We used to play in the grass-covered, rolling hills. We swam in the gray-blue river winding through the valley on its journey to the sea. The river chased the hills until just beyond, it reached the mountains.

In that valley, we believed fairies watched over us. We felt their soft touches in the gentle breezes and heard their tinkling laughter in the bubbling brook. The delicate wildflowers and exquisite butterflies were their handiwork. Every moment in this haven was precious and I treasured them with all my heart. 

I believed this happiness would last forever. I held on to my memories as my world outside the valley crumbled. Scarlet fever swept town into a haze. It stole life from Mama and the baby she carried. Its devastation threw Papa into dipsomaniac despair. I was alone.

Later, when I escaped to the valley, no fairies greeted me. The skies raged at an unspoken sin, cloaking the sun in its depths. The destruction tore my heart and a fierce anger boiled in my body. I shivered and dropped to my knees. A terrible sound pierced the air.

The valley trembled and sighed. Its last breath was released and all became still.