The wind’s grip is lazy upon her, the slightest of ripples moving the delicate wisps of her mane in slow cadence with the whispers ushering from above; the high moon gleams against a blackened sky, diamonds studded across the velvet veneer, the little wicked one framed by the ethereal light, glowing as she walks along the fields of snow.

Rivulets of white drag and scar the powder that lines the crust of the ice, ivory hooves tracing crescents in her wake, and all the while her mind curls and writhes around the looming structures of ice encapsulated stone, of stones that were only ice, of things that might have been the bones of ancient things wrapped and comforted by the cold that coveted this northern land.

She is alone, to no surprise; the chill strikes deep after hours wandering no matter how slack the breeze, occasional swift buffets lifting blinding clouds of stinging frost to assault travelers of the frozen roads, and only madmen or wooly northern folk would deem such a place suitable for evening strolls.

The wench is no northerner.

She shivers, the cold digging deeper into her flesh, inspiring movement; like a ghost of winter’s melted she drifts with the grace of a thousand queens, a hundred million dancers, snowy banners streaming in the seething clouds of ice that are roused by her passing. Her eyes, empty and glistening, soulless and dark, frame with icy lashes a cavern, its mouth tall and broad and yawning.

The wind will not find her here, nor will the snow that melts against the pulsing heat of her heart. And what can be found in caves hewn of ice, crafted by sharp and prodding winds that barreled in from the mountain’s watchful crowns above? Are there beasts foul and decrepit in the belly of the snow, or are there treasures kept secret by the shimmering walls that swallow her as she delves into the shadow of its awning?

A giggle reverberates through the cool, dark air, the croon of the passing breeze singing with her, pale limbs flashing to a halt where her eyes grow wide and searching, her pace hesitantly retaken as she directs herself towards a passage that will lead her deeper into the darkness, further into the cozy arms of shadow.


Beloved
rust every place that I touch