She stands, a forlorn figure in the middle of a dark forest blanketed in snow. The starless night is growing ever darker, the yellow light of the moon silently struggling to break free from the cover of the ominous grey clouds. A sudden gust of wind threatens to knock her over; she grits her teeth and shudders, pulling her riding cloak tighter around her slim form. The bitter wind whistles and howls as it battles its way through the forest, picking up fallen leaves and causing the snowflakes to dance mockingly around her. Jack Frost claws and bites at her porcelain skin, a cruel demon – he laughs wickedly at her pain, enveloping her in his icy grip. She stands her ground. The elements may be against her, but they will not break her. She looks pleadingly at the light of the moon, her protector, her saviour; but the tyrant spell is too strong – grey clouds roll by like thunder, swallowing the moon whole. He is coming.
From far over the mountains and across the trees, a booming voice storms towards her, hushing the winds and silencing the night. For a moment, all is still, ensnared by his silver tongue. Goosebumps erupt all over her skin, but she smiles. she forgets the snow piled at her bare feet, and the agony of her frostbitten skin slips away. He wraps his sweet words around her, they fill her with warmth, caressing her skin and chasing away the cold. She lets herself be taken by his spell; infatuation rushes through her veins and steals her breath. The tyrant can give her love, warmth and compassion, and he can just as easily take it away. He hears her thoughts. He is angry. Hurtful words erupt from him, they roll down the mountains like hot ash and lava, hitting and spitting. She cowers; his words have gripped her by the throat, squeezing the very life from her. With him she is weak, without him she is weaker.
He releases his grip and watches menacingly as she collapses in the silver white snow. They are both aware that she can leave, walk away from his charm, and yet she lays perfectly still, her chest rising and falling, each breath rattling through her oxygen starved lungs. All around her the giant trees are bending, they creak and groan with the strain the storm has put on their limbs; their branches extend towards her lie gnarled fingers. She knows his spell has been lifted, and yet she cannot leave. Snow falls around her, glistening prettily in the night. With her remaining strength she struggles to her feet and dusts the white powder from her body. Around her, she can see the devastation he has caused. Trees have been felled, and those that are standing are weighted by the heavy snow. With a deep breath she looks out to the bleak horizon. He is not yet finished with her.
From far above, the grey clouds form an angry swirling mass. They rumble and roar, filling the skies above. He is stood atop the mountain, waving his arms manically like a crazed conductor before a timid orchestra. She stands defiantly; well aware that beneath her skirts her knees tremble and quiver with fear. The dark storm engulfs her, lifting her from the ground and throwing her around like a discarded puppet. She dances unwillingly to the beat of the storm, all the while knowing the tyrant is loving every moment. He is mocking her cries for help, for compassion. The tyrant raises her up into the sky among the clouds and the lightning, and then without warning he sends her plummeting thousands of feet into a frozen lake. The ice breaks; she is swallowed by the icy waters, stealing the very breath from her lungs. With a sickening crack, the ice above her begins to freeze over, sealing her in her watery tomb.
She kicks and she flails, desperately clawing at the ice in an attempt to free herself from her prison. The water clings to her dress, dragging her away from the surface. Her limbs are giving up, her muscles numbing in the iciness of the water. through the thick ice she can just about make out the light of the moon, her saviour, her freedom, so cruelly separated by the spells of her captor. Her feeble heart grows weaker, with each beat threatening to be its last. The icy water fills her mouth and nostrils, freezing her from the outside in. in the depths of the frozen lake, she can hear nothing. There is neither howling winds nor hurtful words. The water, although agonisingly freezing, a peaceful sanctuary from the tyranny of her lover. With a quiet dignity she closes her eyes. she allows the water to fill her lungs and listens in wait for her feeble heart to stop beating.
The tyrant sits by the fireplace in his crimson armchair watching the orange flames of the fire dance before his eyes. with a smirk he lights a cigar and sits back, puffing away contentedly. The girl’s incessant sobbing had finally come to a stop. He stands, sweeping his oiled black hair away from his face, and paces through the house, a predator hunting his prey. He continues his search until he reaches the last room in the house; the bathroom. He curls his spindly fingers around the cold brass of the doorknob, and pushes the door open with a long creak. He finds her, face down in the bath tub, the cold water still running and spilling over the sides. her long brown hair swaying back and forth like weeds, her nightdress floating peacefully around her body. Heart pounding, the tyrant grips the girl by her shoulders, and turns her over, revealing her glazed dead eyes, and her blue-rimmed lips. A mournful shriek escapes his lips; not for his wife, but for his infant son, clutched tightly to her chest.
OR
The tyrant sits by the fireplace in his crimson armchair watching the orange flames of the fire dance before his eyes. with a smirk he lights a cigar and sits back, puffing away contentedly. The girls incessant sobbing was like music to his ears. He stands, sweeping his oiled black hair away from his face, and paces across the room, following the sweet sound of her sadness. He can hear her pleading, he finds it most amusing. He continues his search, a predator hunting his prey, until he finds her, cowering in the pantry, clutching their child to her chest. He approaches her wide-eyed with feigned concern, and tenderly touches her shoulder. She flinches at his touch, and turns away to reveal her blackened and bruised eye. The child in her arms gurgles happily, unaware of the tension between the lovers. The tyrant brings his face close to hers, and with his silver tongue, he wraps his words around her heart, squeezing it tight.
‘if you are so afraid, why do you not leave?’
She cannot.
