These are my text responses from DnD Ask https://vk.ru/ask_dnd
Art by @arundamber
Question: Write a crossover with some classic new year's fairy tale!
The Little Match Girl (Barovian version)
ㅤㅤㅤWinter in Barovia has been a harsh one this year. The snow fell in fine, stinging flakes, and by evening the streets had all but emptied – shutters slammed shut, doors were locked, and even the dogs stopped barking. After sunset, people in the town usually tried not to linger unnecessarily, and today everyone had something to keep them busy at home. Twilight crept in slowly, creeping up like a hungry beast, and on this evening, the last of the year, its cold fangs sank into the town particularly deep, sucking the warmth from the bones.
ㅤㅤㅤA girl was wandering along the side of the main street – far too thin for such cold, in a short raincoat, altered from an adult’s, and in worn-out shoes that were clearly letting in the damp. Her head was bare, and her hair, dark and tangled, was gathering snow dust. Her fingers had turned red and gone numb so much that she could hardly feel them.
ㅤㅤㅤIn her apron she carried a strange object – a small box of thin wooden sticks with dark brown heads. They smelled of something sharp and unfamiliar, and also of wood and pine needles. The girl didn’t know what to call them; there was a word on the box, but she couldn’t read. If you struck a stone or a wall with one of these sticks, it would burst into flames.
ㅤㅤㅤHer father, the stern and perpetually drunken Yanko, had taken in a silent stranger in a travelling cloak last week. He spoke little, ate in silence, paid in silver, and left a few odd trinkets as a token of gratitude – including a box of wooden sticks with brown heads. “Sell this,” Yanko ordered, shoving the bundle into her hands. “Tell them they give off fire. ‘Lordly trinkets. Expensive, no doubt.’
ㅤㅤㅤBut no one wanted to buy the strange thing. In the tavern, the innkeeper merely scoffed and quickly handed the bundle back. "A good flint is worth a couple of silver coins, and it lasts forever, whereas this oddity will be gone in a flash." The peasants grimaced, fearing witchcraft. The blacksmith and the fishmonger gave the same reply. No one saw any use in the oddity. Which meant she might not be taking coins home, but only a foreboding of her father’s wrath.
ㅤㅤㅤIt was terrifying to go back. Her father had become harsh in recent months, especially after the wolves had torn her mother apart in the spring. The house was cold, almost empty, and the thought of it offered no comfort at all.
ㅤㅤㅤShe turned into a side street and crouched by the wall of one of the houses, behind a stone ledge where at least the draught wasn’t so fierce. She tucked her legs under her and hugged her knees. The cold crept deeper and deeper, as if searching inside her for a place where it could stay forever.
ㅤㅤㅤNot knowing what to do, she clenched her fists, trying to bring back at least a spark of life to her numb fingers. And suddenly a thought struck her. Fire sticks. What if… she tried lighting one? Since she hadn’t managed to sell them, perhaps they weren’t worth much. At least to see if they really did give off a flame. To warm herself, if only for a moment.
ㅤㅤㅤTimidly, glancing around, she pulled one out with a trembling hand. She ran the brown tip along the rough edge of the box. The flame flared up unexpectedly brightly and evenly, without a crackle. A small flame, warm and lively.
ㅤㅤㅤThe girl gasped, covered it with her palm, and the light became steadier.
ㅤㅤㅤAnd suddenly it seemed to her that she was sitting not in an alley, but by the hearth at home. The floor was clean, just as it had been when her mother was there; the walls were intact; there was no damp in the room. On the table lay a whole loaf of bread, not just a crust. In the corner, there was no empty bottle lying about, but a jug of milk. And the house smelled not of sourness and despair, but of bread and dried herbs. Everything was just as it once was – or as it should have been. She smiled and reached out her hands towards the warmth… and at that very moment the fire went out.
ㅤㅤㅤAll that remained in her hand was a black, burnt splinter. The cold closed in around her with redoubled force.
ㅤㅤㅤShe didn’t hesitate and lit a second one.
ㅤㅤㅤThe fire danced on the icy wall, and it suddenly seemed transparent, like the ice on a window. Behind it, she thought she could make out a festively laid table. There was a bowl of thick potato soup with sour cream, bread with a crisp crust, stewed lamb with root vegetables, a round cheese wheel and even a lingonberry pie. The smell was so real that the girl’s stomach was cramped with hunger. She could see the steam rising from the bowl, the fat glistening on the meat… She reached out, already almost tasting it – but the flame died out again.
ㅤㅤㅤThe third light shone even brighter. In it, she saw something she had imagined rather than ever actually witnessed: a high-ceilinged hall, carpets without holes, mirrors in carved frames, and chandeliers with countless intact candles. People in fine clothes were laughing, drinking wine, unafraid of either the cold or the darkness outside the windows. It was a world she could never enter.
ㅤㅤㅤWhen this fire too vanished, it seemed to her that it had soared into the sky, turning into a cold, green dot – like a wandering will-o’-the-wisp over the marshes.
ㅤㅤㅤThen, her hands almost numb, she pulled out a whole handful and struck them all at once.
ㅤㅤㅤIn the soft light before her stood her mother – just as she remembered her before that fateful trip to gather firewood. Mum was smiling her quiet, weary smile; in her eyes was that very tenderness she had long since forgotten.
ㅤㅤㅤThe girl cried out and reached out to her, and tears, freezing instantly, streamed down her cheeks.
ㅤㅤㅤ"Mummy, take me with you!"
ㅤㅤㅤBut her mother did not move from her spot, nor did she reach out her arms in response. She looked somewhere past her daughter’s back, and the smile on her face turned to horror. She shuddered, took a step back – and vanished into the fading light, as if frightened by something.
ㅤㅤㅤAnd then a heavy hand suddenly fell upon the girl’s shoulder.
ㅤㅤㅤStanding beside her, as if having appeared out of nowhere, was a tall, wealthy-looking gentleman.
ㅤㅤㅤA long, luxurious coat of dark fur, a high collar beneath which a snow-white scarf was visible. His face was pale, but his eyes were attentive, heavy. He bent down slightly to get a better look at the girl.
ㅤㅤㅤ”Why are you here, child?” His voice was soft and velvety, yet there was a hidden steel to it. “Alone, at this hour, and with hardly any warm clothes. It’s dangerous. At this rate, you’ll soon be just another icicle on this pavement.”
ㅤㅤㅤThe girl, stunned, bowed her head, not daring to look up.
ㅤㅤㅤ”I… was trying to sell fire sticks,’ she whispered. ‘But nobody bought them.”
ㅤㅤㅤ”Let me have a look,’ a hand in a leather glove took the bundle from her. He turned it over, his gaze sliding over the writing on the back. A shadow of something flitted across his impassive face – not surprise, but rather lukewarm interest. "Made in Darkon," he read aloud. "Curious. This isn’t from around here."
ㅤㅤㅤHe looked at her again. His gaze seemed to soften.
ㅤㅤㅤ“You have little life left in you. I’ll take you away from here if you tell me where the man who brought this to Barovia is now. Describe him.”
ㅤㅤㅤHope, wild and foolish, flared up in her. She nodded, hastily, trustingly, and described the shack at the end of Chernovodny Lane, and that tall man in the cloak.
ㅤㅤㅤ“Good girl,” said the gentleman, and a strange protectiveness sounded in his voice. “You deserve a reward.”
ㅤㅤㅤHe threw open his coat. The girl, obeying an instinct that proved stronger than her fear, timidly pressed herself against him, hoping to warm herself a little in his living warmth, whatever the outcome might be.
ㅤㅤㅤBut instead of warmth, she was embraced by cold – an empty, deep cold, worse than this winter. She shuddered, but could no longer break free – those arms closed around her like a gentle cage. And then the gentleman leaned in, his lips almost touching her ear – and she suddenly felt a sharp, brief pain in her neck.
ㅤㅤㅤStrange as it may seem, she really did feel better. The pain was immediately replaced by a strange, growing calm that spread through her veins. Hunger, fear, cold – everything began to drift away, losing its sharpness. As if her body no longer belonged to her, and the cold outside could no longer harm her.
ㅤㅤㅤ”Everything will be all right,” whispered the gentleman above her head, and in the end she thought that it must surely be a lie.
ㅤㅤㅤThe darkness closed in on her gently, like a dream.
ㅤㅤㅤThe aristocrat, who cast no shadow, stood up straight, carefully cradling the small, now lifeless body in his arms. The dress on the girl’s chest was stained with several drops of dark, almost black blood. He licked his lips, adjusted his scarf, which hid his face from prying eyes, and stepped silently into the gathering twilight – towards the town cemetery. He knew that there were always a few fresh graves ready and waiting there, and it would not be difficult to bury the body – for the few days required for the transformation.
ㅤㅤㅤAfter all, he always preferred to keep his promises.
