As I glance around, I realize that not only am I in my old bedroom, I am in my childhood bedroom. The walls are pastel pink, there are stuffed animals everywhere, and the clothes on the floor clearly belong to a child. I am a disembodied spirit here, but I can see my young body, fast asleep in an oversized bed. There’s also an Annoying Blue Box in front of my face.

  [ Trial: Yona, Winter ]

  [ Despite everything she’s seen and experienced, Yona doesn’t let it show. None can see the emotions behind her frigid gaze. All they know is her competence, and the epithet she claimed. She is the Winter. Cold. Unfeeling. Dangerous. Merciless. Inevitable. ]

  [ Trial challenge: You will view the life of Yona, Winter and experiences that defined her. At any point, you may choose to interfere and change the course of her life. However, if Yona fails to become Yona, Winter in the end, your trial will be considered a failure. ]

  I grimace. Or at least I think I do. It’s hard to tell, because I don’t know if I have a face to grimace with. I can float around and change what direction I’m looking and all that, but it’s not like looking around with a physical body, and no matter which way I turn, I can’t see myself. I also can’t leave this room. I’m pretty sure I’m bound to my younger self.

  This is going to suck. I’m going to kill that Annoying Red Box if I ever meet him.

  The worst part about this all is that I know exactly what’s going to happen. For the most part. And I know how to pass the trial. I just need to do… nothing. I just need to watch my life turn to shit all over again and do nothing, while knowing I have the power to change things.

  Well, let’s get this over with.

  Yona woke up excited. It was Salon Day! Her mother went once on the first Tuesday of every month, and while Yona had never been allowed to go before, saying that she was too young. But Yona was already seven now, and her mom promised that this time, if Yona was good all month before, she would get to go too. And Yona had been very good. Most of the time, at least.

  She definitely did all her chores, or if she didn’t she managed to convince one of the maids to do them for her, and she ate all her food, even the vegetables. She only got in two fights at the playground, and hadn’t disturbed her father during his work even once. She was as good as she could be, and she was absolutely certain that her mom would let her come this time.

  She put on her clothes so quickly that she messed up tying her left shoelace, but she didn’t notice as she went racing out the door, down the hall, and down the stairs. She almost crashed into one of the maids who was carrying a basket of dirty linens, barely managing to dodge before continuing on her way.

  “Be careful, Yona!” the maid called after her.

  Yona did not respond, and did not become more careful, instead sprinting at full speed until she made it to the breakfast room where her mother was already waiting for her, reading the morning newspaper and sipping on a cup of tea.

  “Mommy!” Yona shouted.

  Yona’s mother barely had time to set her teacup down before Yona was in her arms.

  “Good morning, Princess,” she said, ruffling Yona’s hair with a smile. “You’re awfully energetic today.”

  “It’s Salon Day!” exclaimed Yona. “You said if I was good, I could come with you this time! And I’ve been good!”

  “Oh, have you?” asked her mother with a hint of a smirk.

  “The goodest!”

  “Well, in that case, I guess I’ll have to take you,” she said with a fake sigh. “A lady can’t go back on her word.”

  “Yay!” said Yona, jumping in excitement.

  “Breakfast will be ready soon,” said her mother. “Calm down so you can eat. And don’t forget to tie your shoe.”

  “But I—” started Yona, glancing down at her feet. “Oh.”

  Yona’s mother chuckled as Yona knelt to the ground to re-tie her shoe, then the two sat down at the breakfast table, waiting for the chef to finish preparing their meal. Yona took a page of her mother’s newspaper and started reading it, but quickly lost interest. She had apparently grabbed the wrong page, and the only articles on hers were about missing people and a murder that had taken place a week prior. Boring things like that. She still pretended to keep reading, though, sipping on the tea that one of the maids brought out for her and doing her best to imitate her mother.

  This story is posted elsewhere by the author. Help them out by reading the authentic version.

  Breakfast was served shortly after, and it was delicious, as usual. Yona’s mother had gone through a lot of trouble hiring their private chef, unwilling to settle for anything less than the best. This morning’s breakfast was a quiche full of cheese, meat, and vegetables, and despite having vegetables, it somehow still tasted good. Yona didn’t understand how the chef did it, but she was glad he did.

  After breakfast, Yona pestered her mother to leave, but her pestering had no effect on what time they left. Her mother was nothing if not punctual, so they left exactly when she usually did on her own, to Yona’s chagrin. On their way out, they stopped to say hello to Yona’s father. Yona looked away as her parents kissed, and squirmed away when her father tried to mess up her hair.

  He escorted them out to the front door, and as they walked down the steps, a familiar man passed by on his way in. It was one of Yona’s many uncles, and he smiled and nodded at Yona before turning his attention toward the door.

  “Hey, Zima!” he called jovially.

  “Anatoly!” said Yona’s father. “Early as usual!”

  Yona and her mother got too far away to hear the rest of the conversation, but even that small snippet was enough to make Yona’s mother frown. At the time, Yona only had a surface level understanding of why. It was related to her father’s nickname, Zima, the Russian word for winter. Yona didn’t know why he got that nickname, or why her mom didn’t like it, but she knew that its source was a point of contention in their relationship. In fact, one of the main reasons that she had chosen the first Tuesday of every month to be Salon Day was that it was the same day that all Yona’s uncles came over for a business meeting with her father.

  Yona didn’t spend much time thinking about it though. It was Salon Day! The day that her mother always disappeared for hours and came back glowing, with fresh hair and nails, and stories about all Yona’s friends. Apparently, Yona’s friends’ parents also went to Salon Day, so there was a lot of gossip shared.

  Unfortunately, when they arrived at the salon, Yona realized she had been tricked. She was not being allowed to attend a normal Salon Day. All of her friends were there too. Yona was smart enough to know that was no coincidence, meaning that her mom and her friends had already been planning to bring their kids, and that Yona would have been brought along even if she wasn’t good all month.

  She quickly forgot about the betrayal though as she was dragged away by her friends to a section of the salon that had been reserved for them to get their own hair done. The parents and salon staff had been very smart about it all, knowing that children like them wouldn’t be able to sit still well, so they put a movie on the TV that all the little girls were facing, and before any of them realized it, two hours had passed, and Salon Day was almost over. Yona was once again reminded of how she had been swindled, and stomped up angrily to her mother who expertly deflected her by giving her candy.

  Salon Day ended without Yona ever being able to express her dismay, and soon, she and her mother were on their way back home, flanked by their two bodyguards. It was raining, but her mother had been smart enough to pack a very stylish umbrella that kept the both of them dry.

  “Did you have fun?” asked her mother as they walked.

  “That wasn’t real Salon Day!” Yona exclaimed.

  “Yes it was.”

  “Nuh uh! You tricked me!”

  “Did not.”

  “Did too! I wanna go to a real Salon Day!”

  “That was a real Salon Day.”

  “No it—”

  Two loud bangs cut off the rest of Yona’s sentence, and she turned around in shock, just in time to see her two guards falling to the ground. Then, a man in a black mask and a dark suit stepped forward, and a third bang rang through the street. Time seemed to slow as Yona watched her mother fall to the ground as well, a bloody hole in her temple. The masked men turned his gun on Yona next, but instead of pulling the trigger, he just held it there. Yona trembled as she stared down the barrel, but could not bring herself to move.

  “What are you doing?” said a voice as a second masked man stepped into view.

  “She’s just a kid,” said the first man. “Do we really have to?”

  “Job said no witnesses,” said the second. “Now hurry up. We’re gonna have the dogs on our tail soon.”

  “I don’t know…” said the first.

  “Coward,” said the second, stepping forward. “Fine. I’ll do it.”

  He raised his own gun, pointing it right at Yona’s face. Yona squeezed her eyes shut, and flinched when she heard a bang. Then, she flinched again when she heard another, and at the third, she finally cracked her eyes open. She saw the two masked men lying on the ground, and another of her family’s bodyguards rushing toward her, gun in hand.

  “Yona!” he called. “Are you–?”

  Two more gunshots caused him to stumble, and a third made him fall. One of the masked men was not dead, and had fired back. The final bodyguard hit the ground, struggled weakly for a moment, then stopped moving. Yona was still rooted in place as the surviving masked man slowly rolled himself over and pointed the gun at her. Then, his arm fell, and he breathed his last. Yona was left alone on the street, surrounded by corpses and rain.

  All the while, an invisible spirit watched without interfering, gaze cold and emotions unreadable.

  Three days after her mother’s death, Yona learned the reason her father was called Zima. She was at her mother’s funeral, standing in front of the closed casket with tears streaming down her face. She didn’t know how long she stood there, but it couldn’t have been long. There was a line of mourners, and even if it was her own mother, she could not have the whole ceremony to herself.

  She remembered feeling a hand on her shoulder, and when she looked over, she recognized the rings on its fingers. It was her father’s. She reached her own hands up and clung to it, then looked up at him with tear-filled eyes. Then, she recoiled.

  Unlike her, he was not crying. His face betrayed no hint of emotion at all. It was like a blank mask.

  “D– Daddy?” she asked.

  “Let’s go, Yona. You’ve had plenty of time to mourn.”

  Yona tried to pull her hand away, but his grip was like a vise and his body was like an immovable boulder. She had no choice but to follow along with him.

  On that day, Yona became an orphan in all but name. Daddy had died with Mommy. All that remained was Zima. Winter. Cold. Unfeeling. Dangerous. Merciless. Inevitable.