She is never truly alone.
There is the wind and the ice and the snow.
The storm that she calls to rest on her shoulders, the storm that bends around her, kisses her softly while it ravages the landscape around her.
There is no storm now, though. Only the snow that collects at her feet, slow and lazy like a dream. It melts faster than it can accumulate, which makes her feel as if it is endless and all the more beautiful for it.
But she loses track of how much time passes with only the snow as her companion. Hours? Days? It’s hard to tell. Not that it matters much, she reasons, because she will be gone soon enough. Or so she thinks.
She spots the pegasus from some great distance because he is the only thing that moves. And she waits, the snow still falling slow around her, collecting in the tangles of her mane, the ice-kissed ropes of her tail.
He does not greet her as a threat so she does not react like one. Instead, she calls off the snow, so it is simply the two of them there on the beach. And the smile is cold, if only because she is a thing carved from ice, when she nods. But she does not speak until he offers his name and she responds in kind, “Camellia.”
At his question, she turns her gaze down the beach and lets loose a soft breath that twists out of her mouth like vapor. “I had hoped to make Icicle Isle my home,” she explains, “but I fear I must have made a wrong turn someplace.”
She shifts her focus back to the pegasus, shackling the glacial blue stare to his face when she says, “I hope you don’t mind my resting here until I have the energy to make the journey back.”
There is the wind and the ice and the snow.
The storm that she calls to rest on her shoulders, the storm that bends around her, kisses her softly while it ravages the landscape around her.
There is no storm now, though. Only the snow that collects at her feet, slow and lazy like a dream. It melts faster than it can accumulate, which makes her feel as if it is endless and all the more beautiful for it.
But she loses track of how much time passes with only the snow as her companion. Hours? Days? It’s hard to tell. Not that it matters much, she reasons, because she will be gone soon enough. Or so she thinks.
She spots the pegasus from some great distance because he is the only thing that moves. And she waits, the snow still falling slow around her, collecting in the tangles of her mane, the ice-kissed ropes of her tail.
He does not greet her as a threat so she does not react like one. Instead, she calls off the snow, so it is simply the two of them there on the beach. And the smile is cold, if only because she is a thing carved from ice, when she nods. But she does not speak until he offers his name and she responds in kind, “Camellia.”
At his question, she turns her gaze down the beach and lets loose a soft breath that twists out of her mouth like vapor. “I had hoped to make Icicle Isle my home,” she explains, “but I fear I must have made a wrong turn someplace.”
She shifts her focus back to the pegasus, shackling the glacial blue stare to his face when she says, “I hope you don’t mind my resting here until I have the energy to make the journey back.”
@Nashua