I wailed, my small legs pumping as fast as they could carry me toward her body. But before I could reach her, my father—eyes bloodshot, veins bulging at his temples—swung his leg and kicked me to the ground.
The impact knocked the air from my lungs. Pain lanced through my ribs. A metallic tang flooded my mouth, and I coughed up a splatter of bright red blood onto the frozen dirt.
He didn't even blink.
"This is all your fault." His voice dripped venom. "You jinx. You brought this on us. Why couldn't you just die?"
Later, after the funeral, I walked alone toward the icy river at the edge of the village.
1.
Earlier that day, I had returned from the mountain with a basket full of grass. A crowd had gathered in Grandma's cramped courtyard. Every face was carved with grief.
Confusion swirled through me, but a cold pit in my stomach whispered that something was terribly, terribly wrong.
The basket slipped from my fingers. My feet moved before my mind caught up, carrying me toward the house. Faith Odell caught my arm, her grip tight.
Her eyes were rimmed with red. "Don't go in there, child. You're too little. It will only scare you."