Whispers in the Snow

I lie flat on my back, looking up at the sky. The snow is cold and wet, seeping through my robes and sweater to chill my skin. I am not sure how long I have been out here, only that I am not ready to leave. Maybe if I stay just a little longer, I will be able to feel you again.

My eyes are drifting closed. I can no longer feel the cold. I can no longer feel anything. I try curling and uncurling my fingers, but it hurts too much. My hands, my body is frozen solid.

I close my eyes and enjoy the light show the dances behind the lids. Reds, greens, blues, golds.

And then, through the shadows, a pair of piercing blue eyes appears.

I would smile if my muscles weren’t frozen.

You say hello. It is the most beautiful word coming from your lips.

You tell me I’m beautiful.

I hate it when you lie.

But to argue with you would be treacherous and pointless to boot.

The cold seeping through my veins is warmth to you. That is why the snow is always the best choice.

But I have waited a year for this opportunity. For it was a year before the snow fell once more.

It has been so long, you say.

And so it has. Nearly four years.

You know what it is I seek. You have this way of knowing everything. You have lived inside my mind for so long, I would be surprised if you didn’t know its workings.

I have a razor, I tell you. I have ways.

You assure me that they won’t be necessary. If I trust you, you will take care of everything.

My heartbeat is the only active thing in my body. It is racing like wild, slamming painfully against my rib cage.

And then, it isn’t.

It is slowing. My breathing is, as well.

My eyes flicker open. My eyelids feel so heavy. The sky is bright. Bright white. The ground around me is pure.

And I am tainted.

And there you are. Handsome as ever. Immaculately dressed, your eyes glittering in the way that used to scare me so.

Now, it barely registers. 

You hold out your hand and ask me to dance.

I tell you that I can’t. I’m frozen. Can’t you see?

But you insist that I am not. I am just as warm as you.

And then your hand is in mine, burning my flesh, pulling me to my feet.

My limbs are slowly thawing. Warmth is spreading through them, burning and excruciating.

But you don’t give me time to get used to it. You have placed one hand on my hip and are twirling me around like we are in a ballroom.

I look down and find that our feet are not touching the ground. But the long black dress you have put me in is brushing the snow, it is so long.

I have always been like your doll, haven’t I? You dress me, you bend me to your will, you make me how you want me.

And never have I minded.

Tom, I whisper, what’s going on?

You smile at me.

You are free, my butterfly.

You are free.