In a pipe she flies to the motherland
Sells love to another man
It's too cold outside
For angels to fly
Her fingers carefully drew shapes in the snow, eyes bright and curious as a young child's should be. The snow did not melt, though, despite the fact that she was sitting directly on it, ignoring the blizzard raging on around her. The flakes clung to her bare arms, making her skin glitter as if it was made purely from ice, and her hair sparkled with the magic only winter could create. But, the cold was comforting as it wrapped itself around her like a warm blanket, because in fact, it WAS warm. To her, anyway.
Over the whistling of the wind, her ears pricked at the voices shouting from down the hill, the light of fiery torches throwing shadows against the snow. Something wasn't right. No. Not at all.
She grasped a lock of hair, weaving it between her fingers and chewing on it, a habit she had developed from countless nights full of worrying from the people who once held her close. But, alas they were not with her to tell her it would be fine. Everything would be fine.
She could faintly remember the fear in her mother's crystal eyes as she was placed in the snowy banks outside her house. Her mother had touched her cheek briefly, whispering soothing words as her papa rushed over to them. "Clara, we must go, now. They're coming." He had said quickly, wrapping an arm around her mother's waist. She was puzzled, though. Go? To where? Why?
Her mother turned back to her, tears gathered in her crystal eyes. "Run! Run my daughter! Go to where you shall not be found. I shall return to you as soon as we are safe." She begged, drawing a sword out from under her long coat. The blade flashed in the light of the dying sun, sending sparks that danced off of her fathers face. She pulled herself up to stand, wobbling as toddlers do, as she took a few steps toward her mother, who was yanked back toward the yelling of angry humans below them.
She did not cry out as they disappeared in the sea of bodies.
Oh yes. That was why she was here. She was told to run, so that her mother may come and retrieve her again. The voices got louder as they neared, full of anger that fueled their warm bodies. They were hot blooded creatures, unlike her parents and herself. Her mother only told her that they were different from the humans, which is dangerous and powerful but was something to be proud of.
So here she lay, wrapped in the comforting embrace of winter as the warm-blooded strived to find warmth within the darkness.
They called the winter dreaded, murderous and unkind, which she did not understand as it coddled her gently. How could something so loving, be so dangerous? Yet, she has seen the power that the winter possessed. She has seen it take many lives. But it cared for her, like a second mother.
Footfalls in the snow behind her grabbed her attention, and she kicked out as arms lifted her from her makeshift bed. The person calmly held her close, the heat radiating off their body in unbearable waves. She let out a defiant screech, demanding to know who had the audacity to move her without asking, but they only hummed softly, a hand coming to rest upon her head. The touch was feminine and burning hot, not one that she knew. This wasn't her mother, but the power flowing in the person's limbs reminded her of something. She just couldn't put it to name. There was not another touch that she had ever met with power equivalent to her parents, but it was more strong, and definitely warm.
The angry voices faded as the child was swept away in the storm, snow melting away from the body who held her, and she cached them as they fell from above like silver tears. They dripped off her pale skin, landing beneath their feet among the snow. The woman whispered something in a language that was not known, and the air around her shifted uncomfortably. She twisted in the burning embrace, purple irises alight as the white orb in front of her transformed before her eyes. The other side was white, as if there was nothing but bright light on the other side of the portal, and she hid her eyes in the woman's cloak for a fear of being blinded. The woman stepped through the portal, closing off the familiar howl of the wind, and the child grunted in strain as she attempted to push herself out of the arms that were now uncomfortably hot. She missed her snow. It needed her.
