The Snowgirl
She watches them kiss.
A flutter of breath between them, the cloudy mists swirling together and floating about their heads. A white backdrop to set the scene. The sky is still crying softly but the worst is over and only a few more frozen teardrops float down to perch on the girl's cheek. The boy brushes them away tenderly, such love, such compassion.
She wants to cry but that is not what she is designed for. She is a monument to those last teardrops, she stands for the purity of the landscape around her – soon she will be gone.
The girl looks up shyly. Her cheeks are red from the cold; her breath hitches as the boy presses his lips to hers again. Her hair is softly cold on his fingertips, like satin snow. He wants to touch it forever, to feel its caress on his cheek whenever he hugs her. He doesn't want to let go.
She watches forever and ever. The little cottage on the hill has smoke pouring from its chimney and light from its windows. So warm and inviting, the decorated tree glows at her. But she must stay in the cold - that is what she is made for.
The couple play in the fresh snow. Dancing and swirling in each others' arms before tumbling across the milky sheets. The girl laughs, the boy just hugs her. She is playful, she leans back and makes a snow angel - her hair is sodden.
She tries to listen to her creators. The only love she has ever known came from them. The girl is talking but she cannot hear – she was made without ears.
"Don't you just love it when it snows?" The girl laughs. The boy looks at her. He never smiles – he knows what is coming. She ruffles his rough, blond hair; droplets of melted ice leap across and course down her cheek. They look like tears, they are tears, the sky's tears – the sky knows what is coming.
"Our little Snowgirl. Isn't she beautiful? What shall we call her?" The girl's voice is melodic; it weaves about the trees and across the rolling white. The boy looks at her and says:
"Love."
Love watches the girl laugh; she wishes she could understand, she wishes she could know her name.
"What a silly name. But you named her so she'll stay Love. I wonder how long she will last. I hope for a few days." The boy looks at her – he can see what is coming.
"The sun will come up soon and then it will be gone." The girl frowns then smiles adoringly into his snow-cloud eyes.
"I hope not. That would be a shame."
Love watches them forever. She can feel the trickle as the sun's first rays light up the landscape. She feels the warmth and despairs.
The girl shivers so the boy wraps his arms around her.
"Let's go in. I'll make hot chocolate." Her sweet voice chirrups. But the boy doesn't want to move. So they stay sitting as icy water soaks through their clothes. They are happy for a while.
Love feels something on her shoulder. She feels the warmth from its claws and tries to cry out to her makers. They will help her; they gave her love. But she cannot cry out – she was made without a tongue.
"Oh Look! Did you see that Robin on our Snowgirl? Wasn't it pretty? I just love its bright red breast. It's brilliant against the snow." The boy nuzzles the girl's neck as she sits with her back against his chest.
"Why don't we watch the sun come up?" He suggests. The girl kisses him for the good idea; he saviours her taste.
Love can see the sky become orange; she can feel its balmy kiss upon her frosty skin. Her life begins to melt. She wants to reach out to her creators for help but she cannot – she has no limbs.
The boy is uneasy – he knows what is coming. The girl feels soft and defenceless in his arms – so easy to mould, so easy to carve. He can smell her skin, he wants more - but this is it. She leans against him and watches as the sky turns a deeper orange, candyfloss pink clouds drifting across it.
Love watches forever and ever. She sees the flash of orange-silver. She can imagine the scream from the shape of her creator's mouth. She can smell the coppery tang – she was given a nose. She wants to cry but that is not what she is designed for.
The boy cries out to the sky and strokes her satin-snow hair, its hazel colour darkened and sticky. Her almond brown eyes look up in shock, so round and filled with tears. She looks like the Robin. He whispers "Sorry" as the unfairness and the self-loathing rack his body in sobs. But he has saved her the pain. Soon he will die - but he has saved her the pain. The boy looks lost in the countryside around him. The cottage is too merry. It hasn't noticed its occupant is now dead. The Christmas tree carries on shining.
Love watches in despair. If only she could do something to help but she cannot. And the sun is melting her down.
The boy sees the Snowgirl and in his maddened state takes pity on her. With a thrust of his foot her body collapses and she tumbles in an arc to the white ground beneath her. The boy leaves. A lone figure outlined by the rising sun. He has saved Love from the sun and his Love from the Dark Lord. That is all that matters.
Love watches forever and ever. She can no longer feel her body; only her life. This life is trickling away; her frozen flesh is melting and disintegrating. The snow is no longer white, it is muddy brown and crimson stained, steaming from the warmth of the red liquid. Loves molten blood mixes with that of her creator's. The pure white blanket recedes across the hills as the sun makes its appearance in the coloured sky.
A.N. This was a little Christmas story I wrote as a breather from An Orange Sky. It didn't start out as dark as this but I was feeling very sombre and not up to writing something 'Merry' about Christmas. I hope you don't mind.
I like to imaging this story as one between Estelle and Damiene (see my fic 'An Orange Sky' if you have no idea what I'm talking about!), but for those Hermione/Draco fans I think it could work just as well. Hope you enjoyed. Review if you are up to it.
Anna