Followed by Frost

by Charlie N. Holmberg

I have known cold. I have known the cold that freezes to the bones, to the spirit itself. The cold that stills the heart and crystallizes the blood. The kind of cold that even fire fears, that can turn a woman to glass.

On none of his visits did he help me. He would neither stoke the fire nor help me gather wood. When attempts to wash my clothes in ever-freezing water left me in tears, he never offered a hand, not even when I begged it of him. He only came to chat or silently observe, rarely staying for more than a quarter hour. But every time he appeared—every time, even when they were the only words he spoke—he presented his offer to me, and I refused. His promises meant nothing to me if they could not make me change. Still, part of me was comforted by his visits, for as I struggled to survive the cruel restrictions of my curse, Sadriel was the only company I had, however fleeting. I confess there were times when I craved his company so badly, when I felt so utterly alone, that I convinced myself to accept his offer, to join him in the realm beyond—as a servant, as a lover, as anything he would allow me to be, for what Sadriel wanted seemed to change by the day, and he never spoke directly. Fortunately, Sadriel never appeared during those moments of despair, only in times of clarity.

For happiness has wings, and when burdened by the things a man should want, Garen could not reach it.