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「雪を運んでくれてありがとう」
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「 お元気ですか？ 」
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when butterflies lose their ability to fly, how do they get around. are they still alive, or are they about to die? will the wind take them away? or will they be engulfed by the land of beauty and love?
death was a funny thing to you, being the snow of death yourself, you werent sure how dying felt. you were 'death' , and you give cold kisses to those who are about to die, but are afraid. you dont want them to be afraid, so you send them off to a cold slumber of hibernation so they wont feel a thing.
well, you were not the grim reaper, it wasnt your job to kill living beings, but if you saw them struggling, and not being able to accept death — you'd lend a hand.
it was interesting, really. death... what was it? you had nobody you could ask. all your existence, you had always been ... existing in some odd way. your job was to help living beings go to rest.
perhaps you needed a friend, perhaps you needed someone to rely on for once. you saw many families, saw many animals — they all had one thing in common though, feelings. how does one hurt from simply producing water from their eyes? how does one agonise when their skin is cut?
you used to have all these questions, still do, but then something happened in between your rather monotonous life — you met someone.
he wasnt a special someone, but an interesting individual to say the least. you found him lying in the snow one day after your daily walk, and he laid there motionless as the soft wind nestled him in cold.
his hair was a blend of gentle green and black, and there were hints of red clouding and inking his skin and clothes. his eyes remained shut, his lips slightly parted — you were unsure if he was still breathing. snow fell atop his head and created a small hat for him, and his weapon was stuck inside the snow just a few meters away from him.
