Another snowy night had come.
The little match girl walked barefoot through the streets again.
They were lit by gas lights and people were passing by, but as usual no one paid any heed to the little match girl.
“Please buy some matches.”
She had said those words so many times that she had lost count. Her words were carried away by the winter breeze as they always did, scattering in the cold wind.
The shapes of the passersby were blurry in her eyes. They were nameless, plain, unexceptional. They were like part of the scenery, with no goal other than to reach whatever destination they were headed towards. With no thought for the little girl or each other, they walked along with blurred faces and clothes.
It was the last night of the year. She could feel the cold of the snowy road under her bare feet. The chill of winter surrounded her, dressed in flimsy clothes and an apron.
It went on, repeated itself without end.
It was a snowy night. It was the last night of the year.
There was no sense of time or location; nothing other than the night itself.
The little match girl felt as though this night was being repeated forever.
All she could recall were the scenery and memories of this day. All she remembered was walking about barefoot on the last day of the year and selling her matches.
“Please buy some matches.”
It had always been the final day of the year yesterday, the day before that, and for as long as she could remember. She knew that she had a father who would beat her if she failed to sell the matches, that she had a home and a grandmother who loved her, but no matter how much she tried, she couldn’t remember their faces.
It had been snowing for as long as she could remember, but the snow never piled up. The night continued, but the sun never rose, and it never became daytime. It was as though time had stopped, repeating itself.
The biting cold continued. The cold winter wind seemed to freeze the little match girl, dressed in her flimsy clothes. The icy cold of the stone paths seeped into her bare feet, and her feet had turned a reddish black.
How could the world be so cold? That was what the girl wondered, her head hazy with the cold. It wasn't only the weather that was cold. The people who refused to look at her, refused to help her, they were all cold as well. Everyone’s heart was cold.
In order to stave off the cold, the little match girl pulled out a match and lit it. A small, bright flame burst into existence. The little match girl reached out slowly towards the match.
She knew that this little flame was not enough to banish the cold. But she also knew that lighting this match would allow her to see happy visions. For some reason, even before she lit the match she knew what would happen when she did.
The first match would summon a vision of a warm heater, the second a nice meal, the third a fancy Christmas tree, and the fourth her kind grandmother.
And then this cold winter night would resume. She hadn't experienced it before, but she knew. It was as if she'd repeated the actions multiple times already.
But the little match girl didn't care anymore. In fact, it was as though she'd been waiting for this moment. When she lit a match, she could forget the freezing cold that bit into her body, the cold disinterest of the passersby that threatened to freeze her heart.
She was tired.
The endless night, the endless visions, the endless cold.
Had she really had a grandmother who loved her? Did the father who, violent and drunk, beat her when she failed to sell her matches, really exist? Perhaps all these memories were simply visions, like the ones she saw when she lit a match.
Only one thing seemed certain to the little match girl as she walked through the constant cold of the hazy winter night.
The winter night was cold, the people were cold, the entire world was cold. There was nothing but cold all around.
The first match slowly burnt out. The vision of a warm heater, created by the tiny flame, failed to warm her up. She lit the second match to see the next vision.
She didn’t care anymore. She wanted to light them all quickly and see the beautiful visions, even if she would have to start this night all over again.
“Young lady?”
Suddenly, an aberration in the routine occurred.
The little match girl didn’t even realize at first that someone had called out to her. It was unimaginable that anyone would buy matches from her. But the gentle voice could be heard again.
“Will you sell me a match, little match girl?”
The little match girl finally realized that the voice was speaking to her. She turned her head in the direction of the voice.
It was a young, beautiful lady wearing a huge hat.
She had hair as black as the night fluttering in the winter wind. She was smiling softly. The little match girl couldn’t understand.
Was this also part of the vision? She could no longer tell reality and vision apart. Either way, she trembled in the unending cold. Seeing this, the woman took off her fur coat and wrapped it around the girl's body.
For the first time—the first time, since she could not remember when she’d done this last—she was wearing something other than her ragged clothes and apron. For the first time, the cold diminished a little even without a lit match. For the first time, a flame wasn't necessary to feel warmth.
Even as she stood in the icy cold wind, the woman didn't seem cold at all. It was almost as though she herself was made of ice, more frigid than her surroundings. But she continued to smile softly and bent down so that their eyes were level.
“My name is the Witch Queen. I’ve come to rescue you.”
“Name?”
The little match girl, failing to understand, blinked.
The little match girl did not know any names. She didn't know the names of her father, her grandmother, or the passersby. She didn’t know the name of the village where she was staying. Her whole world was hazy.
“I see.”
The Witch Queen seemed taken aback for a moment, but soon nodded as if she understood. The Witch Queen looked at the little match girl’s hands. The match was nearly burnt out, the flame gently undulating near her fingers. Perhaps it was the cold or for some other reason, but the little match girl didn’t seem to feel the heat at all.
“Flare.”
The Witch Queen reached out and snuffed out the match as it burned close to the little match girl’s fingers.
“It's a perfect name for you.”
“Flare.”
Flare muttered her own name. The match had already burnt out, and Flare lit another with her burnt hand. Fwoosh.
“Do you wish to freeze to death again?”
Flare hesitated at the Witch Queen’s question.
All that Flare would wait for were the visions that would come with the matches. It had been the only way to avoid the endless cold, even if it was only temporary and she had to repeat the night all over again. That short moment was the only way she could forget the cold, albeit briefly.
But right now, for the first time she didn’t feel cold even without the matches. Flare shook her head.
“I see.”
The Witch Queen smiled at her reply. The smile was ever so slightly unnerving, but to Flare, it was a bright smile nonetheless. The Witch Queen brought her face close to Flare’s and whispered sweetly in her ear.
“Then how about you warm others up as well? With your matches.”
Flare didn’t understand what the Witch Queen meant. Flare looked at the match as it burned in her hand.
Warm others? With matches?
Flare looked up again. The Witch Queen was smiling.
“Oh.”
Flare understood as she alternated looks between the match and the Witch Queen.
Flare smiled brightly at the Witch Queen.
There was a trash bin beside the building not far from where Flare and the Witch Queen stood. Flare lit her pack with her match, and the flame grew a bit bigger, warming her hand.
She threw the pack into the bin.
Moments later, with crackling noises, a flame appeared inside the bin.
A heat that couldn’t compare with a single match’s flame filled Flare with warmth. She could no longer feel the cold winter wind. Warmth enveloped her whole body.
Flare beamed at the fire, and the Witch Queen wrapped her in a hug.
The fire inside the bin soon spread to the building itself, as if seeking to spread the heat. The grayed-out street recovered its color. Reds, yellows, and various other colors filled the street.
The passersby who’d been ignoring Flare scattered. Flare knew where all those passersby—walking in random directions—were headed. They were going to see the people precious to them. The hearts of those who hadn’t even spared a glance for Flare had been warmed, and they were now headed for those they loved.
The cold street was warmed by the fire, which now lit the whole building. The snow that froze on the ground was melting, and the gray street with its mix of snow and black night revealed its diverse colors.
“It’s beautiful.”
Flare spoke as if mesmerized as she gazed at the flames. The Witch Queen laughed in satisfaction. They watched as the building burned and the fire spread to other buildings.
“Flare, won't you come with me?’
Flare looked at the Witch Queen.
“I'm looking for those who will work with me to change unfair fates such as yours.”
“Fates?”
“Yes, fates.”
The Witch Queen nodded. Her voice whispered sweetly in Flare’s ear.
“Flare, have you never thought it unjust? Others eat tasty food in warm homes, but you must resort to lighting matches in these cold streets. No matter how much you try, no matter how much you plead, no one will buy your matches. Is that fair?”
Flare considered the Witch Queen's words.
She did remember being envious as she walked about trying to sell the matches and seeing the warm lights beyond the windows, the delicious smells coming from inside. She had wanted such things for herself. That was probably why the visions that came to her whenever she lit a match existed at all.
“Your fate is to make people pity you. Others are born with the fate of spending their days happily in warm homes. Don’t you hate them? They have happy lives but refuse to help you, to even buy a single match from you.”
Flare considered.
She had hated them at times. She had been jealous of them, since they had the warmth of their homes and good food while she trembled in the cold outside. She had been angry that they didn’t invite her inside. She had been angry that they didn’t even buy a single match from her. That seemed so long ago.
But Flare thought differently now, however. Flare thought that they were cold, too. In this cold world, their hearts had been frozen as well.
Up to now, she'd thought it couldn’t be helped. It was a cold world after all, and everyone was cold for that reason.
But watching the beautiful flames as they raged from building to building, Flare began to think.
If this world was cold, perhaps these flames could be made to warm it up.
Perhaps this cold world and people’s cold hearts could be warmed with these flames.
The Witch Queen continued to whisper towards her, but Flare was lost in her own thoughts. Flare looked at the flames as they burned and the matches remaining in her hand.
She hadn’t known up to now, but Flare had the power to warm others up. She was sure that others could also see the beautiful visions she’d seen in the match flames. She’d surely be able to melt people's cold hearts with her flames.
“I have no intention of forcing you, Flare. You make your own choice,” the Witch Queen said to her.
“Will you remain in this cold story and freeze to death, or come with me?”
“I’ll come with you, Witch Queen,” Flare said without hesitation.
It was all thanks to her that she'd felt warmth for the first time, that she now had a name instead of being the “little match girl,” and that she now knew she had the power to warm others.
“Oh? Well, that’s a relief.”
The Witch Queen grinned at her reply. The smile was a satisfied one, and those who knew the Witch Queen would have wondered in disbelief if they’d seen it.
The Witch Queen pulled out a mirror. The small mirror suddenly transformed into a huge one at a gesture from her, and gave off a bright light. The light was as bright as the burning flames.
“Now then, let’s be on our way, Flare. I have a lot of things you can help me with.”
The Witch Queen had half her body inside the mirror already, and was reaching out her hand. Flare took it.