A.N. Hello FanFiction! Please know that this is my first work based on something not from my own mind. I rather hope you enjoy this and actually want to harass me to update this. I cannot guarantee this, but I rather hope enough of you want to see the plot played out from more than just a prologue. Thank you and enjoy a writer's beginning stages!
Prologue
The cold was bitter and painful, biting into the flesh like hungry demons aching for warmth and food from the defenseless core. It could not have been worse; the wind whipped around like furious warriors and the flakes of snow were thick and heavy, their whiteness stark against the darkness of the night. The trees of the thick forest were bare with winter, outlines of eerie past-lives waiting to become anew. There were no sounds in the storm; no small animals rushing about in search of shelter, no shuffling of loosened underbrush across the fresh-fallen snow. Nothing—it was deathly quiet.
Amidst the fallen snow huddled a young woman. Wearing only a thin garment of a dress, she had balled herself up to protect from the violent weather. Wisps of her long blond hair whipped in the gusts of wind and torn edges of her garment swept at the snow. Her feet had begun to turn blue from the cold and she shivered so much from the cold that the snow around her had formed a halo. Teeth chattering, she lay curled in her little ball ready for her heart to slow and become as still as a calm sea for eternity, her breathing wavering from the shivering and slowing to adapt to potential loss of consciousness.
The sound of crunching snow woke the young girl. One of her dark brown eyes opened and she saw a pair of black boots skirted by the hem of a pitch-black cloak. Raising both of her eyes, she saw a hooded figure under the cloak, the face hidden from her sight. It was a man, by the build, and yet thick locks of dusty brown hair fell in waves past the neck. He wore all black under the cloak; pants tucked neatly into the boots, a thick jacket that opened to reveal the bright whiteness of a white shirt and a stiff white cravat. He lifted his hood just enough so she could see his eyes—his gleaming silver eyes that absorbed what little light could be seen in the night.
Without conscious knowledge, she felt warm wet streams of tears gush from her eyes. The beauty of him stirred her into fear and she curled herself closer into herself. She closed her eyes and the tears fell heavy onto the thick snow.
She heard the crunching of snow as the man knelt beside her. "Princess, why must you cry?" He wiped at her tears, the girl feeling the soft leather of gloves brush her cheek. A pang of guilt churned her stomach and she gave a small yip of fright at her pain.
Suddenly it became warm and the snow disappeared. She opened her eye timidly to see the cloak the man wore draped over her for protection. He watched her as she warily shook it off and exposed herself to the dangerous elements once more. It had taken a lot of her energy, for she closed her eyes again and shivered at the weather.
It was then that she lost complete consciousness to the world.
The man swept the cloak over the girl's body and scooped her up from the frozen ice crystals. He held her close to reassure himself that she was still breathing, for her heart beat slowly and gently. The girl's garment was so thin he could feel where the fabric and skin almost blended. Out of curiosity, he reached out and grasped one of her frozen feet and, even with his gloves, felt that her appendage was colder than the snow and wind.
His thoughts sparked as he covered the girl's face, close to his very own, with the hood of the cloak around her and turned in the direction of where he had come. A wave of sadness pulsed through his veins as he trudged back to where he called home. The night dragged on as he carried her to his home, the snow piling deeper and deeper in the forest.
By where the girl lay was a stain of red blood. It was from her, and the man knew that. He was saddened at this because she was a beautiful young girl who should never feel the pain of a wound. This was also so because a few feet from where the girl lay was a sight to behold; a lonely red rose, in full bloom, cast into the snow without care, cast aside—for it never withers, and has not for a thousand years.
A.N. I would like to thank all of you who read this. You either liked it or did not. If you liked it, please leave a review for me. I would love to expand on this and without reviews cannot do so. I will also look at one of your pieces and see how you express yourself through writing. Again, thank you and I cannot wait to hear from you!