Winter

Chapter One: Arrival

Everything is black.

Then there is an explosion of pain. On the side of your head, where you ram it against the car door. The top of your knee, from a shard of glass. Something hard hits your chest and face, knocking the air out of your lungs and bringing tears to your eyes. First a shattering boom, then shrill whining echoes in your ears. Through the ruckus, you forget to breathe, your insides burning with the dull sensation of emptiness. You can't see, everything is a single, homogenous entity, colors dull and shapes blurry. The sickening smell of gas permeates the air... and you think... you think...

You wake again, pleasantly warm. Surely, this is home, and you are in your bed... with... a bright orange flame... and smoke, oh god, smoke!

The window of your driver's door is almost completely destroyed. By some miracle, you manage to undo your seatbelt and wiggle through the opening, shards of glass dig into your palms and knees. You drag yourself onto the freezing ground, arms forward, just a little bit at a time, watching numbly as the fire spreads from the engine to the fabrics inside.

Panic hits you as swiftly as an oncoming freight train. Hastily, you pat your pockets but come up with exactly nothing. Christ... your phone is still in there, and your wallet, what the hell are you supposed to do now?

As if to answer with a tone of spite, the flames burn higher, licks of yellow and red flickering at the sky.

It takes an effort to stand, one of your legs aching especially bad, but you manage. You try to think, what stretch of road are you on? After a moment, you remember, having to squint your eyes to find familiar landmarks. Where's the nearest house? Taking in a chilly huff of air, you fold your arms over your chest and concentrate. All the homes out here at least a couple of kilometers apart, if not dozens. Teeth already beginning to chatter, you limp up to the concrete road.

Oh, oh! You remember passing near a large looking manor just a bit back. It couldn't have been very far, and it's a safer bet than wandering the other direction for who knows how long. Besides, chances are, some other car is going to pass by as see you, right? Right. Gritting your teeth, you begin to walk, sticking close to the painted yellow lines of the street, hoping to whatever deity is listening that someone just happens to be driving on the same road in the insanely bad weather conditions.

You get to a tall, ice-coated black gate, attached to a long, dark stone wall spanning into the woods as far as you can make out. There are no buzzers or bells you can see, no way to tell whoever this place belongs to that you need help. When you poke at the lock to check if you could somehow open it yourself, it swings away from the latch, screeching as it goes. Unlocked. Huh. Hesitantly, you step through, a chill running down your body like a spider.

A snowflake falls onto your hand, a pinprick of cold spiking in your nerves as you follow a slick cobblestone path down into the forest, towards a building peeking up from the trees. The point of simply calling the day 'cold' has long past. Frigid is a good word, paired with bitter. Your hands, gloveless, are burning. Blowing on them doesn't work because your lungs don't have enough time to properly heat the air. Your eyes sting as a light breeze hits you full in the face, your nose too numb to feel if it's dripping or not. Everything hurts, everything hurts.

Statues stare down at you from their perches, indifferent to the pains of the flesh. Trying to keep your mind off your stiffening fingertips, you stare carefully at each of the delicately carved faces as you pass, almost in awe of the craftsmanship, the gestures of the veils, the intricacies of the hair, the gentle folds of the clothing. As you near the mansion, you can see that the same kind of care had been put into the sweeping architecture. Long, thin arches, cut and built with a precision that only a master of the craft could possibly accomplish. Twin towers on either side of the building puncture the sky, the roofing sharp and pointed. It is as though someone picked up a gothic cathedral and dropped it in the middle of the woods.