All I Want is to be Broken Too

The sun hung low in the sky, casting a golden hue over the crumbling remains of a forgotten city. Once bustling with life, the streets were now silent, overrun with vines that snaked through shattered windows and climbed the fractured walls of long-abandoned buildings. Nature had reclaimed this place, turning its ruins into a sprawling labyrinth of green.
A little girl darted through the undergrowth, her bare feet deftly avoiding thorny tendrils and loose stones. She moved with practiced ease, her slight frame slipping through gaps in the overgrowth that would have stalled anyone else. On her back, she carried a makeshift pack fashioned from scraps of cloth, its contents bulging with an assortment of fruits and berries.
Her face, smudged with dirt, bore an expression of quiet determination. In one hand, she clutched a small knife, its blade worn but sharp enough to cut away the occasional vine that dared block her path. Her other hand rested briefly on a thick root as she climbed to the top of a crumbled archway, pausing to survey the city below.
From this vantage point, she could see the cottage in the distance. Nestled against the base of a towering tree, it was barely distinguishable from the wilderness around it. Its roof sagged under the weight of moss and creeping ivy, and its walls were almost entirely hidden behind a curtain of leaves.
With a faint smile, the girl adjusted her pack and began her descent, her small frame disappearing into the labyrinth once more.
Inside the cottage, the air was damp and heavy, thick with the scent of earth and rot. Shadows stretched long across the floor, broken only by the dim light filtering through cracks in the walls. At the center of the room sat two figures, their forms hunched and motionless, covered in vines that wrapped around their limbs and torsos like a grotesque embrace.
The girl pushed open the rickety door and stepped inside, her footsteps soft against the worn wooden floor. "I'm back," she said quietly, her voice barely above a whisper.
Setting her pack down on a makeshift table, she began unpacking its contents. Fruits of various shapes and colors spilled out, their vibrant hues a stark contrast to the muted greens and browns of the room. She arranged them carefully, dividing them into piles with a methodical precision that suggested this was far from her first time.
Turning toward the figures, she hesitated for a moment before approaching. "I got the berries you like," she said softly, holding up a handful of dark, glistening fruit. "And I think I found a new tree today. It's not too far. Maybe tomorrow I can bring back more."
She crouched down between the figures, her small hands brushing against the vines that wrapped around what had once been their arms. The figures didn't respond, their forms silent and still, but the girl didn't seem to expect otherwise.
From her pack, she pulled out a crumpled piece of parchment—a map, crudely drawn but detailed in its markings. She spread it across the floor and began jotting down notes in the margins, using a stub of charcoal she had scavenged.
"Today, I went past the fountain," she murmured as she worked. "There's a patch of flowers growing there now—big, white ones. I think they might be useful. And the trees by the old library are still strong. The bark feels different, though… maybe they're changing too."
She paused, tapping the charcoal against her chin as she thought. Leaning forward, she marked another spot on the map with careful precision. The vines around her seemed to shift slightly, their movements slow and deliberate, as though reacting to her presence.
"I'm getting better at finding things," she said, glancing up at the overgrown figures. Her voice was steady, but there was a faint edge of longing in her tone. "It's not so scary anymore. And I think… I think I'm close to figuring out the best places to go."
The light outside the cottage began to fade, the golden hues of evening giving way to the deep blues of twilight. The girl worked until her charcoal nub wore down to a mere speck, then carefully folded the map and tucked it back into her pack.
Yawning, she turned toward the figures, her small frame leaning against their outstretched arms. The vines cradled her like a child in a parent's embrace, their touch gentle despite their unnatural appearance.
"Goodnight, Mom. Goodnight, Dad," she whispered, her voice barely audible. Her eyes fluttered closed, and she nestled deeper into the vines, seeking a comfort that felt more like memory than reality.
For a moment, the room was silent, save for the soft rustle of leaves in the evening breeze.
"It's been so long," she added quietly, the words carrying a weight far beyond her years.
Outside, the stars began to appear, their light filtering through the cracks in the walls and casting faint patterns on the floor. Inside the overgrown cottage, the little girl slept, her small figure entwined with the remnants of what once was.
The scene within the overgrown cottage shifted subtly, though the girl remained oblivious, lost in the quiet rhythm of her nightly routine. Above it all, far beyond her awareness, Caelus observed her in silence, his gaze thoughtful as he took in the dilapidated city and the strange, tender familiarity between the girl and the hunched figures.
"She doesn't remember their names," he murmured to himself, his tone tinged with something between pity and curiosity. His focus lingered on the girl's small frame, curled against the vine-covered forms. "Yet she still seeks them out, still clings to what's left of them. There's resilience in that… but also something else."
The overgrown ruins sprawled out below him, a testament to a world long past saving. Nature had claimed what humanity had left behind, weaving its roots through the remnants of life that once flourished here. And yet, even in this desolation, the girl moved with purpose. Determination. She belonged to this place, but not entirely. There was a tether—a faint, intangible connection—that bound her to something more.
Caelus watched in silence for a moment, his expression unreadable. "Some paths can't be walked alone," he said softly, his words almost lost to the stillness. "And the strongest bonds are forged in the moments that test them the most."
As the girl settled deeper into the vines, the soft rustle of leaves stirred the quiet cottage. Outside, the forest seemed to hold its breath, the thick canopy above swaying gently as though something unseen moved beneath its shadowed depths.
Caelus's gaze lingered on the far edges of the overgrown city, where the faintest flicker of movement caught his attention. His expression remained neutral, but his eyes sharpened, scanning the darkness beyond the trees.
"Trials are unpredictable," he murmured to himself, his voice thoughtful. "They reveal, they shape, but they don't guarantee. We'll see if they're ready for what's waiting."
The forest beyond seemed to shift again, an almost imperceptible ripple of tension passing through the air. Then, silence.
Caelus turned his attention back to the girl, her quiet breathing the only sound in the stillness. The trial had begun, and the answers it would bring—whether triumph or failure—remained just out of reach.