And it was cold
By Morfinwen
He was born alone, shunned, a monster feared by all.
Even his own father.
He was banished, to a dark palace, devoid of light and laughter, an empty existence.
He could not feel, not the sun upon his skin, or the wind caressing his cheek, nor the lips of a lover.
And that putrid taste of bitter blood remained.
He was lonely, wallowing in a cold case of self-pity, an icy cage.
He picked his brides, fair ladies in his dwelling akin to a frozen lily in the midst of ice and snow. He preserved them, but they were only a reminisce of their former beings, pale and unloving, wailing for attention. He thought he would love them, but he was wrong.
He turned to another solution, a weak glimmer like a ray of light piercing the frosty winter clouds.
But it was destroyed, and his power was challenged, and the claws pierced him.
He thought he felt the wind again, a cool, crisp memory of happier days. He thought he heard his father's voice again, praising him. He thought he smelt the sweet sweat and light perfume of her again, of her soft golden hair, of her honeyed skin.
But he felt it at his heart, and it stopped, and the sickening feeling of fear overcame his will.
And he fell into darkness, wind whipping at him.
And all was cold.