It was always meant to be like this. This suffering was fated. All of the happiness, nothing but an illusion. Nothing but a tiny little fluctuation in the universe's infinite timelines.
The small bundle of joy was given a name, Klara. A bright, clear star. There was a bit of a scuffle as to whether she should be Birtta or Kaylee. She weighed no more than a few stones, but her eyes seemed to contain the wisdom of an entire universe.
“My baby girl. I love you.”
These words seemed so distant now, didn’t they?
She was only three, but before she even turned one she was already able to babble. At three years old, the world was hers to explore. In her little blue dress, she would often escape her room and roam around the facility, only to be quickly picked up by a passing staff. Little Klara had a hundred baby-sitters, and she was able to recall all of their names.
“Auntie Kamen, can I play with Orpheus today?”
Her speech was childish, but incredibly advanced for her age. The brown-haired Overseer reached down and gently pinched her cheek with a smile.
“Mmh, not now sweetie. He’s taking a nap. Why don’t you do the same? I’ll call up a guard to bring you back to your room.”
“Naptime is for children. Papa said it was okay if I skip them now.”
“Sorn can never refuse you anything, can he? Ah, who am I to judge? Look at you.”
Klara beamed triumphantly. She knew Kamen could tell just how smart she was, and she enjoyed the woman’s praises.
But she was not the picture perfect paragon you thought she was.
Seven is when the white-haired girl became a real threat. That is, she was too curious for her own good. When one would hear the rapid clicking of her soles approaching, they immediately knew that they'd be answering questions for a few minutes at best, and half a day if what they were doing was especially interesting to the little girl. She absorbed information like a life-sized sponge, latching on to vocabulary and knowledge as if her life depended on it.
“But uncle Glass, if the people you interact with can influence your own psyche, then why don’t doctors feel more sick, and psychologists like you develop mental illnesses?”
“Why, aren’t you a straightforward little philosopher, Klara.”
Simon Glass watched the serious face she put on whenever she was thinking deeply about something. He couldn’t help but to chuckle; at her age, most children were worried about getting a new lego set; Klara on the other hand wanted the encyclopedias on his bookshelf.
“Shouldn’t you be at the Christmas party? I heard Cobalt is visiting. It’s a special occasion.”
Klara pouted at him, crossing her arms with a bit of attitude. “He’s probably busy giving Papa a lot of attention. And I am *not* going to sit there watching them bicker or kiss, or both at the same time. They definitely need couples counseling.”
Glass could only shake his head, smiling. Too clever for her own good, she was.
You should’ve just been a normal child.
Nine and a half; she was suspiciously quiet and docile, standing near the shooting range without bothering anyone. Security was a bit skeptical, but as soon as she gave them the angelic puss in boots eyes, they were unable to shoo her away.
“Дядя!” As soon as she spotted the one-eyed man exiting the range, Klara immediately ran up to him. “Soooo, how’s my faaaavourite Дядя Dmitri doing~?”
There was a single eye roll from the Lead operator as he played dumb. “Very well, Мелкий, although you should not be stand so close to shooting range. Is dangerous for small kid like you.”
“Awe, you know why I’m here…”
“Okay, okay. Back off, no need for puppy eyes.” Strelnikov produced a single bullet cartridge, copperish gold in colour, and dangled it in front of the girl’s fascinated eyes.
“Is 7.62 x 54mm shell for rifle. Whoops, no touching. Am not done explaining.” He quickly moved away his hand as soon as Klara attempted to grab the small treasure. “You are like raven. Little bird wants shiny things. Now, what do we say?”
Klara held her hands together in prayer, pleading with her best innocent voice. “Пожалуйстаaa?”
Later that day, she was seen with a new necklace, with the centerpiece being a casing with Cyrillic carved onto it.
They are not your friends; you cannot plead with them.
There were rumors of something strange happening, but that’s all there is; rumors. Klara noticed that her Papa smiled more often around her, which is not a good thing. It meant he was trying to reassure her, so surely then something was up. The secret was frustratingly well kept, however, and the now eleven-year-old was nervously fidgeting with her chain. She hasn’t seen Orpheus since last week; in fact, she hasn’t seen a lot of people lately. They gave her plenty of excuses, sure, but she could tell that the entire atmosphere of -17 had worsened.
They will all leave you, one by one.
The thick coat was not enough to warm up her cold and broken little heart. Her tears froze into ice trails on her skin, the howling wind deafening her ears; the tip of her fingers were frostbitten and painful at every movement.
You are alone.
“Is there someone there?” She attempted to speak, but her throat was dry and sore; the distant shadow seemed to be moving, giving her some hope as she dragged her shaking legs towards it.
Why bother?
I have to live. They believe in me. I have to do it for them.
Stop it. They are all dead anyways.
I can’t… Forget them. If I’m gone, no one will remember them. They’re still here with me…
Stop it.
Her knees felt weak; it wasn’t long until she had to crawl to advance in the blizzard. The unknown voice in her head became familiar; it was her own. And it begged softly.
Stop it… Klara. Stop it.
No matter what, I can’t give up, even if it costs me everything…
…
The little figure blended in with the snow as she fell unconscious. Just a few feet away was the skeleton of a tree, dancing with the wind.
A memory.