WHO
ARE
WE?
She knew who she was. Or at least here, towering above of a trembling pondwater-haired body, she did.
Here, she controlled the elements.
Here, she tamed the storm.
She took the once-mighty snowstorm by the neck. For the first time, everything was at her fingertips.
And she wouldn't have it any other way.
Nature's Wrath was bent, twisted, smothered by her fury. It speared him through the concrete, immobilized his arms in sub-zero fury.
He'd struggle. He'd test his limbs, find that his legs still functioned. He'd flail around, trying to get away until he realized.
The illusion of movement.
He'd beg. He'd grovel and weep, in the same way she did for him. He'd call her "honey", "princess", all the sweet nothings under the long-gone sun.
The illusion of choice.
He'd obey. He'd follow her to the end, together. He'd light up her entire sky, if only she would let him go.
The illusion of hope.
And then it would be his turn.
His turn to feel the cutting gales of rejection on his face, the crashing hail of despair on his ribs, the crackle of every single bone in his legs
the world snuffing
every
single
last
flame.
Until there was no more left, of either of their former souls.