The Frozen Alley

The alley behind the bistro was a narrow throat of cobblestone choked with snowdrifts. The blizzard was raging now, responding to Morana’s agitation.

The Frost-Ghoul scrambled to its feet, hissing. It was fast, fueled by the ambient cold. It leaped at her, jaws unhinged.

Morana didn't flinch. She was done pretending to be human.

"You possess no etiquette," she told the monster.

She raised her right hand. The falling snow stopped in mid-air. With a sharp clench of her fist, the snowflakes coalesced into jagged spears of ice, hovering around her like a halo of knives.

The Ghoul struck. Morana sidestepped with liquid grace. She grabbed the creature’s arm as it passed. Her touch was absolute zero. The Ghoul’s flesh turned gray, then brittle.

She snapped the arm off like a dry twig.

The creature howled. Morana didn't give it time to recover. She gestured with her other hand, and the hovering ice spears launched.

* Thwack. Thwack. Thwack.*

The spears pinned the Ghoul to the brick wall of the bakery next door. It writhed, black ichor leaking onto the white snow.

Morana walked toward it. Her expression was bored, ruthless efficiency.

"I was eating a cinnamon twist," she informed the dying monster. "It was warm. It was perfect. And you interrupted."

The Ghoul snarled weakly.

Morana placed her palm on the creature’s forehead.

"Shatter."

The magic surged. The Ghoul didn't just die; it detonated. It disintegrated into a cloud of fine, sparkling diamond dust, swept away instantly by the wind.

Silence returned to the alley.

Morana stood alone in the dark. Her chest heaved slightly, not from exertion, but from the adrenaline of violence. She looked at her hands. They were glowing blue.

She closed her eyes and exhaled, forcing the magic back down, forcing the glow to fade.

She had saved the village. She had saved the baker. But she knew what came next. She would turn around, and he would be gone. Or worse, he would be there, holding a pitchfork, screaming "Witch!"

She had ruined the only nice thing she had had in decades.

Slowly, reluctantly, she turned back toward the bistro.