Fiora and Oceanus live isolated inside the forest, optimistic dreams still developing. However, what would occur would only stir change.

Fiora sat calmly on the porch swing beside her dark red front door, daydreaming about traveling the planet. She was at peace in the paradoxical sequoia forests, although they weren’t enough to satisfy or trigger her vast wanderlust; a wanderlust that her family found absurd. The night settled in the tranquil skies of this forest, of which today was forgiving and sweet to her and her older brother Oceanus. The moon began to ascend and shyly shine its light down upon the highest branches of the sequoia trees, the dark green grass beneath, and the little cabin that housed the siblings and their parents. The grass that occasionally beheld sharp thorns was smooth and soft that day; a day that the siblings knew as a “marshmallow day”. The stars twinkled and dotted the night sky as Fiora’s porch swing calmly waved in the kind winds, the same winds that brushed her dark brown hair as her presence was aware in the sequoia grove that her cabin was nestled inside. Whilst she observed as the land fell into a calm dormant darkness, the autumnal breezes calming her and the creatures around, inside her brother Oceanus awaited for the return of their parents from a business trip; he, unlike his sister, despised travel, but would only kindly speak to her about her dreams, instead of her parents’ sharp criticism. “Why do you want to be nomadic?” he would ask, his tone soft. “The world’s just intriguing to me,” his sister would reply, “and I want to see it.” Despite their hatred of travel, their parents had a business trip to the only city in the entire world; a vast urban empire on the equator. It was the only place Fiora did not wish to see. Beside it, on the east side of the continent, was a large pathway inside a meadow that Fiora planned to take. Sometimes her parents were so extremely harsh that even Oceanus would, in his right, defend her, and she, heartbroken, would deliberately plan an escape she never took. The young thirteen-year-old girl reminisced on the short travel she once had, to the edge of the forest. Beyond the forest was a vast meadow and prairie that she found simply glorious; she could see the snow-topped mountains at the edge of the horizon. The sight had permanently enabled her wanderlust, of which her parents claimed as “a disease”.

As the sun entirely ducked beneath the horizon, and the moon in its splendor shined down upon the forest entirely, Fiora sauntered to her favorite place in the entire forest; a calm little meadow where she could see the eclipses every half year. The last eclipse was a month ago, in tranquil September. Oceanus had excitedly rushed to his sister in exclamation of the stunning event. Fiora looked forward to the April eclipse, where the blossoms in the trees would emit such a sweet aroma and marshmallow days were much more common. As she ambled to the meadow she encountered what was known in the lore of the land as the “Tree with a Face”, and she stopped to look upon this tree and see its expression. The Tree with a Face had an expression of a sincere smile, grief in its eyes. Young Fiora never took it seriously but Oceanus was another story. After the Tree With a Face was the meadow she loved to visit. She lay down on its soft grass and wished to a star that tomorrow was a marshmallow day, before delving into daydreams in the dusk, entirely ignorant of reality.

Stepping outside the quaint little cabin, Oceanus became aware of the fact Fiora had left and stayed at the meadow past nine; he knew exactly where she’d be and thus followed her tracks. He was chuckling to himself about the habit she had, wandering away past the time limit. Dusk was Fiora’s favorite time of day, he knew full well why. He was also the one to proclaim whether it was a marshmallow or “bloody” day (the latter being when thorns erupted from the grass, the wind harshly echoed across the grove, and the bark on the trees could make one’s hand bleed), for Fiora lived in fear of stepping in thorns. Oceanus was a twenty-five year old man, although living with his parents was something he took as a pleasure; he had the same dark brown hair-except his was short and rustled-and calm, lime green eyes as his sister Fiora.

Soon enough, he bumped into the Tree with a Face, and looking upon it took its grieving eyes as a warning. His mind was haunted with the vast possibilities this expression could mean; he remembered the unforgiving days following when the Tree had a negative expression. Vast memories echoed of breaking bones, getting the flu, and getting knocked out by an incoming baseball during those days. They were all bloody days. He set foot into the little meadow upon sending the thoughts fleeing, and found Fiora watching the stars.

“Hi!” he exclaimed, startling her. She sat up and waved sweetly. “Hi! Guess I was late?”

“By approximately 12 minutes.”

Fiora knew for a fact that Oceanus was thinking of the Tree with a Face’s expression, however she was a skeptic of its powers. Internally, however, as a native of the Northern Taigas, she knew that doubting a story would only make it more true.

The next morning, she awoke in her cabin with the sun’s rays shining through her window. The morning looked kind but she was skeptic of that as well. The old sequoia walls that made up her room were dotted with crayon marks from her early life of desperately trying to draw on the walls, marks that her parents in their best effort could not erase. She noticed her hair had grown immensely ratty overnight, and immediately began brushing it. The brush tugged at her scalp like flames to a rope, but she, tolerant of many things, did not mind. In the center of her room was a large topaz chandelier, and the thin tan carpet imitated the soft grass of a marshmallow day, at least in her opinion. It smelled like cinnamon thanks to the candle Oceanus had bought from their only neighbors’ little shoppe, to replace the smell of increasing cockroaches as the attic lay to rot. Her brush was a sequoia leaf green. She, content, exited her room and ambled down the hallway.

Oceanus was pacing around the wooden kitchen, anticipating the return of their parents. It was approximately 8 in the morning. He was concerned about the delay of their arrival, and even Fiora knew full well he was pessimistic. “Where are they?” asked Fiora, clearly perplexed.

“I haven’t figured that out yet myself.”

“They should be here by now,” the young girl exclaimed, “if they planned to keep their promise of coming this morning.”

Oceanus turned, looking more irritated than Fiora has ever seen him. “They absolutely did. I know it. I’m perplexed as to when.”

Fiora, in reaction, stayed silent, looking around the room. Maybe there were clues as to why their parents weren’t home yet?

Then she remembered: They had said they would return by six this morning. 

A growl caught her attention and she focused on the door. “Wh–What was that???”

“Whatever it is, it’s trying to break in!”

Two soulless husks busted down the door, looking ashen, and their eyes blank. They continued to growl as they stormed towards the two terrified siblings. The red door was in pieces and so was their mother’s precious lamp. Oceanus ducked to dodge a scratch by one of the husks, that looked rather humanlike. Rather familiar. Fiora and Oceanus both recognized whom was attacking them. Fear crystallized in their throats as they dodged every move. “Someone stole the souls of our parents?!” shrieked Fiora. The soulless husk that had once been their mother attempted to grasp her foot, only for the young girl to be saved by her brother pulling her under the table.

“We have to get out of here!” he screamed, his eyes as big as a doorknob. He shook his sister before he took action and dragged her out of the house. Fiora could not process what was occurring fast enough as her brother tugged her out of the house. She looked back at the zombie-like beasts that had once been their very own parents before she tumbled in the grass; thorns jabbed into her limbs as she got up, panicked, and dashed north for her little meadow. Oceanus had no choice but to follow, as the unforgiving thorns tore up their ankles, and the wind attempted to knock them back. Every once in a while to dodge the incoming husks Oceanus had to shove himself upon  the sharp bark of the sequoia trees, and Fiora would leap and backflip to dodge the same move. Either way, both reached the meadow with torn arms and legs, and their lungs practically bursting inside their chests. The zombie husks had been lost in their speedy wake. The meadow was the safest place to go during a bloody day; no thorns erupted from the grass then. However, the trees were still spears. Fiora tumbled into the grass, grateful for the meadow, and Oceanus bent over and, hands on knees, panted. The young girl looked at her ripped-up ankles, and suddenly had no clue what to do next.

“The-the-there’s no way,” Oceanus breathed.

“There has to be a way,” Fiora replied, “there must be.”

She would not-could not-simply refuse the lives of her parents, no matter how many times they denied her dreams. She fought back tears as she stared at her brother. “I might know.”

“If you do, please, do, tell me.”

“Remember the tales of the ‘vase in the center of a running river of lost souls’?” Fiora asked, knowing a story was the only way to get them out of this situation. Oceanus nodded.

“We’re gonna have to get that vase.”

Her brother’s eyes turned firm. “It’s even farther north from here. It’s in the Arctic Circle.”

“That’s fine, we can save our parents’ lives whilst I get to experience a little piece of my dream.”

Thus, they began to walk to the northern edge of the meadow. Fiora was indeed excited to once more see beyond the forest, of which she had not done in a matter of five years. Oceanus however did not look forward to the trip; albeit he understood that his own parents’ lives depended on it.

Sooner or later, the winds around them, as bitter as they already were, got colder. The thorns seemed to be ice underneath their feet. The gusts also got stronger as they trekked to the beginning of the Arctic Circle. Fiora signified what she knew as the edge of the forest by a sudden incoming of sunlight and a flake of snow falling on her freckled nose. Oceanus looked to his little sister and nodded before proceeding into the icy winds and flaky snow. Suddenly, the trees broke through to reveal a vast, barren desert of snow and ice. “We should’ve brought jackets,” Fiora mumbled to herself.

“We didn’t have time.”

“I know, I know, but we sometimes wear jackets to bed???”

Oceanus smiled warmly at the memory. Every once in a while during cold winter or autumn nights he and Fiora would sleep in  a jacket or sweater, depending on the temperature; there was no air conditioning, that was a city invention. The siblings would wake up in their jacket, sweating, and somehow it was always magically a marshmallow day. The siblings’ running slowed to what seemed to be an amble, but their nerves were shot; they were unusually silent. Fiora was wildly traumatized but refused to speak, and Oceanus was internally, slightly, grieving, but stayed strong. The winds that had been knocking them in the face, sometimes with debris, slowed to a crawl. They had reached the Arctic Circle.

In the distance, the two siblings noticed the silhouette of a girl by the banks of a winding river. Just like the fables, thought Fiora, the vase in a winding river of souls. 

“Who are you?” asked Oceanus when they approached the girl.

“I am Snow,” the girl replied, “what about you two?”

“I am Oceanus. Oceanus Mahogany. This is my sister, Fiora,” introduced Oceanus, gesturing over to his sister, of whom waved. “Do you happen to know if that is the soul river we have been seeking?”

“Yes,” responded Snow, “this is the soul river. In fact, I have seen two identifiable souls swirling around here. You might know who they belong to?”

“Those might be our parents!” Fiora exclaimed. “Which direction did they go???”

“Not so fast,” hushed Snow, albeit chuckling. “You will need to jump across and retrieve the vase before you can grab the souls of your parents out of the water. I understand your hurry, but this jump is something you should be well prepared for. One might know me as the guardian of the soul river…” She shrugged. “I was born to nobody here.”

“Oh. So, one of us has to jump over this?” asked Oceanus, raising an eyebrow. “Yes,” Snow confirmed, “and if you miss and land in the water your soul will be stored in its tides.”

“I can do it,” Fiora said, putting her hand on her older brother’s shoulder to comfort him as he turned, startled. “I will if I need to as well.” Oceanus’s firm emotions bent to terror. “No!”

She somersaulted over the 10-foot-wide river before her brother could grab her; a million thoughts rushed through his head, but she reached the other bank, throwing both feet upon its shores. Not a single drop of water touched her. A feeling of pride washed over the young girl, and she turned, waving to her brother. She then noticed the vase, held upright on a stand, and she grabbed it.

“Now,” Snow said, “you will need to get back, but I have a large plank of wood that we can use to help you.” Oceanus’s attention focused on a large plank of oak laying besides Snow. It looked like it had been snapped, and the rot was halted by the frost. He grabbed the old wood plank, almost furious that his sister, with all the life to live, had jumped the river, and balanced the plank like a bridge above the raging waters. Fiora, trusting her brother like a baby dove trusts its mother, set foot upon the bridge and calmly walked upon the flimsy beam. She was a courageous girl since her eleventh birthday, Oceanus marveled. He did not waver the board of wood, let alone tug it to the other side; he waited for his little sister like a coach waiting on their team. His expression was firm, matching hers. She soon reached the other side of the board, smiling, and stepped down from it, holding the vase. She then noticed the souls of two rather familiar faces swerve around the corner of the winding river. “Those are our parents, absolutely!” she squealed, collecting the souls in her vase. Her brother nodded in verification upon looking at the souls; they looked like shards of glass with a photo of the corresponding person in pure form. “The souls will be free upon the magic words you must say,” Snow mumbled, “but I can not tell you such words.” She was accepting of the fate she was giving the Mahogany siblings, but deep inside a shadow in her mind was tempting her to say the three words in front of them. Her empathy for them, the empathy that she was always told to hide by the very souls inside the river, was shattering her heart like a baseball bat. Her unfocused, moon-colored eyes were windows into a lonely spirit, an enigma all in its own right. “Now you are ready to save your parents.”

Fiora continued to carry the vase, waving bye to Snow. Oceanus, speed-walking, investigated the area about his sister as she slowly brought the vase back to the border of the forest. Both siblings’ irritation had broken into a vast trust with one another. Fiora did not complain no matter how much her back cramped or her legs ached; souls seemed to be a heavy thing to carry, despite how small the vase was. Oceanus, walking ahead of her, took the hit of all of the thorns in the path. The walk was long, silent, and painful for them both. No thorn or soul would brace the Mahogany siblings from anything now. Just as they were losing hope, they encountered their house–and the zombie husks of their parents in front of it. Night had fell, and the husks were stronger with it.

“Watch out!” shrieked Fiora as a zombie claw came for her brother’s neck. Oceanus, dodging narrowly, tumbled across the ground and got up with three large scrapes across his forehead from the unforgiving thorns. Next, the sharp claws belonging to the hand of what had once been their father targeted Fiora, of whom somersaulted backwards into a tree, dropping the vase; however the vase held itself upright, and the souls thus were not spilled out. The young girl’s back was stained with cuts that had been opened from splinters, some as sharp as a knife. “Stay near the vase! Stay near the vase!” screamed Oceanus, dodging yet shielding the upright vase of souls from both husks. Fiora, ignoring the pain, sneaked the vase from behind what, in her perspective, looked like a battle; in hindsight she realized her brother had not lay a finger on the zombies, and neither did she. Dodging the soulless husks that were now targeting her ripped up more scrapes than she could even believe, worse than Oceanus had ever told the stories of. Her left eye was bloodshot from a thorn jabbing into her eyelid, luckily nowhere further than that. An innate survival vibe that controlled the lives of forest folk pulsed through their veins together, as they dodged, simultaneously, the zombies. Oceanus could not make a move to help in the action; he, too, was dodging and somersaulting for his life. Fiora kept a fierce hold of the vase up til the point her fingers dug into its surface. Her mind was rushing a thousand miles per hour, asking every person she had ever looked up to; the unheard answer was the same.

It has to work, it can’t fail me now…

The thirteen-year-old looked into the vase and, albeit the first try, whispered the corresponding magic words as if she knew them innately.

“I love you.”

Golden magic spilled out of the vase, embracing both of the husks, and they turned into the startled parents both Mahogany siblings knew quite well.

However, their reaction to the sight of the soul vase disappearing entirely from the grasp of their injured children and back to where it had belonged was not at all what Fiora or Oceanus had imagined.

“What were you doing?!” exclaimed both at the same time, their eyebrows curled in what seemed to almost be malevolence. “We told you not to go outside during a bloody day! And we told you not to travel!”

Fiora shrunk back and opened the door, but her father followed. “I am twenty five years old,” protested Oceanus to a revolted mother, “and if we have to travel to save your lives, we do it no matter what you say.”

“Traveling is a bad omen! You brought your family a bad omen!” she replied, but was interrupted by the abrupt slamming of Fiora’s bedroom door. Her son quickly, stopping her from following, entered the house and automatically knew what occurred–her spouse had scolded the young girl to tears. Instead of normal whimpering Oceanus heard the clanks of bags.

No, he thought. He couldn’t have. 

Hurriedly, he opened the door, only to the scene he feared-Fiora had run away. Every one of her belongings was gone from her room. His heart sank, and he immediately looked to the window; his sister had discussed what she would do if her dreams were denied too many times. She had figured out that window like a man figures out his dog, to the point opening it and leaving it was a breeze. The room, without her cheerful and creative presence within every inch of it, felt empty, and he had a cruel flashback of helping build the very room. He had helped because he felt like it, but it was quite a gruesome task. Despondent, he opened the door again.

“Dad. What. Did. You. Say. To. Her???” he demanded, yet a shadow in his heart told him he was being too cruel.

“Okay, I was rude. But where did she go?” his father replied, a smile of forgiveness overtaking him. He was quick to grow and reflect on things. His son fully opened the door. “Oh. She did what she said she’d do.”

“I’m sorry Dad but we did have to travel,” replied Oceanus. “The only way to transform you from being soulless husks was to go to the Arctic Circle and find that vase. You traveled, too, so it’s even, but it was a short trip we took to save your lives.”

“I understand that,” the father acknowledged. He gave a calm yet suspicious look to his spouse. She laughed sheepishly: “I was blunt, wasn’t I…” she muttered. “You’re forgiven, Ocean. Can you by chance find your sister so she knows she is forgiven as well?” Her spouse nodded. “I mean, I know you well, she might convince you to come along at this point…”

“Absolutely,” Oceanus replied. “Just in case she does, I bid farewell.” He exited the house waving kindly to his parents, who chuckled. Innately, he knew exactly where Fiora would be–near the soul river.

“Fiora! Fiora! Fiora Grace Mahogany!” Oceanus cried, the winds dispelling his voice. “They forgave you, Fiora! Come back!” A blizzard was on the rise, and this time he brought a sweatshirt.  All he heard was the whistling of the wind, a sheer noise he disliked. His vision was hindered by the blinding snow, although he saw a very recognizable silhouette that definitely wasn’t Snow, just as a familiar voice called back.

“They won’t forgive me, Ocean… I’ve come to achieve my dream. Why are you coming for their sake? Can’t they just come themselves?” Fiora had replied, using her sweater as a blanket. “No! They did forgive you! They said it to me themselves! They thought you wouldn’t listen to them!” Oceanus called out. “…Why aren’t you listening to me?”

“There is no way they forgave me.”

Oceanus knew exactly what to say. “There has to be a way. There must be.”

Fiora turned, recognizing her own words.

“And I’m coming with you, whether you like it or not.”

The young girl smiled wide.