THE BEAUTIFUL GIRL WHO COLLECTED FALLEN APPLES — EVERYONE CALLED HER CRAZY

CHAPTER 1 — THE GIRL WHO PICKED UP WHAT OTHERS THREW AWAY

The first frost came earlier than anyone expected.

By sunrise, the apple orchard outside the village was covered in silver-white ice. The trees stood bare, their branches trembling beneath the cold wind. Most of the good apples had already been harvested weeks before.

Only the fallen ones remained.

Bruised.

Dirty.

Half-rotten.

Nobody wanted them.

Except Eliza.

Every morning, before the villagers woke, the beautiful young woman walked into the abandoned orchard with a large wooden basket hanging from her arm.

She bent down and picked up the apples one by one.

Some were badly bruised.

Some had small cuts in their skins.

Some were so soft that her fingers sank slightly into them.

She never complained.

She simply brushed away the dirt, inspected each apple carefully, and placed it into her basket.

From the road, people watched her.

“Look at her again.”

“She must have lost her mind.”

“Who eats rotten apples?”

“She used to be such a pretty girl. What happened to her?”

Eliza heard them.

She always heard them.

But she never answered.

Her father had died three winters earlier, leaving her and her mother a small cottage at the edge of the village. They owned almost nothing.

No cattle.

No large field.

No full grain barn.

Their only treasure was an old stone oven and a few shelves in the cellar.

But Eliza had learned something from her grandmother.

An apple did not become useless simply because it had fallen from a tree.

That morning, she returned home with two baskets.

Her mother stared at them.

“Again?”

Eliza smiled.

“Again.”

Her mother sighed.

“You know what people are saying.”

“I know.”

“They say you collect garbage.”

Eliza placed the apples on the wooden table.

“They can say whatever they want.”

She took a small knife and began cutting away the damaged parts.

Her mother watched silently.

“What are you planning to do with all of them?”

Eliza looked toward the dark cellar door.

“Save them.”

“For what?”

Eliza’s expression became serious.

“For winter.”

Her mother shook her head.

“Winter is still weeks away.”

Eliza looked outside.

Snow clouds were already gathering over the mountains.

“No,” she whispered.

“I don’t think we have weeks.”