Amelie Brashar reposed on the wooden floor. Her bloodless complexion, and the hair sprawled messily around her head both gave the impression that she lay in the thralls of death, but Amelie was only taking a nap. If Mrs. Brashar had been in, she would’ve tutted at the place her child had chosen to rest, but Mrs. Brashar never did seem to be in. This was not due to some great recent tragedy, but rather to an infatuation Amelie’s mother seemed to have developed for wide open streets and adult conversation. It was rumored that when Amelie’s father left, Mrs. Brashar had first cursed him, then slunk away to unpack her own suitcase.

With a small sigh, Amelie finally awoke from her catnap. She looked surprised to find herself on the floor.

“Mother?” Amelie called out, sitting up. She sounded hopeful.

There was no response. The girl, still dozy, gathered up her tangled tangerine hair and, finding a rubber band on her wrist, knotted the band around her handful of hair. Then she stood up to get some milk.

It was snowing outside, a real flurry. The falling blankets of snow did not come down in a straight pattern, but in long twists and exclamations, like it was being released by a playful child with no sense of order or sensibility, but a great sense of fun. In short, the storm produced beauty, but Amelie was torn between pleasure at the storm’s beauty and an obligatory worry for her mother’s safety out in the dangerous weather. She would have considered calling Mrs. Brashar’s cell phone, but Amelie knew a response was unlikely. So she just sipped her milk.

It was not long before the milk was gone, and then Amelie just sat on the window seat looking out the window. It must have been getting late, but the continuing downpour of snow obscured the view of any kind of sun, setting or otherwise. Suddenly there was a sharp knock at the door. Amelie rushed to open it up, and-

“Hello Mother,” she said. But it was not her mother. The figure standing outside the door was an obscenely tall girl who looked oddly youthful despite her height. It might have been due to a certain softness in her eyes, a blush in her cheeks. Most surprisingly, there was no snow on the girl’s black coat, or on her equally dark hat. The lightly curling tips of her hair that peeked out from under the hat were also devoid of snow, and showed no signs of moisture that could be caused from it.

“I do not believe we are related in such a way,” spoke the girl in a strange, humor filled accent. Her voice was rich and powerful, and for an instant Amelie fancied her the queen of some unknown northern kingdom.

“No, definitely not,” said Amelie. She blushed, and hoped it didn’t show. “Sorry, but who are you exactly?”

“Please call me Nim.”

“Just Nim?”

“Technically, my name amounts to over seventy syllables, many which you would find impossible to pronounce. So yes, just Nim.”

Amelie’s heart was now thumping like crazy. Who was this girl? Why had she left no footprints in the yard? The snow must have covered them already. Amelie felt like she had to invite this girl in, this stranger with such a strange sense of humor. Seventy syllables… that had to be a joke. Amelie knew her mother wouldn’t want her letting a stranger in, but this was a girl! Likely right around her age, and if her mother was going to leave her alone all Saturday, she couldn’t complain if Amelie invited in some company.

“Why don’t you come inside, Nim? I have the heater on.”

Nim said she would like very much to come in, before following Amelie into the warm house. She had to duck to fit under the doorframe.

Once Nim had hung up her coat and drank some milk, Amelie finally asked her. “So why did you knock?”

“Well, why did you answer?” said Nim.

“I thought you were my mother,” admitted Amelie.

“Speaking of her, when will she get back?” Nim asked.

“I don’t know,” said Amelie. “Usually she’s back by sundown.” The girls looked quickly out the window but the sky was still blocked by the snow, which was falling even more heavily now. “But some nights,” Amelie said.”She doesn’t come back at all. She has some boyfriends and she’ll stay over at theirs.”

Nim offered a consolatory arm over her shoulder. “I’m sorry, Amelie.”

“It’s actually fine,” said Amelie, but she looked miserable, and she did not immediately shrug Nim’s arm from her shoulder.

A few moments later she had to stand up, though, because Nim’s milk had run out. So she ran to the fridge, busying around with the carton and the glass and Nim’s eyes were fixed solidly on her which wasn’t a problem but then the bitch bit her lip, making Amelie drop the carton (thank Christ it wasn’t the glass). Milk spewed everywhere. Nim didn’t laugh (thank Christ, again) but Amelie herself couldn’t contain a small smile at the sudden disaster before her. What a mess.

Amelie turned around to feel for a rag, but then, without hearing any approaching footsteps, she felt two thin hands on her back.

“Relax,” said Nim. “The milk isn’t a problem.”

Amelie whirled around, red hair momentarily blinding her but when it settled around her neck she was going to properly tell off this girl, this strange random girl who had no business comforting her and no business, at all, in her house to begin with. But then she stopped before even beginning, for the milk was all gone. The carton was back on the counter, the floor was shining clean. Like it had just been mopped. Amelie turned to Nim, who she could see was biting back a grin.

“What are you, some kind of magician?” The words came out sounding harsher than she had meant.

“No,” Nim said calmly. “But I know a few tricks here and there.”

Amelie was shaking now. “Get out,” she said with fervent rage. Amelie pointed a finger, angrily pulsing, at the door. “Who do you think you are? Some proper seductress, really? I’ve read all the books and seen all the movies, but we’ve only known each other for an hour and you aren’t human, I know it! What, do you want me to kiss you? Is that what you want? My mother would come home in the middle of it and ruin it anyway. She ruins-” Amelie took a short breath. “Just, please leave.”

Nim obeyed. She did not go without regret, to be certain, but when you are a silky haired vampire there are many other houses that will invite you in for milk and conversation. There are many girls who will offer you their naivety like a prize. So, Amelie was not naive enough. No matter. Nim would go wherever the snowstorm took her, and next time she would feel lips on her own. For the time being, though- Nim twisted and snapped her fingers and the milk lay splattered on the floor once again.

She stalked out of the house, ducking under the short doorframe, and vanished into the flurry with another flick of her hand. Amelie watched her disappear with a sick feeling in her stomach. The milk was too much to be bothered with now so Amelie found a dry patch of the floor to lay down on. She did not find the wood so comfortable anymore, and after a few minutes traipsed upstairs to her monstrously plush bed. She lay there limply. Another girl might have thought that Mrs. Brashar would be home soon, but Amelie was not so naive.

It was a long time before she fell asleep. By the time her eyes finally closed, the tears on her cheeks had dried to pale, chalky streaks. Outside her single bedroom window, the snow continued falling for several more hours. Many accidents were caused that night, but Mrs. Brashar managed to drive home safely before morning. When she saw the milk on the floor she cursed loudly, then remembered that it was three in the morning. Amelie’s mother cleaned up the mess, then tiptoed off to bed.

Across the world from the Brashar house, a tall, beautiful vampire knocked on a door. It was a chestnut door, and inside a chestnut colored girl felt rather bored. She sat alone at a chestnut table, with nothing to do but puzzles and other mindless distractions. Nim grinned sharply to herself, as she waited for the door to open.

– Rose Hollander