Blessed

 The sky was an unnatural shade of green, like an overripe apple left too long in the sun. It was as if the heavens themselves were sick, and the world was but a patient lying in the gutter, waiting for death's cold embrace. Birds did not sing their usual songs, for they too were unwell. Instead, they cawed and wheezed, their tiny wings flapping weakly against the oppressive air. Trees drooped listlessly, their leaves wilted and brown, as if they were weary of life's endless struggle. The once vibrant flowers had long since withered and died, their petals littering the ground like confetti at a funeral.

A figure emerged from the distance, slowly making its way towards a small, dilapidated house. It was a young girl, no more than ten summers old. Her once-white dress was now stained and torn, her hair tangled and matted. She carried nothing but a small, wooden box, its contents unknown. As she approached the front door, she paused for a moment, her eyes tracing the cracks in the warped wood. She hesitated, then took a deep breath and lifted the latch.

The house was dark and musty, the air thick with the scent of decay. Cobwebs dangled from every corner, and dust danced in the beams of sunlight that struggled to penetrate the thick curtains. A single candle flickered on a rickety table in the center of the room, casting eerie shadows across the walls. The girl made her way through the gloomy space, her bare feet making no sound on the creaky floorboards. She came to a halt before a wooden chest at the foot of an old, creaky bed. Kneeling down, she placed the wooden box inside the chest and closed the lid with a soft click.