Alright guys, this isn't edited, or the final piece, nor about kpop, but I'd like to know about the pacing, details, and such: 

The wind was always the coldest when it came from the North.

It carried with it tiny shards of frost to kiss the ground, blades of long grass draping over with the weight of thousand droplets. In the quiet sleepy place it looked light the light was just struggling to appear over the village below, the mountain above obscuring the rays. A fine dusting of snow clung to the exposed skin of the remaining villagers running for cover against the incoming chill of night, the wind like knives digging through clothing. Their upturned red nose sniffed delicately at the air, afraid to pull anymore inside of their chests as it would all the way down, they ran into their homes, slamming shut the doors behind them. 

They just couldn’t understand how anyone else could like the way the air would suddenly turn crisp, an almost audible snap in the air. I seemed to be the only one that did. I enjoyed the burn, walking along the frost, trying so hard to not break the delicate webs, but never succeeding, I loved to look out into the field and see the fine dust along them. The way the barks of trees felt wet and firm under your fingers, but left a small smudge buried into your finger prints. Many other wiped it off on their pants when they where forced to touch, but my arms where frequently smudged to my elbows with it. While everyone else hid in their beds, huddled in the blankets cursing the sky, I loved to be outside. The chill of the wind, it felt like the world was preserving itself before the bone chilling night seeped in. A blanket of gray covered the sky and as I opened my green eyes I tried to find the dimmest edge of cloud, a beginning or an end in the sheet above me. I lifted my thin hand up to the sky, marveling at the pale skin contracted with the dull sky and winced as my thin sleeve fell to my elbows giving the wind a new target through my paper thin tunic. 

The mountain stood proud in the bottom of my view, towering over the landscape, casting ominous shadows over the village, the peaks cutting jagged patterns through the light. It was mostly a mossy green, the edges graying into the stone that was mined to make the pathways cutting through the village house. Trees, still full despite the lateness of the year densely populated the start of it and every so often dotted the lands near the top, starting to turn a dusky brown. I had seen a few plumes of smoke wafting from the tops of those trees, or even behind them, but I never had the courage to ask where they came from. I kept quiet until they passed, worrying my lip if they would erupt into something we would have to take care of. 

The sea was to the east of us, the wind from that directions always bringing a salty tang to the air, smelling of old fish and drowned dreams. The fisherman that dared to venture into that death trap rarely ever came back. The beach, a rocky pile of sharp stones and dirt, the short dock that housed only six ships in bad need of repair. They blew listlessly back and forth, the dark water continuously foaming at the shores, biting away at the structure of the land. Soon the job would go to the poor, the unlucky to repair it, harvesting more stone from the mountain to patch the weak spots in. Luckily the job went to someone stronger than I, standing only at a mere five two, I couldn’t lift some of the heavier rocks and that was the only sparing that I had. I had never been to the sea, as I had never been past the grand mountain, we only used it to sell the morsels we could manage to find. Wary of the sea creatures, to whom the sea really belonged, no one pushed beyond the small buoy set up in the distance. 

A swift breeze washed across my face, bring a small smile to my lips, it brought the damp, burnt smell from the mountains, and I gulped in the exotic smell, and I grew disappointed when it slowly faded. The brown, fading shutters beneath me slammed shut, blocking out the smell and I shook my head ruefully, some people never learned to love what they didn’t know. Everyone else covered their nose whenever the smell drifted along the wind, saying it reminded them of memories they didn’t want to keep. 

I found it fascinating. I didn’t have any memories with it, as no one would speak of it, not even the Elders of the villages, their eyes holding back so much information. It only came when the wind blew from that direction, coming from the burnt fields just away from the mountain’s shadow, they where the boarder to the Nowhere Lands. It was rumored that the constantly burned, deep underground to sometimes crack and bubble forth. The small bits of information always sparked a greater interest to see this new place, but the tales that ended in no one ever returning cast doubt in my heart. 
The shingles of the roof where beginning to frost, gathering the cold and sending it directly into my spine and I finally had to sit up. Easing up to it, my body used to lying prone for so long it protested the movement. The red curtain of my hair swung forward, catching in the breeze and blowing across my shoulder, raising the goosebumps on my skin. I had unclipped the long bangs that frequently fell into my eyes long ago and they did just as they wanted, tickling the skin of my forehead. I tried to blink them out of my eyes, but feeling to lazy to worry about it after failing with that they lay there, triumphant. My eyes finally looking somewhere other than the sky noted all of the low roofs that would need replaced soon, some missing shingles, other with patched holes glaring back at me. Chimneys where just beginning to bellow their black smoke, clogging up the sky, prep work for the long, cold night to come. From this far up on the roof I could barely see the edges of the bushes planted along the front of house and stores. They where taken care of like they where the village’s babies, and ever with a few smattering of houses, a general store, butcher shop, tailor and metalworking shop they where a lot to handle. They felt like a feeble way to combat the wasteland that resided outside the smooth bowl the mountains made in the North, South and West. 

The height of the Elder Manor always provided the perfect vantage point to look around, the sloping roof a wonderful spot to climb if one wasn’t afraid of falling. It was nicer to be up here, high from the stares, higher still than the sneers. I was finally alone, wrapped in my own little bubble, untouched by the brushing shoulders of the world below. I wasn’t ordered around, wasn’t ignored, I could show any expression but the blank, neutral look that fixed itself on my face. I could lay here, unwatched, thinking whatever I wanted, work done for the day. It always sent a thrill through my veins when I climbed the drain pipe, the metal biting into my palms, and flopping ungracefully onto the first set of shingles. I had been coming here for years now, some days to release the anger I held in my heart, sometimes just to cry in my own arms. It always felt like something new when I came up here, something new to look at, the only trouble when there was wind or snow. I had a nice knot on my shoulder for a month after falling a few feet to land with a hard thud. 

I rested my arms on my knees, wrapping them around myself against the blowing wind that drove hard into new areas of my skin to attack. The thin black pants scrapped against my skin, tied into the felt, equally as thin shoes that encased my feet, the sole made out of paper folded over too many times to count. I had long ago eased to confining material off my feet, they where tossed carelessly over on my left side, close enough to grab but far enough I didn’t have to think of them. Soon it would be too dark to see the small toes I wiggled in front of me, the cold metal stinging the skin almost blue, but I honestly didn’t care if I had ever gotten frost bite. It was okay to have it, to be able to come up here. Yet soon it would be time to remove myself, even though my body fought the feeling of leaving. I knew I would have to return to the sleeping quarters, the dark enclosed area made me feel claustrophobic and made sleeping impossible. The sky would soon wink out, the mountain covering the stars in the sky until the barest edge of them peaked out. Th fires would be doused and we would be hidden. A feeble attempt to keep ‘the ones that came from the sky’ at bay. 

‘They can not see what you do not let them.’  It was drilled into the mind of every resident here, the terror was deeply ingrained, from birth, bedtime stories of death and destruction. Even the lowest class, such as I had heard the stories, even though my school ended at enough to read, write and basic mathematics. I wasn’t satisfied with this, and when I had shown interest in something new my sister had taken it upon herself to sneak a few of the books from the main library which she cleaned. She read to me every evening on this roof top, slowly and patiently, waiting for me to sound out words to her. At first she had tried to explain what the giant library was, the gold lined walls, the marble floors, the lines and line of books, more than she had ever seen. The deep brown wood groaning under the weight of the volumes, the high arched ceilings she couldn’t even touch on her ladder. She tried to put the image of the wall map, the paper so brittle to the touch, showing the village, the area we lived in was so small compared to everything. She stopped when I had refused to believe her, sure, so sure then, that everything I needed belonged here. She told of the hallways lined with former council members, glass trinkets and a large book, bigger than she was tall, behind a large, thick glass wall with gold scripted words along it’s front, “The World History”.

I was lost in these memories when I heard the first main fire being extinguished, snapping me back into attention and alerting me that I should get moving, and fast.  

My legs straightened in one fluid motion, the joints of my knees making a loud cracking sound in the twilight. I reached over, almost flattening myself again to grab my shoes, I pushed down on my palms, sliding down and slightly to the left to reach the slightly raised drain pipe. My hands fumbled for a moment, my heart beating like a drum in my chest, trying to escape the fragile bones that encased it. I finally found the cold metal, looking for the hold that attached it to the wall, I found it seconds after the second main fire was snuffed out, the loud hiss echoing through the fields to thunder through my ears. I had only two more left, I had pushed it tonight and now I would have to face the music. I felt a small knick as I swung over the edge, and the sting of warmth from fresh blood on my palm. I would have to worry about that later as I had to move, I had to reach the sleeping quarters before the last fire was put out or my only option was to sleep out in the fields tonight. 

The ground was a few inches away the next fire was whipped out, the holy water from the silver bucket silencing the sharp crackle, sending an acrid plume of smoke into the sky. I chanced a glance at the building that housed them, my eyes unable to obey my orders to keep going, a haze settled over the red thatched roof, only visible from the low light of the last fire. The two story building wasn’t as impressive as the grand library but still it arched over the other buildings, it’s foundation deeply rooted into the small hill at the beginning of our village. Beyond that was the long winding road that swayed out of view and curved around the mountain to the East, the only people that traveled that bumpy pot holed filled road where the Marchers, the one that delivered and took trades. The hut itself had massive holes cut into the roof that slide shut over the fires to keep the warmth in until it was time to set the hearth for the night. You could set your alarm lock to sound of metal clanging shut in the morning and wait for the fire to roar down the pipes connecting to the houses with the magic only the High Council knew. It was the only building that didn’t have the bushes, instead ivy grew along the walls, undaunted by the gardeners efforts to cut the growth. They blow large, fragrant orange flowers in the summer, the centers a deep, rich purple. They grew no where else in the village, and some set the fate of the summer on how many blooms appeared. 

The long shadowed figures milled around the last fire, their arms flickering out and a small whoosh from the fire as the ritual continued, for another protective night and prosperous tomorrow. I had never seen it in person, but every night, like a prayer we where should to repeat it along with the High Council, otherwise the power of the chant would be diminished. I rarely repeated it, but I did tonight, both as a nervous reflex and time keeper, my feet making quick tapping sounds while I ducked through the tall grass. The frost quickly freezing itself to my bare feet, the skin feeling like it was going to peel away.

‘To all the powers above we call out to you, a plea to you! We ask for a peaceful night, protect us from the sky and the sea.’ A toss of the first bucket in the last flames. ‘And we plead to you for a peaceful, safe new tomorrow,’ another toss, my feet barely making a sound as I touched into the stone walk way leading to the quarters. ‘And a bountiful year for our crops to flourish and our people to live in your honor. ‘ The last toss before the water trench that was held high above and tucked into the corner sent a wave of water rushing to plunge the village into darkness. ‘Please watch over us and lead us down the correct path.’ 

It was only a quick walk from the roof I had claimed as my own to the sleeping quarters, a low but wide building that housed all the servants of the village, person and loaned. It was only a small clearing, the first small bit perfectly cut lawn and the sudden taller, scragglier grass signaling the short way until the overgrown stone walkway. Still by the time I had gotten to the main door, the old worn wood cracking in some places, the quick sound of rushing water thundering down shoot a vengeful hiss of the fire dying to reach me. I quickly pulled open the door just enough to allow my body to pass through, the irrational part of my mind imaging the dark was chasing me, the creatures from the sky where going to swoop down and pick me up. Even though I was almost positive had never seen them in my life… 

I closed the door, just as I did on the memory of the that night. I was too young to know what I was, there was no way it could be what I had pictured in my mind that moment. 

Waiting for my eyes to adjust to the dark was torture, the old building never changed on the inside so placing my hand on wall closest to the wall, my left, I could feel the small bumped out molding and started counting. With my other hand holding my shoes, it was exactly twelve steps before I felt the wall disappear, the corridor presenting itself as a gapping maw in the dark. I crouched down, almost on my knees, trying to become small as possible, making my self a smaller target, hoping the shadows would blend together. The front entrance only branched two way, left and right and I was about the face the hardest part of my journey. Not only was the hallway a twisting maze of turn offs and doors of the same brown, cracked wood their where the Watch Dogs. I had lucked out the two times I had stayed out like this before, all of those being lost in my own thoughts, a fault of mine, but I hoped the third time would not be the strike. 

For the Watch Dogs where always out, always watching, always ready to drag the lower class by the hair, literally, to the Mentor, a hardened middle aged woman. She would offer nothing but the swift punishment for the smallest offense, the smallest misstep. I didn’t know whom I was more afraid of, the Watch Dogs where nothing more then that, they didn’t listen to pleas of mercy, their job was the utmost of their minds. I had only heard legends of where they came from, the depths of hell being the favored opinion. It was only fourteen more steps and a small cut to the right, until I would be in the sanctuary of my room, the straight and narrow bed, the thread bare covers. At the moment it would feel like heaven as the night was setting in, my breath fogging in front of my mouth, and I cupped my hand over my mouth to warm it just slightly, one after the other when I finally felt it. 

My heart kicked into high gear when the wave of nausea flowed over me, the urge to place my hands on my knees and retch up what scraps I had eaten for dinner almost over took me. But instead I kept my hands over my mouth to keep the gagged tightly to me, flattening my back against the wall and my eyes almost bulging out of their sockets from the force I put on my lips. I didn’t dare breath, afraid it would give me away, they where close. One was so close I could just barely smell the slight decay they gave off, know they floated just above the ground, their feet dragging the floor, but making no sound, bits of flesh falling off only to disappear a few moments later. Their heads listed to the side, their red eyes unblinking, deep inside the hood that was ever present over their faces. To see the face of this half dead being meant to look upon death and I wanted nothing of it. I had only known one person that had seen their face, and she no longer spoke, no longer looked up, even when spoken too. I didn’t want to know what horrors would keep someone trapped in their own mind for four years, unable to look up for fear of seeing that face again.

My back began to ache as I pressed it still harder to the cold wall, my eyes beginning to mist over from the shallow breaths I was taking and the fear that had numbed my limbs better than any frost. I prayed to something, anything that they would go away, go down another hallway, something other than feel the vicious tug on my hair and whispered voice in my ear. I myself had never felt it, but I had seen it, been quite close to the girl that screamed so terribly loud. They wove crackling fingers in her hair tighter, knocking her off her feet and dragging her behind them, screaming in pain and fear. We never saw her again and to this day we still do not know what she did. Some speculated she was just a prop, others say she was killed. 

The dread was a living thing now, curling around the little air my lungs could gather and poisoning it, trying to fling my hands away from my face to gasp deep, ragged breaths into my deprived body. The feeling was consuming me, the world starting to darken further at the edges, spots of green, blue and a vivid purple started to erupt in front of my eyes, the ironclad straightness of my back wanning a bit as the hands on my face started to give way. 

Right before the feeling ebbed and fell away, leaving me to resist falling straight to the floor, sagging against my section of the wall as it moved down the hallway to the left. I had been spared once more, for now, I would not chance it again, I would not be stupid once more and risk getting caught. I waited for as long as my muscles would let me, afraid the smallest of sounds would attract it again, the world slowly swaying back into focus. I only relaxed my body when the last of the dread left, leaving me feeling sickly, my head lolling forward, taking precious seconds I probably didn’t have to stop the shivers that wracked my body. I kept one hand on the wall, the wall paper’s crackling sounding loud as the fire cracking in my mind. Picking up my shoes from where I had dropped them in my fright, thankful they had landed on the fabric side, muffling the noise they could have made. Twelve more step was all that was left, the door was right in front of me, but I had yet to be able to grab the handle as my fingers shook too much to assure silence. Finally I was able to grasp the handle, realizing my hand had trained slick with a cold sweat, making the action harder than it should be to turn the handle. The door only squeaked slightly, even as I prepared for it I still winced open this one also to only enough to let me pass through. I slid through, shutting the door and collapsing on the floor in front of it, the mash of emotions causing me to dry heave until I heard the snuffling sounds of someone waking up. I wobbled to the bed, thankful the curtain had been pulled, the thick black fabric blotting out any light from entering the room. All the windows to the village faced the fires, assuring that they where the first things you saw in morning ritual. 

I knew my way here like the back of my hand, the other sixteen bodies in the room not a deterrent to fining my way, I was the second bed to the right. An off white cover was lifted, and I slid my body into the cold sheets, hoping my heat would transfer to them quickly, I lay my head on the pillow.  Knew without the light my clothes where still hanging off the three drawer dresser, the knobs a faded, polished sliver, the small pamphlet worn and torn on top of them. I turned to my side, staring at nothing and trying to adjust to new environment, my peace fully disturbed for the night. Tired as I was, I knew I had to sleep soon, it was going to be a long day tomorrow, daily duties on top of extra cleaning for the bishop to come through tomorrow. He only came once a year, his expensive robes costing more than the villagers where to make in their entire lifetime. But still expected to bow at his feet, kissing the ground he walked on, for his word was law. It’d be a troubling few day in the near future.  

My eyes slid shut, maybe if I feigned sleep long enough I would actually fall asleep. 

It had worked many nights before.