The Ugly Love of Monster Girls

Nora’s PoV:

I don’t remember when it changed. When I changed.

For the longest time, I was just there, in a world where I was just a little too small, a little too slow, and a little too young to belong. There was a lot I didn’t understand, but I was content being with my family.

Back then, I used to watch him from a distance. Markus. My big brother.

I never really understood him. Though he was my big brother, he never felt like one. Not really in any significant way. He didn’t tease me like other brothers did.

He didn’t look like the rest of us and he didn’t have any of our features, which always struck me as odd.

He didn’t try to make me laugh, or scold me, or ruffle my hair just to be annoying. He was just… there. Silent. Distant.

And I didn’t know what to do with that.

At first, I thought maybe he didn’t like me. He barely spoke to me, barely looked at me. If I tried to talk to him, he would just nod in response like he wasn't the least bit interested.

If I asked him to play, he would say he was busy even when he clearly wasn’t.

It didn’t make sense to me. Other siblings were different. I saw them all the time, brothers chasing their sisters around, sisters clinging to their brothers, laughing, arguing, and even fighting each other at times.

That was normal. That was what a family was supposed to be like.

So why weren’t we like that?

I used to wonder whether it was my fault. Maybe I was too boring. Maybe I wasn’t fun enough for him to want to spend time with me. Or maybe, just maybe, he didn’t think of me as his sister at all. Just another person who happened to live in the same house.

That thought made something ache deep in my chest.

So I stopped trying.

If he didn’t want to talk to me, then I wouldn’t talk to him. If he didn’t want to be around me, then I’d stay out of his way. I convinced myself it didn’t matter or at least tried to.

I had other things to do, my own friends, my own hobbies. If Markus wanted to be left alone then I would leave him alone.

And for a while, that was that.

But then, one day, I saw something that changed everything.

It was late afternoon. I had gone outside to find something I’d lost, a crayon, I think? The sky was orange and pink, the sun dipping low, casting long shadows over the empty streets. That was when I saw him.

Markus.

He was sitting alone by the old, cracked wall near our house. His knees were drawn up, arms resting over them. His face was staring, staring at something afar, but there was something about him, something I’d never really noticed before.

He looked lonely.

Not just quiet. Not just distant. But truly, utterly alone.

I don’t know why, but the sight of him like that made my chest feel tight. It was the first time I realized that maybe, just maybe, he wasn’t pushing me away because he didn’t care.

Maybe he just didn’t know how to make friends.

And maybe I was the only person who could.

I didn’t approach him that day. I just watched, uncertain, until the sun set and he finally got up and walked back home. But after that, something inside me changed.

I didn’t try to force my way into his world anymore. I didn’t pester him with questions or beg him to play with me. Instead, I just started… being there. Sitting in the same room as him, even if we didn’t talk. Walking a little closer when we went out, even if he didn’t notice.

Sometimes, he would glance at me when I spoke. Sometimes, he would answer me with more than just a nod. And sometimes, on rare, fleeting occasions, he would say something first.

It wasn’t much. But it was enough.

Life went on, we were gradually becoming closer, or at least it seemed like it…

And then it happened on a cold, snowy evening.

The kind of snowstorm that turned the streets into treacherous paths, the wind sharp enough to cut through layers of clothing. The kind that made even the rowdiest kids stay inside, watching the snowfall through frost-covered windows.

I should have been inside too. But I wasn’t.

I had stayed out too long. The sky had darkened faster than I expected, and by the time I realized I should head home, the snow had already started.

At first, it was just light flurries, cool against my skin, refreshing even. But then, in the span of minutes, it turned into a blizzard.

I ran. Or at least, I tried to. The streets were slick, snow swallowing my ankles, ice clinging to my shoes. The sound of wind howling against rooftops and stone made it impossible to hear anything else.

My clothes stuck to my skin, heavy and cold. I couldn’t even tell where I was anymore, everything looked different in the dark, twisted by shadows and sheets of snow.

And then, I slipped.

It wasn’t a small stumble. My foot caught on something, maybe a loose stone, maybe a root pushing up through the pavement and suddenly, I was falling.

My knee slammed against the ground, pain exploding up my leg, and for a second, I couldn’t breathe. I tried to push myself up, but my arms shook, and I realized, with a growing sense of panic, that I couldn’t move properly.

I was stuck. Alone.

And that was when the fear set in.

Because no one knew where I was. No one was coming to help me.

The wind was deafening, the cold sinking into my bones. I was shaking, whether from the cold or fear, I couldn’t tell. My vision blurred, either from the snow or from something hot and stinging building behind my eyes.

I didn’t want to die here.

At first, it had just been a light snowfall, the kind that dusted rooftops and melted on my skin. But then the winds howled, and the sky turned into a blinding white abyss, swallowing everything in sight.

The snow didn’t just fall. It slammed into me, biting into my skin, creeping under my clothes like icy fingers.

I tried to move, but my legs wouldn’t listen. My arms felt heavy. Each breath burned, my lungs aching with the effort.

I didn’t know where I was anymore.

I had been walking home, but the storm had stolen the road, erased the familiar landmarks. There was nothing but white. Endless, suffocating white.

I called out. My voice barely made it past my lips, swallowed instantly by the howling wind.

No one could hear me.

No one was coming.

The fear struck deep, curling around my chest, squeezing tight. I didn’t want to cry. Crying would make it worse. But the tears came anyway, hot against my frozen skin, only to be stolen away by the storm.

I sobbed, my body trembling violently, my strength slipping away with every passing second.

I didn’t want to be alone.

I didn’t want to die here.

“Mom… dad… save me…” I cried, to no avail.

I sank to my knees, my limbs too numb to hold me up. The snow piled against my back, swallowing me whole. My eyelids grew heavy. Maybe… if I just closed them for a little while… just a moment…

A voice tore through the storm.

“NORA!”

It was distant. Faint.

I didn’t know if I had imagined it.

Then, something crashed through the snow. The warmth… hands… grabbing at me, pulling, digging.

Someone who I didn’t expect to see, much less be my saviour.

“Bro…ther?”

His voice was frantic, shaking. “Nora! Answer me! Please, please don’t-”

His hands wrapped around me, yanking me into his chest. His body was warm, shaking, his breaths ragged.

I barely had the strength to lift my head, but when I did, I saw his face. His eyes wide, red-rimmed, his cheeks streaked with tears.

He was crying.

For me.

“You idiot,” his voice broke. “You absolute idiot! Why were you out here? Wh-why didn’t you call for me?! I almost… I thought…”

His arms tightened around me, crushing, desperate. His body was so warm. I wanted to tell him I was sorry, that I didn’t mean to get lost, that I didn’t want to scare him, but my lips wouldn’t move.

He cursed under his breath, his grip unrelenting as he lifted me. “I need to get you warm.”

I barely registered what was happening. My mind was swimming, lost in the haze of cold and exhaustion. I felt him moving, felt the shift of the wind as he pushed through the storm.

He sheltered me. A hollow space beneath a rock, shielded from the worst of the wind.

I was on the ground, but not for long. Markus was moving again, yanking off his coat, his shirt, everything.

His warmth… his warmth enveloping me as he pressed me against him, his arms wrapped tight, his body curling around mine.

“Stay awake,” he whispered, his voice thick with desperation. “Don’t you dare close your eyes. You hear me?”

I felt his heartbeat, frantic against my skin. His fingers brushed against my face, clumsy, trembling.

“I thought I lost you,” he choked out. “I thought-I thought I was too late.”

I wanted to tell him he wasn’t. That I was here. That I wasn’t going anywhere.

But the exhaustion was pulling me under.

Still, even as my body gave in, as I drifted somewhere between wakefulness and sleep, I felt it. His arms around me, his warmth seeping into my frozen skin, his breath against my hair as he held me like he’d never let go.

~~~

When we finally made it home, I barely remembered how. My body was too weak, my mind too fogged over with exhaustion. I only knew that Markus had carried me the whole way, that his warmth never left my side.

The moment we stepped inside, the heat of the house hit me like a wave, but Markus didn’t stop.

He took me straight to my room, laying me down as if I would shatter at the slightest touch. His hands, normally firm and steady, trembled as he pulled the thickest blankets over me.

“Nora,” he murmured, voice tight with worry. “Are you okay?”

I barely had the strength to nod. My fingers twitched, reaching for him, and before I could even speak, he was already holding my hand.

“I’ll take care of you,” he promised. “I’ll make it better.”

And he did.

From that moment on, Markus never left my side.

Our parents checked in on me, bringing medicine, making sure I ate. But when my father dismissed it all with a casual, “She’ll be fine. A little hardship will toughen her up,” I saw Markus’ face darken.

His fists clenching at his sides. He didn’t argue, but the quiet anger in his eyes said enough.

After that, he took it upon himself to care for me.

He brought me warm drinks, spoon-fed me soup, made sure I was never cold. Whenever I shifted, even slightly, he was there, adjusting the blankets, fluffing my pillows, doing anything and everything to keep me comfortable.

At first, I thought it was just guilt. That he was scared because he had almost lost me. But it wasn’t just that.

He was opening up.

For the first time, I saw the quiet, lonely boy he was. Not just as my brother, not just as someone who existed in the same house as me, but as Markus.

Not in the way people usually meant. He wasn’t warm in the way most people were. He didn’t chatter, didn’t fill the air with meaningless words. But he felt deeply, intensely.

Every moment, every glance, every action was careful, deliberate. He would sit beside me, fingers carding through my hair absentmindedly as he read.

He would hum under his breath while tending to my bandaged fingers, not realizing I was watching him. He would hesitate before leaving my room, lingering in the doorway, like he was afraid I would disappear if he looked away.

What made me even happier was that he only shared this side, this affection… only with me.

I tested it, once.

“Stay,” I whispered one night, my voice barely above a breath.

He didn’t even hesitate. He sat back down, pulling the blankets higher around me.

“Okay,” he said.

I should have felt guilty for it, for making him wait on me, for making him bend to my every whim. But I didn’t. Because I knew, deep down, even if he didn’t say it, Markus wanted to do this.

He wanted to make me happy.

And I wanted him to never stop.