-Chapter One- Where Endings Become Beginnings

A wonderland had come overnight, the brilliance of it nearly blinding little Holland Helprin. She had woken early in the morning giddy with eagerness for what she knew was to come; her birthday, and the only gift she wanted waited for her outside.

Holland ran out her room to find her mother Helen, but Helen had already been waiting; she knelt before Holland, her arms open and kissed her cheeks tenderly.

"Happy birthday," Helen whispered; like a secret.

Holland grinned at her mother then took her hand, racing down the dark hallways of their home. Holland was panting with laughter as the door to the outside came in sight; she was so eager and the door was so close. The feel of the chilled doorknob was a welcome shock to Holland's outstretched hand and as she swung the door open, a gust of freezing air swarmed inside. Holland marveled at the sight before her, the spectacle that it was. She could have stared all day at its untouched beauty had it not been for her mother's gentle hand guiding her out.

"Go on," Holland could hear the smile in her mother's voice, if such a thing was possible, but she knew it was there. "Go, Holland, go!"

Then Holland was off, running and screaming, leaving little footprints and a smiling Helen, whose smile soon began to fade, but Holland did not notice. Holland was kicking at the ground and completely happy.

Snow.

Snow was her favorite thing in the world and she had gotten it for her birthday.

…

Helen Helprin watched her girl run in the snow, her childish laughter ringing in the air, making the snowflakes dance and Helen's heart warm. Holland's arms were outstretched to the still falling snow and the two seemed to spin like a waltz. Perhaps they were, the snow and Holland, but Helen had no heart to grab her daughter away. The act was so innocent, so pure in nature; just a girl dancing with the snow, but Helen knew differently, despite herself. Holland was different. The snow only danced because Holland unknowingly told it to do so.

In spite of her daughter's… well, Helen didn't know quite know what to say. Unusuality. That's it. That's what Helen would say. In spite of her daughter's unusuality, to see the things she could do was mesmerizing, like watching the snow glide around Holland in a bewitching dance was incredible, but the world would not agree. Holland's father did not agree.

Helen's chest suddenly felt heavy and clogged. She clutched at her throat and violently coughed. She coughed again, then again, then once more, and now her hand was coated in blood.

"Mommy!"

Helen snapped her eyes back to her daughter, startled and hoping she had not seen.

"Come play, Mommy!"

Helen's lips quivered into a smile. She wiped her hand on her dark pants, took a shuddering, painful breath, then started to her girl.

…

Holland squealed as her mother lunged at her, toppling them both to the snow covered ground. Holland squirmed as her mother tickled at her neck and sides, their laughter melting into one mellifluous sound; constant and never ending.

Her mother rolled over onto her back then stretched her arms above her head. "Do what I do," her mother said as she waved her arms and legs in a wide motion.

Holland copied and the cold felt glorious. It seeped into her clothes and the feel of it almost tickled. "Snow angels, Mommy! We're making snow angels!"

Her mother's dark hair was pooled around her head and she turned her face to the side to look at Holland. She smiled Holland thought for the bagillionth time in her life that mommy was the prettiest lady in the whole wide world. And Holland hadn't even seen any of it! She just knew mommy was.

Mommy's hand came to Holland's face and she gently moved away the hair that fell into her eyes, the same color hair her mother had. Her mother's thumb stroked the side of Holland's face, then down her nose, tapping it with a small smile. "I love you, my snow angel, beyond forever."

"I know that, Mommy," Holland rolled her eyes with mirth. "You tell me everyday!"

Holland missed it, but Helen's smile faltered, like she had been suddenly stabbed. To Helen, maybe she had been because Holland did not know that Helen would not be able to tell her how much she loved her girl every day. Being able to do so was coming to harrowing end.

Helen stood, helped Holland to her feet and pointed at the two snow angels. One was vastly bigger than the other, and Helen wished there was magic to freeze this moment in time.

"It's us, Mommy," Holland pointed. Holland bent down and drew two stick figure hands holding hands. "Together forever."

Holland looked up at her mother with the widest smile then ran off into the snow, laughing.

…

Helen Helprin died two days later. For Holland's tenth birthday she got snow and death. Dorota, the live in nurse, cared for Helen as much as she could until her efforts would not be enough to prevent the inevitable. Helen laid on her deathbed, labored breaths and all, but the faintest of smiles graced her still beautiful face.

"Don't you fret now, my girl," Helen whispered to Holland, who was curled up to her mother's side like she once did as a child. "Death is but the next great adventure."
Holland almost laughed. Almost. Her mother had read the muggle story Peter Pan to her countless of times, and if Holland had not been so sad that their adventures together would now end, she would had giggled.

Holland's father, a very serious man with a stern face, stood in the corner of the room. His lurking presence shuddering and mysterious. His constant scowl grew deeper, the lines etched on his face made him look angry, scarier.

Holland turned back to her mother. "Will we ever see each other again?" Holland sniffled, trying her best not to cry- especially in front of her father who detested her tears. But, Holland did not understand what was happening to her mommy. She didn't want to understand.
Helen ran her hand through Holland's dark hair that were very much like her own. "I will never be far away, my girl, because the ones we love most never truly leave us. I'll be right here," Helen put her over Holland's chest where her heart was, "You have to believe in it, too. Your heart is a gift." Helen's breathing grew more labored, they were shallow and quick, but Helen never diverted her eyes from Holland. "This is where we say goodbye, my girl."

Holland shook her head adamantly. "No! You can't leave me! Please, don't!" Holland cried and cried but her tears would not be enough to cure her mother. "Please, Mommy, please!"

Dorota gently wrapped her arms around Holland's shaking figure and lifted her away from her her mother. Holland looked desperately to her mother, doing her very best to memorize every detail of her face. Helen smiled sadly, her own tears spilling over and that was the last time Holland ever saw her mother.

Holland leapt out of Dorota's arms, but the door to her mother's room had been charmed shut. She clawed at the wood and screamed. She screamed for her mother, and sobbed so violently Holland became dizzy.

Dorota did her best to soothe away the pain, she held Holland's shaking form and whispered kind things to her. Dorota said, "You're going to be okay, I promise. I'll stay with you, I'll take care of you."

Holland wanted to believe that.

Her father stormed out of the room then. He took one look at Holland then apparated away.

…

The next day, Helen had been put into the ground where she would now always remain. Dorota handed Alyssa sunflowers, her mother's favorite, and laid them against the stone underneath her mother's favorite tree, a willow atop a hill, that overlooked the frozen sea. They stayed there for what seemed like hours, Holland waiting and hoping for her father to join them; to help ease the pain of losing her mother. She hoped they'd grieve together, but her father never came.
One of the house elves came solemnly, his head bowed. "Mr. Helprin is a very busy man. He has work to attend to and sends his apologies and condolences."
"Are you sorry he couldn't come or is he?" Holland snapped.
"Holland!" Dorota hissed, "Mind your tongue!"
Holland didn't mean to come across angry at the elf, she just couldn't escape her growing loneliness. Dinner that night seemed out of place and unreal, the place where her mother sat all too empty. Holland found herself staring at her father, silently begging him to say something.
And then he did. "You have your mother's hair. And her eyes." He said quietly. With one final passing look between Holland and the place where her mother once sat, he left the dining room in a great hurry.

Holland sighed and put her head in her palm. This is how she would spend the rest of her days, silent, awkward meals and no interaction with her father and always missing her mother. But as Holland grew, so did her curiosity and lust for adventure, only to find that it had never really begun.