
Nadia tumbled backwards, falling through the sky.
She fell through the cornflower blue; plumes of white fluff crossed her vision as she parted clouds.
She thought she heard a familiar sound, something that was just beyond her reach to grasp.
There was no wind here. Nothing to pry the words into her mind.
So, she fell and fell until she fell into a chair, wooden and decorated with floral engravings.
Her mouth watered terribly as trays and trays of steaming food floated upon the table.
Several chairs surrounded the table; upon each plush cushion resided a figure. Some were only smudges of black, shadows of what once had been. The person to her left was rather a figment, her skin a dark ochre and her hair twisted with golden dandelions.
"Why, you must eat! I always forget too, if I don't." The girl leaned forward, her smile bright as she flashed her pearly, white teeth.
Nadia felt her stomach growl in hunger, and she agreed diplomatically, almost moved to tears as she began to eat.
Memories, once repressed and stored, raced across the table. The fish in her hand jigged, flailing. She tried to grasp the memories longingly, but she couldn't! She was starving; oh, her stomach ached, and her body shuddered at its hollowness.
A stag head was served as the main course, its amber eye unblinking. Two brilliant antlers were fastened on her head as a makeshift crown. She ate until there was nothing left, until she could feel the trickling grief clogged by its own forgetfulness.
In the distance, she could hear a woman making a sound for the first time, a horrible cry that shook the table.
She had a distinct feeling that her heart no longer beat, and as she opened her lungs to breathe, she stopped—
Nadia opened her mouth and ate one more bite.
Honey sat on her tongue, and someone placed a flower in her palm. Snow fell, abrupt and covered everything; white, endless, and devout.
Nadia tried to blink, yet time had finally found her.