The Nisse, the Cat, and the Apple Tree Part 2

Thanatos's wings are on the edge of the trees.

Christian boiled some water for some tea and sat down to read a little before bed, but the words didn’t dance across his mind. All he could think about was the coughing girl in the house above him, but there was nothing he could do to help her. In one day, he has found a joy long forgotten, and then it was dipped in a sadness waiting to come. He closed his book finishing off his warm tea and then crawled into bed.

                The hours faded from the clock with Christian staring off into the dark, praying there was something he could do for the child. He jumped out of bed, grabbing his hat and cloak to see this sleeping girl.

                He climbed the hill back to the house, used his door, and stepping into the stillness of the house. He waited to see the cat still not sure he could trust such a monster, but when nothing moved in the dark, he checked the rooms to find the child. The baby boy was sleeping with his father and mother, and Christian found the sick girl in the room closet to his tree.

                As Christian jumped up to the window, he could see the dogwood from her room. He turned to face the girl seeing Persephone on top of the girl’s head. The child with her dogwood flower skin seems peaceful in her dreams. There was no sign of the sickness eating her from the inside, but it was there slowly taking over her lungs and body.

                Christian glanced out the window to the full moon wishing more than anything she would live a long life, but fate, as cruel as it can be, deemed her death was needed for the stars. He removed his cloak along with his hat, sighing at the light breaths of the girl.

                “I’m shocked to see you here so soon,” Persephone said, cleaning herself beside him.

                “I couldn’t get her out of my mind,” Christian remarked.

                “Ah, she a lovely girl,” the cat said. “It is a shame Thanatos will find her this young in life.”

                “Is there no magic to save her?” Christian asked, never taking his eyes off of the sleeping child.

                “Not that I have found,” Persephone said with a tone of sadness that would make the moon weep if he could hear them now. “I have tried to find it, but there seems to be nothing.”

                “Why did your family come here?” Christian asked, turning to face the cat. The rage wasn’t hidden all too well in his burning eyes. He wasn’t furious at the cat or the child or even the family, but how unfair life had seemed to be in only a day’s time. He had a new hope to take care of a family, to be loved again, but most of all, to love again. And it was already on thin ice about to break bring taken away from him in a flash. Life was unfair, and the angry raging in his darkening blue eyes was boiling up from the day.

                Persephone neither saw nor cared about the angry resting in Christian eyes, all she said was, “Father wanted to live in the country for a while, to show the girl what a peaceful life could be. He grew up on a farm, and his heart always has long to be back with the trees.”

                “He did all of this for her?” Christian asked, glancing back over at the girl.

                “Wouldn’t any father do anything for their little girl?” Persephone asked, but it was a question that needed no answer.

                “I wish there were some kind of magic,” Christian said.

                “As do I, as do I,” Persephone told him, jumping down from the window heading back to watch over the sick girl. Christian put his green pointed head back on, tossed his cloak around him, and dashed back out of the house. When he got back to the night, he took in a deep breath enjoying the clean air of the hills. He looked straight up to the stars asking all Who made the world to help him now. He prayed to find the magic to save the child, a child he just met but nevertheless, was under his watch.

                He closed his eyes, waiting for the response, the wind blew lightly, but there seem to be nothing more. He started back down the hill to his home in the dogwood tree and stopped before opening the door to it. He glanced back up at the house, not sure if he wished to go back there in the morning or ever again.

Author's Note

If you had made it this far, then I appreciate it, and before you start to tear my work apart (which doesn’t bother me too much), let me explain something. The most common critique I see is about my spelling and grammar. It is an understandable critique, and I do not blame you for pointing it out. After all, spelling and grammar are the tools in which we use to craft our work, like a paintbrush or a chisel. The artist must know how to use these tools well, but like an artist who has a tremble in their hand's somethings will never be perfect.
My tremble in my hand is caused by my dyslexia. It is something, no matter how much I learn, study, or works on, it will never go away. It is the reason you will find a good bit of spelling and grammar mistakes in my work. I ask you to keep this fact when you are about to write your critique.
Also, I feel the need to point this out, this website is like a journal for me. A messy journal I used to work out problems in my stories or to simply warm up before digging into my novels. I do not hire an editor for the work here. I do not spend hours and days pouring over these stories to make them perfect, that energy is saved for the project I plan on taking to market. Everything on this website is my world-building exercise or sketches for other projects.
I do hope you enjoy my work, but this website is not a publishing house for me, and it shouldn’t be for you either. Something to keep in mind as you write your critique.