* ✘𝑻𝑰𝑳𝑳 𝑫𝑬𝑨𝑻𝑯 𝑫𝑶 𝑾𝑬 𝑷𝑨𝑹𝑻✘ *

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐓𝐇𝐑𝐄𝐄

* . °•★|•°∵ ∵°•|☆•° . * * . °•★|•°∵ ∵°•|☆•° . *
.·:*¨ ✘♚✘ ¨*:·.
𝐓𝐈𝐋𝐋 𝐃𝐄𝐀𝐓𝐇 𝐃𝐎 𝐖𝐄 𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐓
▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐫𝐞𝐞

Kira had always liked the cold. no specific reason, actually. No reason at all. There was a clear memory forever stored in her mind, one she was fond of dreaming about. She was six, and around that time her parents had owned a farm in the middle of nowhere. The only thing she was able to see from the small window in her upstairs bedroom was the stretched out land with thousands of trees that seemed to go on forever.

There wasn't a road, just their house, and a barn in the back. Sunny. She could remember the immense heat shining down onto her day after day, after every chore. She was given the task to pick up behind the animals and tend to their every needs. She loved it, it was quiet, and at the time? She loved it.

Living that far in the middle of nowhere where there wasn't any trees to block the sun from your face, it was constantly hot. Snow wasn't something that naturally came, and even if it did the sun would melt it away like it was never there.

But when it came and stuck, she loved that too. The feeling of something so cold yet packable in her hands that she could easily crunch into a ball to throw at her dad. The snow-angels they'd make on the ground, or the snowman that would always seem to have two black buttons instead of three, and a carrot for a nose with her mother's old clothes wrapped around it.

She could remember the story's her dad would tell her at night when she would be tucked underneath the thick blanket, filling her body with the warmth the fire place couldn't reach.

"At night. When the moon is at its highest peak. The stars will start to sprinkle their special dust onto the things below em. Making everything come to life, but" he lifted a finger. "It's only for a few hours before the magic dwindles. But when their alive-"

"That's when the magic happens" Six year old Kira finished the sentence with a wide smile. Two teeth missing from the bottom of her mouth as she cuddled into her stuffed giraffe and horse by her side. Hand clutching tight onto her father's slightly wrinkled hand that squeezed back equally tight.

"That's right" he chuckled. "And from above, when the winter angels are happy. They take fistfuls of snow that they made, before they start to begin sprinkling it down here for us"

Kira smiled.

His stories gave her life. Happily she'd wait however long it took for him to get done with his work so he could make up more stories. Kira always had a wild imagination, she guessed it stemmed from the many stories he'd tell her at night.

She always wondered how he came up with all of it. But where would the magic lay if he was to simply tell her? She relied heavily on keeping it a secret from herself, she didn't want to know, and as she grew up she didn't want to outlive and outgrow them. Every night even as a teenager she'd sit on the arm-rest of her dad's Favoirte chair. Rocking back and forth as she quietly listened with the utmost attention she could give.

Those were the days she cherished the most, and ultimately the days she wish she could go back to whenever something in her life went in the opposite direction of where she was heading.