The Echoes of Winter
She knew where he would be.
Way up in a mansion of limestone and gargoyles. Preening a garden of the perfect and imperfections of this world. Of anatomy, he yearned to have but did not. Of creatures, he had never seen yet had read about in tales only woven from stories. Perhaps from his inventor. An obvious one, the day he'd come down from his watchtower and became the neighborhood barber and trimmer. He'd provided a unique skill set and quizzical, overshadowed eyes, focused in on the machinations of his work.
By scissor hands.
At first, she'd found him strange and off-putting. Especially when their first introduction had come from the reflection of a mirror. Showcasing a man of unknown origin in her bed. Her waterbed which she would later discover punctured like a pin cushion that sopped the carpet. All because of the strange instruments that were part of his anatomy.
Scissors.
And thus, she'd come to understand the context of his name: Edward, Edward Scissorhands. The neighbor's new commodity for gossip, ridicule, and wonderment. She herself had found an inkling of curiosity even from the distance she tried to place herself in the efforts of her jealous, egotistical boyfriend, Jim. Of course, that had only held for so long. His snide remarks about the strange, leather-clad man in her home being the final straw before she'd broken it off. A bold refute followed when Edward had been abandoned after a robbery gone wrong at Jim's home. In which he had wanted to steal a van for him and, Kim.
And thus, Edward paid the consequences as the innocent, naive bystander.
"Because you asked me to."
Those words would stay with her after she'd asked why he'd done it. Touched by his gentle subservience but guilty because of his lack of reality. Having been isolated for most of his life as a humanoid unfinished. Yet her draw to him wouldn't abate. With eyes that reminded her of a black sea of glass, and a handsome face seemingly carved from white marble and shadow, she'd fallen for the brooding man. Left to dance in flakes of chipped ice from the reformed version of her as a dancing ice sculpture. She'd become entranced. Even as the world fought against them with false allegations and judgment of the damned. She'd wrapped herself in his security and looked into those soul-filled eyes without shame.
When his life had come at the cost of her ex-boyfriend, she'd stood alongside him until the final hour. The ache in her heart would carry as a weight when she'd had to depart knowing new scars would arise the next morning physically, emotionally, and—mentally.
But she'd had to convince the town and chittering gossip hens that Edward had fallen. If just to save his life and solitude from the cruel world beyond his domain. But the Poggs would never forget Edward, especially, Peggy Boggs. With the tender heart of a dove—not a saleswoman—she'd retrieved him. Out of her empathetic heart as a mother.
Even as the years passed her mother never spoke a bad word about Edward. Kim suspected she never would. This would only deepen her gratitude, strengthening their relationship as mother and daughter. No matter the rumors that circulated they knew the truth and that was all that mattered. As tribute near the eve of Christmas, they created an ornament for him, left hidden in the pine and twinkling lights. As presents were placed and the angel put atop the tree, the snow would fall.
Just for that single night.
Like an unspoken answer in their hearts.
Kim swore when she looked out her bedroom window every Christmas Eve, she could make out a distinct figure of the humanoid, Edward Scissorhands. Mercilessly sculpting another figure atop his tower to place in his company as an echo of his love of her that he gave with every snowfall.