Black & White | Once Upon A Time

One

Enchanted Forest

A shudder rippled down my spine, brought about by the stinging cold that nipped at my fingertips and stole the color from my lips. I huddled in my father's jacket, trying vainly to rub some much-needed warmth into my arms, though with my hands as frost-bitten as they were, the effect was somewhat dulled.

The needle-like cold pricked at every inch of exposed skin, worming its way through the chinks in my makeshift armor (father's weather-beaten jacket hardly qualified as such, but it still served as my only real protection against the frigid conditions, and for that I was grateful).
Father'd been gone for some time, now. Mother, too; she'd left me with the promise that when she returned, we'd set off again, with or without father. She was under the assumption that he would have wanted that, for us to reach our destination despite not doing so as a family. I wasn't as certain those were his wishes, but I wasn't in any position to argue. We were making this godforsaken journey on my account, after all.

Drawing my knees to my chest, I cupped my hands around my mouth, huffing out short breaths in quick intervals in the hopes of keeping my fingers from going numb. It wasn't helping, not as much as I would have liked, but it kept me focused if nothing else, and I was fairly sure keeping my head was just as important as staving off future loss of limb. That's what I told myself as the drifting snow fell around me, thick as fog and twice as lonely, encasing me in a web of icy chains, loose tendrils ensnaring legs and arms, hands and feet, wrapping around my throat and stealing whatever warmth had trickled down into my core.

Soon breathing would become difficult, would ravage my throat until it was red and raw. My chest would ache with an uncanny fierceness, then - just as suddenly - there would be nothing. Nothing at all, nothing but a great emptiness. And then would come the blissful heat, a false hope for survival that I would reach for with frozen hands.

After that, well... I could imagine my end would be a peaceful one, at least. That had to count for something, didn't it?

Stupid! Thinking like that... that's not me, that... can't be me. That's not how I was raised. Stop wallowing in 'what ifs', it won't get you anywhere... Just wait a while longer. Mama and Papa, they'll be back soon, they'll come back...

I slapped both hands to my cheeks, squeezing my eyes shut as the dry, wind-bitten skin smarted sharply. But with the pain came clarity, and as my eyes fluttered open, I could see past the curtain of swirling, iridescent flakes - I could see the huddled figures on the clearing's edge, shuffling closer and closer, hoods over their heads, cloaks billowing out behind them.

The exhaustion that had taken root this past hour fled the moment my father raised his head and the wind teased the hood away from his face. He broke into a soft, tentative smile, one I recognized as being rather half-hearted, but it was as if the sun's rays had burnt through the overhang of clouds and washed over me, because the wintry cold may as well have been an unpleasant memory as I trudged across the barren clearing and fell into my father's arms.

"Elisabetta!" he breathed, stumbling back a step but righting himself in the next moment. His clumsy gloved hand cradled the crown of my head as he pulled me against him, and I was embraced in his familiar, earthy scent - pine needles and livestock and early mornings spent in the glow of the crackling fire. "Are you alright? My child, I'm so sorry for leaving you by yourself, we shouldn't have..."

"Papa, Papa, I'm--" The words perched on the tip of my tongue, ready to spring forth and assure my father that his guilt was unnecessary, that I was fine now that he and mother had returned. And yet what I said was something altogether foreign. "You should have come quicker, I was about to turn to ice! You're awful!"