"And then," said the boy, training his little sister well in the art of storytelling, "the princess went against her warning and opened the door to her mean old stepmother, disguised as a hag, a third time." "Oh, but that doesn't make sense," said the little girl. "Who would be that stupid?" "Well," the boy remarked with a smile, "under certain pretenses, you don't think clearly and do things, well, you normally wouldn't do." She made a sour face. "But I would know not to repeat a mistake, especially twice."

                "And that's the difference between you and her."

                Sunrise. Cold wind. Warm skin…something soft against my body: the grand mattress made to feel as though a stream of water surrounded your every limb and wrapped you in its sheath…oh, what a nice emotion! And the blankets, those thick, wooly things used in almost everyone's house during an icy yet beautiful Ange Beau winter.

                My head was halfway submerged in the wide pillows, one eye completely shielded by the padding, the other lazily opening to a nameless room on the third floor, east wing. Or maybe it was the second floor, seventh corridor. I don't remember…whatever it was, I was a little surprised that maids still regularly cleaned in here. They must either really be dedicated, or there were a lot more than I thought to keep this gigantic home so spic and span.

                My hand began stroking something soft and airy, and I raised my head to view the rays of sunshine from the above window come around Julien's hair in an angelic touch. The early morning light wasn't very bright or bold, but at least it was enough to make me smile, watching this blue-eyed Adonis in slumber. If we were to look on these superficial terms again—who's the most beautiful in the land? Physically? Mentally? Is it me? —I would definitely be sure he was in the top ten. Not only was he so handsome; a true fallen angel, but his inner soul was as deep as la Méditerranée trench.

                My arms were wrapped around his body, his cheek pressed close against my breast in a pseudo-matronly fashion, and in the night he had coiled his own grasp around my waist and held me close. The sweet air gave me an exhilarated sense deep within my stomach, and I took a heavy and longing breath at the thought of returning to a peaceful dream. And then I realized: it couldn't get any more blissful than this.

                "Julien…" I whispered quietly, as my lips met his blond hair and softly, I caressed him. I had a feeling this was real happiness—nothing fanciful or energetic, just the quiet, simple pleasure of a winter's morning. I breathed his name again, this time lightly shaking his somniferous form. He made some movement with his head, slightly tipping it and inhaling a long, luxurious bout of oxygen, then smiling in his sleep, eyes closed, while stretching out his body and nuzzling into my skin, as though I were a pillow he could always use.

                After a moment, while I simply watched, quietly interested, he very slowly opened his eyes, gazing curiously at my smile and moving up to my honey-hued irises. For a time he only watched me, cogitating, with his hand pressed steadily against my back, as though I might fly away if he should let go. I was becoming enthralled in his sky blue orbs, wondering how such a man deserved this gift of unique beauty. He must really be something in God's eyes, as he was in mine, and if one person should make it into Heaven, he would definitely be the first choice of all things wise. He leaned in and uttered my name.

                I grinned blithely, leaning even more into the pillow, which tightened his grip. "Good day, Monsieur."

                "Good day," he replied, showing only a half of mirth in his eyes. I was too far compressed to notice his mouth, though there was some type of sarcasm to what I could see when he added, "princess."

                "Mmm…" I closed my eyes, kissing his hair and pulling him closer. With this amount of space, it's a wonder we were so bound together. Though somehow I didn't mind. "Did you sleep well?"

                "Of course. I was dreaming about you." He raised his head and smiled effulgently. His eyes glowed brilliantly. "I was the king of Ange Beau, but you weren't my daughter, you were my queen."

                My stomach curtailed with some anxious sense for just an instant, though it was suddenly gone, and I laughed as though I were still high on coca. "So you were my father, and I was Vivianne."

                "Yes, and you ran to me like that a thousand times. But it never grew old—in fact, I enjoyed it more with each growing count." He paused, pushing himself up to put his hand against my merry cheek.

                I chuckled and lifted an eyebrow—"And why are you having dreams about ruling Ange Beau, Monsieur?"

                His smirk was sensual, as smirks often are. "Just a pipe dream, I suppose." He brushed a few strands of hair away from my eyes. "But you, Nicolette. You don't seem like the average person…you seem to want to change things."

                "Yes I do. Because I'm able to." His hands were around my face. "I've achieved the most difficult part of any sort of activist or political trade…establishing a position—my position as daughter of this land's ruler—so that people will listen."

                He stared at me for a long moment. His eyes were shining bright, but again, he held no emotion I could easily recognize. Just pure and unadulterated scrutiny.

                "It was nice being with you, Julien." I lifted his chin with my fingers, grinning at his lovely skin. He isn't the tannest person in the world, but he's surely darker than me. "I'm glad we found each other."

                He took hold of my hand. "I want to be with you. But how can we?" He glanced me up and down. "Without a lot of sneaking around."

                "You're with me right now, aren't you?"

                He nodded. "For the moment."

                After we embraced again, some ten minutes drawing by (in which I was reminded of a beautiful song I once heard, where the girl begs her lover to turn away before she becomes too distant to continue their relationship), I finally decided it was time to meet my new family for the day. Julien had given me the strength to get through this—he would be right there beside me as a friend, and maybe, since we talked about being always together, I wouldn't have to see them as much.

                "Come on…let's go to breakfast." I sat up, tickling his Adam's apple while his smile turned sensual. Playfully, I slowly maneuvered the thin top blanket, made of bloody red silk, to fit around my body as a dress, while he was too lazy to reach for the other coverings and thus was forced to raise and sit in front of me without even the barest cloth to his name. I started chuckling, and soon he joined in: my light and lilting laugh over his low one, and I couldn't help thinking of the absurdity if people only knew. We would make a good couple—I mean, we were of the right age and status, we complimented one another in appearance, and our intellect and humor were of relatively the same level. Maybe they had already matched us up in their minds as potential lovers.

                I rose in the wrapping, backing up enticingly, all the while trying to keep my head from going straight to the clouds. He sprung forward to snatch his clothes from the ground, and when he had them, covering all vital parts as if I weren't the only one in the room, he moved forward with each step I took in reverse. Finally he was close enough to grab me to him, and I laughed with surprise as he swung me around, blanket still attached, while his clothes had once again fallen in heaps on the floor. He spun me past the window and I stopped in sound, immediately fascinated by the white wonderland that had sprung up on the palace grounds. There was snow everywhere; falling from the serene gray sky to the frosty and glorious icicles against the glass and trees. I had never seen something so beautiful—and to think, straight after my birthday there was a warming period, while now, soon following my happiness, Heaven had frozen over.

I stole to my room soon after to put on a long, fitting white nightgown and robe. It was only seven-fifty, although it was hard to believe I had woken so early. Julien assumed his formal attire from the day before, and when we entered the banquet hall at eight o'clock and ten, trying hard to conceal smiles (but to no avail), Vivianne looked up from her place next to my father, startled, and soon her catching glance, like a serpent that realizes he's been cheated out of his food, grew to a piercing, stunned watch as she looked from Julien to me to him again. Her eyebrow rose to meet her hairline, and she appeared completely horrified.

"Nicolette!" my father said in good spirits, midway pouring coffee into a silver mug. He had a healthy glow—not only in his complexion, but his finely brushed raven hair and jovial eyes. He saw nothing of his wife's cold stillness, and her sons, since involved in some independent conversation, looked at us both in a mix of curiosity, and in Nicolas's case, envy. "I was wondering where you disappeared to last night. I thought you had finally gotten lost here after all these years."

"Oh papa," I grinned merrily and strutted over to him, ignoring Vivianne's deathly gaze on Julien. I kissed him on the cheek, hugging my arms around his neck. "I was very tired last night, and I wanted to get ahead on Politique. It's very interesting, no? Oh, you are a husband now!" I turned to the shrew, "And you are a wife!" Her head swung toward me, so we were face-to-face, inches apart. "I wish the best for both of you."

Silent, she smiled. "You are my daughter now."

And I said nothing, seeing a rare aspect of sincerity in her eyes.

My father put his hand on my arm (still around him) and said, "And Julien, you slept here too? I would have fixed a grand room for you had you let me know. I hope the night was bearable?"

He nodded, formalities in every pore. "I slept very well, thank you. I didn't feel the road was safe to venture back alone."

"I've always told you to stay more often. You're a valuable asset, and even more of a friend."

This hurt Julien so much it wounded me.

"And Monsieur Lacroix," Vivianne fixed her attention on the blond one again, "you vanished from our company last night as well. Were you tired?"

"Very." Their eyes were throwing daggers, and I knew immediately they were communicating through something other than words. "I couldn't keep my eyes open. I would never miss such an important wedding, but after that, I'm afraid I had to back out." He nodded toward me, and my heart skipped a beat. "I met la princesse in the halls this morning, and sharing the same experience, we just now entered."

"Well please, take a seat and join us," my father was ecstatic; absolutely on cloud nine, while all others went hesitantly back to their own conversations. I wonder now just how many people realized we were together.

I sat across from Louis, mon ange taking his place beside me, parallel to a statuesque Nicolas. What was his problem? He looked as though we were vile nighttime creatures that should strike if he moved. I'm certain he knew what was up, but why should that matter? I didn't care—I didn't care if everyone knew just then. We had the whole world ahead of us, and we could do as we pleased. Youth has such follies!

"So the hunting trip is still on today?" my father's smooth voice began with the passing of very colorful and mouth-watering types of food. I was never a big eater, but was pleased to know that whatever left over on my plate made a nice change for all the animals running around on the grounds. That feeling of sharing, as morally zealous as it sounds, really gives me a good sentiment inside.

"Yes, it is," said Nicolas, focusing his attention on someone that actually 'deserved' it. "Though many cancelled due to the snow."

"Ahh, yet it's so beautiful. It's been unusually warm this winter." The weather never fails to keep up a decent conversation.

I had turned my interest to watching Julien cut the sausage on his plate, those perfect lines and the way he could split them with one strike. I had never seen any one manage their food so well. Playfully, I interjected my hands onto his utensils, looking at him in a this is how one does it sort of way, and daintily began carving it. "I know. I don't see why someone should call it off because of that. Doesn't that sort of defeat the purpose of hunting? It's to prove how strong you are, yet somehow snow gets in your way." Everyone, including Julien, laughed. I had a hard time working at it, from the angle I was sitting; I sort of had to bend my body to get past Julien's, and I couldn't see it properly, so the cuts were zigzagged and a poor spectacle. On a particularly thick part, I ripped the knife across, using my whole upper half as strength, and gruntingly (yet silently) pushed it back up, which made my hair fall to one side. "…And the wolves are particularly savvy to their predators, so I always had to make sure…" I glanced at Julien, who was watching me with a pursed, quivering smile, trying his hardest not to make a sound, and I opened my mouth to let out a voiceless chortle while brushing my locks back behind me.

"But what other hunters are there available on such short notice? We can't have just anybody running around." Louis sounded a lot more intellectual when he actually said a full sentence. I had suppressed my giggling and now only smiled, while still using his fork to feed the 'ready' product to him. I put my fingers beneath his chin as he took the bite, but refused to give up the fork, holding it fast with his teeth. I gracefully steered it left to right, making sure not to give him a headache, until it was finally out, and when I picked up another bit, I held it right in front of him, taking pleasure as he snapped his teeth at my hand. He finally grabbed hold of it and swallowed, but some of the syrup and tragically fallen to right below his full lower lip. I shook my head with glee at his trouble, and with my fourth finger had wiped it away and put it in my own mouth. I then used the utensil to point to different foods, he shook his head at all of them, and very slowly, I turned it on myself. He nodded.

Vivianne cleared her throat, and it was then that I realized we were the objects of many eyes. I stopped, glanced quickly over them all (my father's mouth was slightly open; he must have stopped midway in speech), and said nonchalantly, "Oh. Monsieur Lacroix has just informed me, since I'm the closest one and most available for help, that he is very bad at cutting sausage. I gladly did it for him, and just to be on the safe side, made sure he knew how to consume it properly. I suppose we're all still in that heady, holiday spirit…" The last word was forced out, for I almost began chuckling uncontrollably until I smacked his side to stop. "One always has to make sure. You were saying?"

She lowered her head. Green, woodland eyes pierced my skin to an ache and she spoke loud and clear, "You're father says that you, Nicolette, can hunt. Is this true?"

All the joy that was in my body had been shot away, and I stared blankly at Papa, viewing quick images of bullets and animals in my head. "Yes, I have hunted before."

"This is perfect!" she clapped her hands merrily. Her smile was irksome. "A true feminist you are. You can accompany your new siblings and the others on their chase. What a magnificent way to bond!"

"Oh…" I wanted to spend the day with Julien, walking through a blissful white Belle, getting to know him even more, simply holding his hand, but right beneath that was the sheer reluctance to kill. I hated hunting. I wasn't bad at it; I had pretty good aim and patience, but as far as severing in those what was given to them by God—well—how could we have that right? "I would like to—really I would, but I don't think I'll be joining you. I was hoping to go to the city today…you know, to enjoy the snow and relax. Hunting is so hectic."

"Would you at least consider it?" my father cut in seriously, his brown eyes focusing only lightly on me. He kept watching Julien, but without the former amiability. "They can't go without one more person, and you are very skilled in this sort of thing. You can go to Belle anytime."

An alarm went off in my brain. I had surely blown it now—what was I to do? I glanced at all of them—they were studying us so intimately again, as if we were set up on a platter to pick apart and examine. I hated this; the Lord knows I hated this so very much, I could die…but I had to at least attempt to make things right. I sighed, staring down at the breakfast I hadn't touched. I wouldn't regain my appetite for a long while now. "You're right. Okay, I'll go hunting instead." Vivianne raised her head with a triumphant smile, and my father simply nodded. "Wonderful." His eyes flickered to mon ange. "You, my noble youth, may take the rest of the day off. See that you get some rest."

I suppose if he had to pick a suitor for his daughter, out of all the aristocrats and acceptable young men in the land, he was glad it was someone like him.

When everyone had finished and it was time to leave, Vivianne beckoned her two sons to her for a 'private' word. I was at the opposite wall, near the door, so I couldn't hear, but she made many motions with her hands, over her face and hair, during which Louis smoothed his bangs and straightened his collar and sleeves. Even telling her own offspring he was slacking; that must have hurt. Soon enough I was outside talking with Papa and one of the council gentleman just arrived from the cold world outside, but out of the corner of my eye I could see Julien lingering in the archway, discreetly trying to pick up on their words. Whatever it was, she had shielded herself strongly from his thoughts, and she did it on purpose…I could tell, it was driving him crazy.

Five minutes later I was halfway to my room at the southwest wing of the second floor, when he intercepted me from a random corridor. I gasped and paused, then shut my eyes with irritated relief and asked, "How could you get here so fast? Mon Dieu, sometimes I can't understand you."

Ignoring that, he took my arm and led me to him, against the corner of the wall, and as quietly as if someone were listening in—and they very well might have—he whispered, "You shouldn't go hunting today."

I made no expression. "Neither do I. But I really need to do this, to stay in everyone's good graces and…bond," I let the word out; it sounded strange to me. "Everyone knows, Julien."

"Perhaps they don't…" He spoke immediately and with forced hope, eyes pleading with me, and right then I almost agreed to do whatever he said. But I thank my parents for giving me stronger genes than to melt in the arms of a handsome boy.

"Are you kidding? Were you not at breakfast with me? Everyone knows! It couldn't possibly work in our favor to spend the day together, even though I desperately want to…"

"It's just that," he began, leaning his head against the wall in distress, and he spoke so softly I could barely hear him. His voice had never risen about a murmur this whole time, and I was beginning to feel uncouth, using a normal volume and all. "I don't feel right about it." He squeezed my hands in that same, insecure manner. "I don't trust them, any of them. And Vivianne is planning something; I know it."

"Do you mean that conversation?" He nodded. "I'm sure it was nothing important. Positively certain, in fact."

"Just please…" He closed his eyes out of hopelessness. One of his hands went up to harshly scrub an eyebrow; a sign of his gaining distress. "Tell them you can't go—tell them you're sick or tired or, or something, anything. There's no one in the forest you can get help from if something should happen, I'd rather be apart from you knowing you're safe in the castle then worrying what will become of you there—"

"I can get help from the others—"

"I'm sure they're in on it too."

"In on what, Julien?" I was exasperated by his overprotection; I wanted nothing more than to cease his worrying, but this was getting ridiculous.

He shook his head. "I don't know."

"Then please…" I stood on tiptoes to kiss his cheek, delicately taking his face in my hands. He refused to look at me, but I wouldn't take no for an answer. I finally got him to focus his diamond eyes on my own, and I whispered, "We just had one night together, Julien. It's not as if the world sinned. They wouldn't kill me over it." I smiled, "Is there anything—besides me not going, that can secure your belief in that?"

For a moment he didn't move; just simply watched me, trying to tame his breaking heart. I had a real sense of control and agony…is this what I wanted? Couldn't I just have easily gone to my father, said, "Look, daddy, I love you so much, so I think you should know that Julien and I have a thing together, and I'm not going hunting. Oh, I can't stand Vivianne (just had to throw that in, it IS a fantasy, after all)." Why did I have to feel I had to prove him wrong? Was it a defense mechanism—something for me to control in this capricious affair, or was it a true feeling of inclination toward a fake reality where I'll be okay?

"Wait…I know." I pulled a single hair from my head, a long and lilting brunette strand, and tied it around his wrist. My eyes found his with an excited electricity. "If this is all you see of me within twenty-four hours—"

"I'll come looking for you." We both smiled.

The chirping and quiet movements of winter animals throughout the trees caught and held my attention for the time being. The morning was young, and this innate, eager feeling wouldn't go away inside my stomach. That cold wind, softened by the exquisite beauty of the snow, contrasted to my liking with my milk-colored skin and warm threads. I had chosen to be decorative today—yes, I realize more often than not I dress in that manner, but there are a few times when I'm fed up with life and choose to go demure.

Anyway, I wore a style I had wanted to try out for a long time. It was relatively new, though until now I never had a good occasion to conduct a test run. My riding skirts, with the bustles on each side and behind me, were made of piercing blue denim, and I liked that rugged feel mixed with attractiveness. The overcoat I wore for outside purposes, which came down to about mid-thigh, buttoned only three times in the middle of my stomach, which left room for an off-white neckerchief covering cleavage and a small view of my camisole. It was a very warm overcoat, very stylish; it was acid-washed in green denim this time, and although the colors were different, the shades were the same. The shirt beneath was just plain white with lace trim and a pale pink ribbon…it was sleeveless, but I was perfectly comfortable with the heat provided. My boots were soft pearl-colored, laced up to just past my ankle, and my hair was swept into a high ponytail, hiding almost completely over my denim-like taffeta hat. I wore only tiny blue hoop earrings; I didn't want to mar the job with fashion setbacks, and the frills around my wrists were small and efficient…well, for lack of a better word. Past that, my mother's dazzling purple jewel hung securely. I felt elegant yet practical, with my rifle in hand and my precious white horse, Adea, beneath me. It was a good day.

"We start as soon as everyone's ready," a young man with a beard announced, holding the pack of dogs that were writhing to scope their targets out. We were all in a circle, more or less, checking guns and making last minute preparations. I rode speaking with Louis the whole time—he's really very nice. I enjoyed listening as he talked of his merits at school back home. It turns out he wasn't a dunce or anything of the sort at all—well, he may have been clueless when it came to the opposite sex, but that's to be found in many boys across the globe. He asked me whether I planned to attend college: I confirmed this completely, and it brought in a whole other set of reasons as to why he thinks everyone should have the right to an education. Being the only girl there, and an important one, no less, I found he was the only other hunter I now felt comfortable being around. I stuck close beside him.

In a moment, one of the men cleared his throat from subtle impatience, and the leader nodded and said, "Then let's begin! Shoot whatever you think is necessary—foxes, deer, the wolves," he looked at me for a moment, as if the only way for me to get away from one was to shoot it, "and if anyone needs any help, call on your fellow hunters." When they were all meditating on this, I pulled on the reigns of my horse and turned around, giving a quick, noble look at everyone. I wasn't playing the helpless female today.

"So…let's go." He released the dogs.

We all spread out, some in packs of three or four; some as bare as one, as was my case, to see what animals we could slay. The trees were thick and icy with frost, glistening in the different angles, so I was reminded of a great glass forest; a magical place I had fallen into and never could find my way out. There was a slight fog, but nothing bad, as I could see clear enough. All the other hunters had disappeared…it was only nature and me. Nature versus me? No…that was what they wanted me to conform to, of course, but I wasn't against it; I never was. I was simply playing a part to keep up society, and as long as I realized that, I would remain the most faithful friend.

I came to a small clearing; a grove, really, and dismounted Adea. It was time to go off on my own or the foxes would never come.

I felt odd walking past the trees—the sticks—alone, their thick stumps and tall statures making me feel as small yet as significant as a woodland fairy, and something about the gun in my hand made me want to throw myself down and scream for God to have mercy. But I remained calm; wary, out to kill. Adea whinnied; I turned: was something there? Maybe I should have gone back…no…no, I kept walking. The greenery, like my jacket, was faded and hidden beneath layers of hoary silk, and once again I got some strange pleasure from gingerly gasping to see my own breath.

I crossed a little stream in the forest, larger than me of course, but it was a mere baby compared to the colossal size of all other things, those pale green ribbons running into the sky, their leaves all gone and their color softened because of the snow. The water was halfway frozen over, with little shards of ice coursing through a wet ravine as though it were anatomy. I found a semi-bridge, really only a darting bank, small enough for me to hop over, and when I landed immediately afterward I heard a sharp rustle from a large and parallel bush, as if my presence disturbed the very flow of the woods and by moving brashly I had sparked uneasy attention.

I cocked my gun fast, the clicking sound so piercing, it was a wonder the whole land couldn't hear it, and I paused to see if I could actually view the animal, then darting to both sides and, finally behind me. Nothing at all, and the only noise to accompany my breathing was the stream's quiet whispers of question: what was I doing here?

When I turned back around, my heart skipped with surprise, and I almost dropped the weapon in the water and ran. A wolf had come out from the brush, with a snowy, glistening coat, and the prize animal of its pack if I ever saw one. His eyes, large and dark, blazed with a kind of quiet intensity, like a fire that hid behind some furnace wall. His mouth was open and smiling, sharp teeth involuntarily producing a demure amount of saliva, enjoying the cold weather and my shaking frame, and his body sprawled out long enough to cover a decent amount of foliage not ten feet away. I waited. He had the chance to attack me—the question was only when. Maybe when he lunged at me I could raise the rifle fast enough to blow him away point-blank, but I would have to be sharp about it; the timing was crucial. I kept my eyes firmly on his, not provoking it—not raising even the slightest hair on my eyebrow, and in such a sluggish manner, I discreetly moved my hand over the relaxed trigger. It stood by my side, waiting…waiting….

After a moment, it began to seem tedious, all this delaying, and I was almost sure it wasn't going to attack me…unless provoked by some means. At first I tried breathing heavily, glowering from beneath my hat, but its relaxed stance changed not a bit. I took a step back, and then a step forward, trying different things, but it only licked its paws and continued to smile. After doing quick, odd movements to get an effect, as the dogs at the palace seem so apt to respond, I became bold: I raised my rifle, shutting an eye for focus and moved my hand over the trigger. Juxtaposing harsh intentions it covered its eyes with a paw and whimpered before sitting up again, out of pantomime.

I lifted my head for a moment. This was quite something else…what was I to do? There was no sport in any of it. It wouldn't even attempt to put up a fight, as if the whole world was against women and their intelligence to fire a bullet. But I had the rifle, and surely it knew its life was in my hands. And it was a wolf, for the Lord's sake! Why didn't it attack me? I screamed at it from behind my brain: attack me! Give me some justification for blowing your brains out and putting your severed head upon a wall!

Almost grudgingly, I lowered myself into the stance again, taking my time to make sure nothing but perfect aim would pass. I pointed it straight between the relenting eyes, ready to fire, but then I moved it out and out again to make sure I could easily position the barrel to my liking. Even that was finished, in some five minutes, when I could no longer fool myself into thinking I had bad aim. I sighed longingly, moving my hand over the trigger for a final time. One…two…

An earsplitting bang like a sharp mosquito bite whipped through my head, and I almost dropped the weapon from shock. The wolf remained intact; it hadn't been me who fired, but at that one point I was so devastated, it was ghostly to see the animal prick up its ears and face the specific direction—the direction I had come from—of the gun.

After my horror subsided, shriveling gradually to a little ball in my stomach like a dark weed, I turned back to the white god, and considering its simple greatness, its ironic magnanimity at being so stupid—so brave in defying the barrel of a gun, that I began to wonder…maybe I really had shot at it.

I took a step back, another, and another…it didn't follow. I turned. It stayed the same. Maybe another time…this wasn't meant to be.

I hopped over the ravine and hurried away.

Once out of view of the animal, blocked off by massive walls of bushes and brushes and what have you, I slowed my pace to a walk. The snow was lightly falling again, each little flake simply glowing with splendor. The oddness of this scenario plagued my existence with a sort of anxious wonder, and this white dust had only livened the possibilities. But wait…possibilities of what? Of the good that will come now that I had spared it? I couldn't have shot it if I wanted to—and believe me, I did. I wanted to so badly, yet a certain intangible force held my finger captive, not letting it push in the trigger, not giving me legal justification to kill it. I kind of felt like a good person afterwards, though there was no reason for that. Shooting it would have made me a bad person, but not doing gave me no cause for sainthood.

I approached the original site where I had dismounted, excited and in a state of anomalous bewilderment. Woman, man, the trees, the snow, the air, the blood in all of life's veins—we all seemed so alive. There was Nicolas, animatedly fiddling with his rifle, back turned toward me. He had found his way here by my animal's call, no doubt. Through a dense set of leaves covering most of the scenery, I could just detect Louis as well. My family. I took a deep breath and converted my energy into pleasant words, smiling as I strutted in. "So what did you guys catch?" Nicolas abruptly turned around at the first letter spoken. "Something handsome, I hope. I have no doubt that an experienced…"

My mouth had barely formed the h in 'hunter' as I glanced off at the ground, with casual intentions at first, to view the bloody mess of what had once been a glorious stallion. I could feel my smile shrink to astonishment. The red grotesqueness of the liquid was subtly approaching my feet, and out of frozen shock the rifle slipped from my hand and landed with a muffled thud against the wine-colored snow. "Nicolette, Nicolette I'm so sorry!" Louis was repeating over and over again, attractive handgun still smoking, but I could barely hear him. Even his pleading blue eyes had no effect on my catatonia. The horror had tethered me.

The click of a nearby hammer pulled something deep from inside me. I told myself, from whatever small voice within, that if I didn't focus, I was going to die.

With the rest of my body unmoving, I turned my head slightly; just enough to face Nicolas, who was pointing the barrel of his silver firearm directly at my face. Why was this happening…God, what did I do wrong? I'm sorry, I should have listened to Julien. I should have listened. We were about two yards apart, my brother and I, definitely close enough for him to fire point-blank. I was aware of my frame starting to convulse, but in a sense I didn't really feel it…as if I were standing right next to me, putting a hand on my arm and only getting the barest sensation of what it was like. He said in a very matter-of-fact tone, "I'm going to kill you. I have to bring proof that I did: your heart. But I'll make it painless. I don't want you to feel that pain."

I worked my lips, dry, soaking up all the liquid offered in preparation for the afterworld. "Why do I have to die…?" It came out weak and meager; a sad sight for the last words of a princess. That hidden voice pounded in my ears again and I said louder, as loud and as noble as I could without shouting, "Who told you to kill me?"

"It's none of your concern." He moved his hand up the body, destined toward the trigger.
                "I believe it is of my concern," I clenched my fists and spoke furiously, not giving him a chance to get on with his actions. "I'm about to die. Was it your mother? Was it that damned cow? Was she not strong enough to approach me herself, was she too afraid and made her thugs of sons do it for her—"

"You know nothing!" he cried lividly, racing toward the trigger. I threw my hands up capriciously and pulled at my hair, causing my hat to fall off and loose strands to go everywhere. "You're insane, you're completely insane don't kill somebody!" I was screaming with passion, seeing my life flash in front of my eyes. No one would know. Julien would know.

"You're too much for this world. It would have come sooner or later." His hand was securely on the trigger, and horrified, I watched him with silent relinquishment, not pondering whether I should take that as a compliment or not. Goodbye world.

In the next second I saw my horse, sweet Adea, running a track so fast, her white mane looked a part of the wind. A shot sounded—that same one used to kill her, and it wasn't until the next instant that I realized the wolf—my would-be game—had thrown itself at Nicolas, and the trigger had definitely been pressed, but the barrel had been pointed upward toward the obscure canopy when he was pushed backward. It was snarling and snapping as he slammed the gun against it and tried focusing on me again. I could only think of one thing: to run, as hard and as fast as I could, to be attacked by whipping branches and sharp sticks and plants protruding from the underbrush, to jump over streams and slide under archways, to trip often in my slippery and ill-equipped shoes, but to pick myself up again, dirt-stained and all, and continue headlong up the path. I heard gunshots in the distance; I pushed harder. I heard distant shouts and yells of promise…from the other hunters, maybe? I'm sure they were trying to find me—I never once relented. The cramp in my side started small and ominous, making a less than welcomed companion, but then grew larger and larger with pleas and threats—anything to rest just for a second, but even slowing down was out of the question. I had to escape these heathens. My hair had come down now, flowing all around me and mussed from sweat and being compressed, and I'm sure the snowflakes dotting my dark tresses—matched with the scratches I was receiving on my hands and the holes in my coat—made for a haunting depiction.

I ran through endless obstacles, sparked by that will to live, for so long. It must have been thirty more minutes that I traveled through the forest, getting into the thicker parts where the sky was consumed. Through little patches one could see the gray clouds continually producing the snowstorm, but it was rightfully less abundant here—the tops of the trees stopped most of it. Ferns and strange, frosty little flowers, pale pink ones with red frames about them could be seen, and more rocks in my way and a hilly terrain—in fact—I kept going all the way to a large drop, something like a mound, and I couldn't stop myself, so I was forced to either keep running at this lightning pace, ever gaining, or fall and surely receive at least one broken bone. At the bottom, as I was approaching a stream of fallen leaves come down from the hill, I finally let myself crash and slide from all the momentum I was building up, right until there was flat land again and I could actually feel all the aches and cramps I had assailed on my body. Promptly I buried my face in my hands, pressed against the forest floor, and wept from all the turmoil. It was only a for a moment—I would have cried for longer than I'm proud to mention, but the throbbing pain in my stomach expanded monster-size now that I stopped, churning in a green sea of nausea, and I sat up with severed tears and that dreaded feeling. The chalk-white tie was still hanging on my hair by the end of one part, and I gathered all my locks backward before turning round to do something I hadn't done in very long time.

Afterwards, I felt so horrible, sitting there all alone, beaten, bruised, almost killed. That word 'almost' is so important…I had escaped a surefire death, and I was lucky just to be able to breathe another second of air, even if at the time I didn't realize it. The tears began gushing again, almost of their own will, but I had at least calmed myself down enough to be able to think about other things. Now…how was I going to get out of this mess? If I went back to the castle, they would kill me!—but if I went back to Julien…maybe he would confront my father on behalf of Vivianne, or maybe we would move away entirely so I would be safe and gone from their presence. But I couldn't go back…not just now anyway. She's expecting only my heart to return—and how horrible an ogre her mind must be! I clenched my left breast with the sheer thought of it.

But then…where would I go for a 'while'? I couldn't survive without some sort of shelter, especially in the winter. I could find a cave, maybe…ugh…or stay with a family out in the country—I'm sure they'd be honored to have their princess live with them, but…if there's a reward on my head they might turn to that instead…maybe if I disguised myself, or just said I looked like her if they asked. But where was the country? Where was anything! I was alone, in the woods, in the snow. I didn't know which way was north or south, just the fact that I was lost and lonely. I had no one—no one—except myself to depend on.

Wait a moment…

Julien! He knew—he knew I was in danger. He knew they were against me. He said if I wasn't back in twenty-four hours, he would come. I had a savior! I almost cried with joy at the thought. I was excited again—my love was coming for me.

So now I just had to find a very temporary shelter. Something to keep me warm for a while; nothing special, and that would be that. It was so much easier said than done though, where exactly could I go?

A dim blue light began to take over the atmosphere, this frigid and isolated woodland. I wondered what time it was…probably early afternoon by now, but nowhere near the time the sun was supposed to set. Hell's winter must have really taken its toll on the earth.

I coughed (God, please don't let me take ill after all that!) and pulled my hair back down so it all fell in my face, exhausted, damp, and although I felt that irrepressible dirty feeling, it provided vital extra warmth that I had to conserve now, with no rescue party by my side. I'm sure I looked a mess, but I was in no position to care. I was a bleak girl in a bleak environment, destined to wait for salvation in a quiet blizzard, without even the vaguest idea of what had went on. All I knew was Vivianne: she was my enemy, that horrible wretch, and I would get her back.

I lay at the foot of the mountain for a while, trying to find patches of sky between the dark and distant canopies, while the cold hurt my nose, almost as uncomfortable as the snow for my bed. I attempted to keep warm by hugging myself into my jacket, undoing the buttons and then pulling it as tightly as I could around me. At least I still had that. And as I turned to focus on a nearby, broken tree branch, my thoughts began to drift with ideas of death—of a princess dying on the frozen forest floor like this, how much of a scandal that would be to society, what Julien would feel, what my papa would think…monarchs are supposed to die beautiful deaths, something fit for a wedding. But this…only nameless vagabonds perish as such. And maybe that was me.

I don't remember how long I fell asleep. My dreams were far too few and in between, but they were desolate, just like my surroundings. I think one of them was a meeting of the Royal Court, in which I stood up and exclaimed that Julien and I were together, before he told me that I was already dead—see? There was my heart, on the mantle, set in a jaded box in perpetual display. I laughed at this, nervously, I might add, before walking to throw it into the hearth to decimate all evidence.

A sudden noise entered my skull before I could continue with the sequence, and I opened eyes so numb to exactly what I wanted to get away from—reality. I was still there, still alone and helpless, the air getting bluer and dimmer. I wonder how much time had passed—probably not terribly much, an hour or two at most, but I felt no relief from the escaping dreams. In fact, it made me even wearier. But I had to come to terms—if I fell asleep for a long time in this environment, I would freeze to death.

I lifted my head. The snow had dampened my hair to stick to my face, and when I brushed it behind my ears, a drained expression forever lasting, I had distant images of the dogs at the castle, running ahead in the large green grounds, playing with each other in merriment and having it better than most people. I almost smiled, if it were physically possible. I could barely even sit myself up, mental energy waning as I clamped a firm hand upon my brow. The more pressure, the better.

Another bark filled my senses, and this time I turned, surprised, to the left, where in the distance I could detect the motion of a mid-sized animal, moving closer and closer with mounting curiosity. When it got to about a few yards away, I could tell it was a fluff ball of a sheepdog; a girl, no doubt, for it was beautiful and sort of feminine, and it shook its nub (where a tail had been bobbed off long ago) with the energy of a twelve-year-old courtier. Its dark coat was laden with snow, which was continually falling to add to the white in its head and paws, and I thought immediately that I must not be alone here…dogs of this sort do not run wild or alone, especially in the woods.

She stopped a little ways before me, making quick, sharp movements to clarify my presence, and when she was sure she had seen me—someone new, someone she didn't know, she began barking and howling furiously, shaking and running around in circles as though I were a mass murderer. I immediately put my finger to my lips to shush her—who knows where the hunters were—but then I remembered that animals first have to gain one's trust before any sort of reprimand could be pushed. I made the hushing sound soft, like the waves upon an ocean, and gave gentle kissing noises as she reduced her hysteria to short and random blurts. Slowly, I extended my hand out to her, leaning in as friendly as I could, and in all her frenzy she complied and came to sniff it. Her nose was cold and wet, something disgusting and delightful simultaneously, and after several seconds passed by, I gingerly moved my palm over her head and stroked the plethora of fur. She sniffed my arm and wrist in the process, though I really didn't mind, continuing to make friends with her, and when I was finally sure she wouldn't betray or run away from me, as I was being charmed by her very presence, I stood up, teetering in the process, and reached down to pet her chin. She tried to jump up on me out of new companionship, but I caught her paws, giving her a big kiss on her blinded forehead, and let her follow after me as I began to walk in the direction she came from. Of course she was really leading me; she would always strut a couple of paces ahead and then stop to make sure this was the right way to go, to her territory, but I fooled her and strode up as she raced on.

The distance really wasn't very much, just winding—past whitened trees and bleak, wintry plants. It would have been lovely had I still had some hope left—even though this dog was here, I felt broken and betrayed. The darkened ambience didn't help much either.

Finally, when we emerged from the dense brush into a circular clearing, she raced on faster than she ever had during that whole time, while I could only pause, leaning against a skinny tree with wide eyes. I gulped. A large…well, edifice of some sort reigned toward the middle of the white snowfield, its brilliance only stunted by its oddness. I had never seen anything like it…an affluent size for a cottage; lofty and comfortable, with one wall completely engulfed in snow catching ivy. I bowed down against the wood, letting myself fall—salvation at last! But could I just go right to the door?

Yes, in this weather and atmosphere, I hardly think I shouldn't.

I approached the home somewhat cautiously, keeping my eye on the dog, ignoring the wet shoes I now had to tread in. This was terrible. I felt a flitter of nervousness, but I suspect it was mostly because of the chills I suffered through. I looked at my hands—paper white. I felt like a ghost in a living being's world, where I can only come out when others aren't to be found, to mourn the loss of a promising life. And maybe I was. Maybe in that instant, when Nicolas fired the gun at my eyes, I had really received the metal and had fallen, without really knowing what had gone on. The wolf had been my spirit guide, but now couldn't find me, so until we came in contact I was forced to wander. But then, what of this animal and shelter? Maybe it was a powerhouse—full of other spirits just waiting for their guides alike…it did seem ethereal, and the dog was a keeper of ghostly roaming.

Everything was blue—it was all dim and dark, so depressing for one used to so much light—so I couldn't quite see everything perfectly. From the door in the middle, an orange and red stained glass peephole in the shape of the sun brilliantly took hold of my vision. It wasn't gaudy—it was just large enough to draw attraction to, and it gave me the power of looking on other things. There were windows on either side of the entrance, large, glass ones with interior shutters down on the left side. There looked to be pictures on these as well, but I couldn't make them out. In the dark, I saw a large shingled roof slant up and then flat across a wide distance—it looked to be three stories tall—and the chimney, standing out as if it were an evil nemesis on the other side, cold and without smoke. Above the doorway and windows (and there were many of them, all shut) rose gothic points of cream, bordered delightfully as though it were lace. On the left side there was a connected roof which housed many snow-gilded barrels and boxes, though I didn't dare go over there. It would probably give me a sense of what kind of people live here, and strange as it may sound, that was something I would rather not have known. It was quite a large house, built out of several different resources—wood, or brick, or even marble in small, decorated areas, and made to last through days such as this.

The dog scratched eloquently at the front door, whimpering at me as though this was my house. Consumed by the pain of the cold, I immediately hurried and pounded on the wood, suddenly thinking of what may happen if someone answered it. What if it was an old, old woman, hunched over from so many years of poor posture, with flesh that sagged over her elusive eyes, and a nose so flamboyant it pointed down over her toothless smile. What if she said something like, "Ahh, Nicolette, I have been expecting you," and brought me in, right into the horrors of a madhouse. Of what that was I didn't want to think about. What if it was a tall, giant of a man, with a mean face and evil grin, grabbing my arm and pulling me upon his bed to do something worse than what Nicolas was intending. But I shook off these thoughts; kept knocking. I knocked and knocked until my skin was red, by that time throwing myself against the threshold, desperate, welling with tears, while the dog began barking out of alarm again.

I stopped. I ran around to the annexed shed—there was a plain black door there, and I tried that too, but to no avail. I ran around back to the front—if I was going to remain outside, it might as well be in the delightful part of the house.

I pounded on the windows. On the immediate right one, a shutter had been left open, probably in case someone should lose a key, and after asking for God's forgiveness, as if breaking and entering were up there with the seven sins, I ran back to the brush to grab a fairly large stick. It went right through, making a small shatter as specks like jewels fell in and out of the frame. I grabbed a nearby stone, very small, and cleaned out all of the large shards. Hoping my coat would protect me from the little pieces left, I rammed my arm inside and felt around. The doorway was all smooth—where was it? The lock was near the window, so I couldn't be too far off…a little farther down…and with an excited twang, my hand moved over something rising off the plane and textured. I felt around for the little knob, and using more strength than normal due to weakness, I turned it, faintly hearing the click, and when I got past the horrors of taking my arm back in one piece, opened the door with anticipation.

The dog rushed in before me, taking comfort in the black surroundings, and like a tourist I followed it around, trying to decipher things without any source of light. There appeared to be a white couch and other pieces of furniture in the main room—I was so fatigued, I really didn't bother studying all of it, and towards the other side I detected a kitchen. The animal had strutted there, where a dark island foreshadowed the countertops behind it, and a small, snowy window looked out into the eternal forest over a faintly glimmering faucet. There was a little bowl somewhere inside where she hungrily munched on whatever was in her diet, and when I took a step in, ready to pillage for any source of food (for my energy was so depleted, it was all I could do not to push her over and continue where she left off), I saw the wide wooden stairs, winding up past stone walls, and for some reason I thought I had better back off. I had already broken in…to actually take what was theirs was pushing it way over the…well…the rules. Likewise, I was very tired, but I couldn't go up to someone's personal territory. And once I began to, I know I couldn't stop. It just felt…wrong. Then…just sit on the floor?

No. Hastily I fled back to the den, grabbing logs in a copper bin and throwing them into the hearth. I wasn't really thinking—I just piled them in; there were so many left. I took the matches and quickly lit a few, waiting until the growing blaze actually gave me that glorious feeling of heat, before removing my jacket to serve as a cushion. I got so very near the flames; I actually had to pull away before long. It warmed my skin and dried my hair…giving me that glowing feeling again. Oh, I was still incredibly hungry, but now at least I knew I wouldn't perish.

Within ten minutes, I had reclined into a sleeping position on the ground near the hearth, my head propped up by a folded coat, my arms spread wide on the stone floor, and it took me next to nothing to enter a second, more peaceful dream world.