Five

I. Bright black sky, hard and glittering. Silver stars, diamond snow, iridescent swirls of light framing a pewter moon. Winter here is like living in a frost giant's jewelry box. She adores it: adores the gleaming ice that covers everything, adores the pain of the cold in her lungs, adores the blue-and-green carved drifts that guide her passage. Winter may be king in this land, but she is it's queen.

II. How can this be called winter? It's all wrong- the endless gray rains, the relentlessly green trees... isn't anything in this state the way it should be? He stares out the window, listless. Why had he come here? For her? She's gone now- took the sunlight with her, left him in this soggy, sodden mess. It doesn't even have the decency to be cold. At least if it were cold he could wrap himself in protective layers, something to help him keep it out... keep everything out...

III. They love this time of year- love the way the snow makes everything so soft, like a powdery white hug. Love the way their faces get red, love the way the blood tingles when they come back inside to sit in front of a fire. Love the excuse to make pots and pots of hot cocoa, laced with dozens of fluffy white marshmallows that only serve to remind them they should go back outside and sled some more...

IV. Shimmering air heavy in his lungs- this is what he has longed for. Christmas with a cactus. Rolling dunes of gold instead of white. Never ever again was he going north: his bones would someday bleach in the sun and his soul would rest easy, suffused with warm at last.

V. A starving animal clawing at her cabin- she knows it is cliched, but she cannot help but think it. This time of year has teeth, sharp and penetrating, devouring everything in a futile attempt to ease the ache in its hollow belly. She understands this time of year, understands the pain and anguish of having been left, bereft and unfulfilled- but understanding does not bring love, or even tolerance. She hates the animal, and will resist it with all her being. She would kill it, if she could- grind it beneath the heel of her boot, making way for it's gentler sisters. But no mortal can face it down, and so she hides, instead, and prays it will pass on.