Snow. What once may have seemed impossible for this old southern town was here in July. The government issued an immediate state of emergency in response, which stirred the people into a frenzy. Not only was it snowing in the middle of summer; this was the first time snow had ever came to the city of Franklin. Rumors began to spread online about the end of days and climate change. But outside, the streets were desolate and quiet.
Specks of ice fell from the sky and were swallowed by the gray, asphalt landscape. An unbroken cloud ceiling encased the town like a glass dome. A thick layer of fog hid anything beyond a few feet ahead. Heavy footprints led deep into the white abyss, left by some wayward traveler not long ago. They made a path through the center of downtown, passing several red brick buildings and churches along the way.
At the end stood a pale young woman. She was wrapped head to toe in whatever warm clothing she could find around her apartment. A red and black hooded cape covered her white winter coat and matching beanie. She wore a pair of faded pink gloves and a pair of bright pink fuzzy boots. A green ski mask protected her face, leaving her eyes the only visible part of her.
Her eyes scanned over the large Victorian home she arrived at. Its wooden porch was rotten and moss grew on the side of the foundation. Kudzu covered the walls, going all the way up to the roof where a crooked weather vane sat. A large metal cross stood out in front of the building, rusted and falling apart. The makeshift garden fared no better either; the only plants alive were coated in a thick layer of frost. She made her way down the gravel path leading to the entrance. A gloved hand reached out to knock on the front door, but there was no response.
With a grumble, she slammed her fist into the wood hard enough to leave a mark. After a minute or two, she could hear shuffling inside followed by porch light turning on. A slit in the door slid open to reveal a set of tired eyes that looked over her. "Christ. Penelope? Is that you under all that?"
Penelope removed the ski mask and revealed her dark disheveled hair. Her small nose was rosy red in the blizzard, and frost nipped at the tips of her pointed ears. The young woman hadn't slept at all recently; the dark bags under her eyes were more pronounced than normal. That familiar look paired with the weather outside told Lola all she needed to know. The slit snapped shut as the sound of the lock unlatching followed.
"Why do I let you in here..." The older woman's voice trailed off. Penelope took her gloves off as she made her way through the threshold, brushing off the excess snow on her shoulders.
Lola's house had the same antique appearance that most places in the historical district did. Her interior was adorned with all sorts of strange baubles, and the faint smell of burning candles wafted throughout the house. An assortment of taxidermied animal heads rested above a marble fireplace mantel with an impressive rack as the centerpiece. A large painting of the woman's likeness hung over the hearth. Penelope never liked its location.
"I need advice," the girl muttered.
"When don't you?" Lola asked with a sigh. "You look terrible, by the way."
"Thanks. You too," Penelope responded curtly, taking her colorful hat and gloves off. The woman frowned.
"I was kidding."
"I wasn't."
The two stepped into the living room. Penelope zipped her coat down to reveal her outfit: a black turtleneck tucked into a pair of faded blue jeans. A patch stitched in the shape of a pentagram sewn onto her left thigh. Studs with matching patterns pierced her ears. One was shaped like an eye while the other resembled a bat wing. The eye was an heirloom her brother had given her before his accident, while the latter she got on a whim during her travels.
Lola plopped into an antique loveseat right of the fireplace, groaning in annoyance. A cigarette was hanging out the side of her mouth. She wore a simple nightgown, which looked almost the same shade of grey as the world outside. A pink robe with faded flower designs fell loose over her body. She leaned over to a crystal ash tray, dropping a clump of ash from the end of her cancer stick. She crossed one leg over the other before turning her gaze to her niece.
"'Exhaurire spiritum'," Lola stated. "That's the one, isn't it?" Penelope nodded and her aunt scoffed. "Shoulda known... 'Melioram mentem' would've been a smarter choice. Easier ritual and it wouldn't have fucked up the weather."
"Maybe if I needed to burn something," she responded with a scowl. "How can I stop the snow?"
"Well, there's a couple ways you can go about it." She paused for a moment, racking her aging mind for the proper advice. "You could just let it run its course. It's hard to say how long it'll last on its own. Could be months, could be years."
"And the other option?" Penelope asked.
"The other option is the one you want, ain't it?" The old woman laughed and leaned forward, blowing smoke in the direction of her niece. Penelope grimaced and waved the fumes away. "I know what kind of girl you are. Always tryna play hero. 'Let me take all the risks! I gotta be the good guy!' You're so much like your brother."
Penelope's grimace faded and twisted in a frown. A tinge of regret flashed across the woman's face, but she was quick to conceal it. She knew that wasn't the type of person her niece was. Penelope was selfish, spiteful, and bitter. If she wasn't, the book would never be hers. The young girl sighed and walked towards the large painting. Her eyes examined the generous depiction of her aunt. She was much younger here. Far more lively.
"What's the other option, Aunt Lola?" Penelope repeated.
"I thought so." Lola's eyes shut tight as she exhaled another puff of smoke. "I'll be frank with you, kiddo. The second option ain't pretty. A storm like this only happens when you revive something with the ritual. There's a bit more to it than that, but I think you can guess what's next."
Penelope remained lost in her thoughts as the old woman continued. Lola didn't even bother looking back at her. She didn't want to see her niece's reaction to the news. Penelope was always very passionate and emotive, whether she wanted to be or not. That made it hard for the old woman not to feel guilty over it, though she kept a strong poker face.
"This was a mistake," she spoke under her breath, not quiet enough for her aunt to miss. Penelope grabbed her belongings and rushed for the exit. The ski mask slid over her face again as she slammed the door behind her. Lola remained alone, surrounded by the crackling of wood in the fireplace.
"Ain't it always...?" she muttered, looking towards the door.
Outside,