A warm breeze blew gently in Velithryth’s face as she wove flower crowns out of the yellow dandelions that grew around her house in Harwick. Her small fingers pinched and pulled the stems as she hummed a little tune that only she knew. Her mother idly watched the young girl from afar as she weeded her growing potato patch, occasionally placing a yellow dandelion in a pile for Velithryth to add to her crowns. A chestnut mare strayed on the grass nearby.
As she set aside her now-finished flower crown, she hopped to her feet and ran off to her mother’s side to pick up more flowers.
"I’m going to make you a really pretty bracelet this time, mother!” she chirped happily. She picked her flowers carefully, only choosing the best out of the pile for her mother’s flower bracelet. Easthryth didn’t turn around to reply to her daughter.
“That is very kind of you, my love.” Her mother’s usual sweet, quiet voice was replaced with one much raspier and harsher. The little girl halted her flower-gathering to glance up at the woman in front of her. Her back was turned to Velithryth, and she could quickly tell that something was off. The yellow weeds dropped from her hands as the woman turned to reveal herself to the girl. She was not her mother, but rather something far more sinister. Her face was ghostly white and where sky blue eyes should have been there were dark, black voids.
Velithryth’s blood ran cold as all color seemed to drain from everywhere all at once. The mare that had been grazing nearby was now nothing but bones. She opened her mouth to scream—
Velithryth jolted out of her sleep. Her forehead was beaded with cold sweat and her heart hammered wildly in her chest. She threw the covers off of her body and stood up quickly, her arms shaking from terror. Her hands went to her face, her fingers massaging her eyes as if it would help her to forget what she had seen in her dream.
She went out into the main room to find something to distract herself with, stepping lightly to avoid waking her father. There was no need, she found. There Wynstan sat, rocking back and forth as he looked out the window into the dark night. His head turned as he saw a shadowed figure enter the room.
“I would have thought you to be asleep by now,” he commented, his voice low and gravelly from age.
“Well, I was.” Velithryth gave a nervous laugh.
“Bad dream?” he asked.
Velithryth hummed and nodded her reply. She could hear the old man shifting in his chair, and in the minimal light, see him waving her over. She picked her way through the room carefully and sat on his knee, like she had done many times as a child. His arms encircled her protectively and brought her close to him. Velithryth almost laughed aloud.
“You don’t think I have gotten too old for this?” she questioned him teasingly.
“No matter how many years have passed, you are still my little girl. Now,” his throat cleared, “About this dream. Would you like to talk about it?” She shook her head. Her shoulders relaxed noticeably as Wynstan’s fingers traveled through her golden strands of hair soothingly.
“I would rather forget about it,” she replied.
“Alright then, I suppose you can stay here until you fall back asleep. But do not assume I will carry you back to bed! While you are always my little girl, you have not stayed little,” he chuckled. Velithryth smiled as she closed her eyes again, eventually falling back into a more pleasant sleep in her father’s lap.
