Fire and Ice
Disclaimer: Me no own.
The landscape is white and glittering. She stands where the trees break away to form a large clearing, gazing out over the expanse of fresh snow in the light of the full moon - a sea of diamonds; a thousand flashes of twinkling blue more plentiful than the stars overhead. And like the stars, they make her feel isolated. The chill that settles under her skin strips her of all warmth as she's transported there, lost in empty space, where every direction seems an infinite distance from something tangible. Where any choices she makes are impossibly far from their goals, and the lightyears in between leave too much time for the slightest unaccounted for variable to steer her off course.
She steps further into the clearing, watching her boots mar the pristine surface of her glittering sea. The prints she leaves behind pull her back down to earth and offer her relief that at least here her decisions have an impact.
She can leave a mark.
Looking up at the pale moon, she stares until the edges bleed into the night sky. She's grateful that there is no wind tonight, as the thick wool coat she wears can't rid her of the cold that sinks deeper, past muscle into bone. She closes her eyes and imagines it like frost on a pane of glass, branches weaving between islands of crystal, interlacing. She imagines those branches encasing her bones in ice, burrowing further to reach her core. As she pictures it, she begins to shiver. She knows she needs to stop, but the image captivates her.
Footsteps sound behind her, approaching. Still with her eyes closed, she doesn't turn. It could be a deer or a coyote, or perhaps even a bear, but she doesn't wonder who or what it is. She knows already without sight. She would have known without sound. He follows her everywhere, shadowing her steps even into the cold and empty dark.
The weight of another coat settles over her shoulders. The ice inside her begins to thaw, but it's not the added warmth of the coat, but the scent of his cologne - spicy and full of nature, like a good scotch - that heats her. It's a physical reaction that scares her as much as it serves her in this moment.
And he knows it, which is why he remains silent at her back. He knows the low timbre of his voice would cut through the chill as surely as a raging fire. He wants to be someone she can rely on; he wants to earn her trust, but she can't trust fire. So he's silent and steady, content to watch the curling ribbon of her breath rise into the night.
She stands there, unmoving, until the last remnant of chill dissolves in his presence. Then, with one final glance at the beautiful moon, she turns reluctantly to thank her unwanted sentinel.
And, finding the warmth in his eyes, is scorched.
Author's Note: As I was trying to ready my next chapter of my other story to post, this entered my mind. Don't even ask me where the strange setting came from. Hope it was at least somewhat interesting to read...