“Pray, hang on, brave hunter!”

“No!” A horde wailed in an unearthly sound while a snowy blast uplifted a desperate soul hanging by his ice pick on the side of a pitch-dark rift. “Abyss, he must go! The Abyss, my Fairy Queen, be free from this human!”

Hazel eyes narrowed as frosty lips pursed. “Be silent, my goblins! You were not ordered to discard this traveler!”

“He’s just like the others!” The horde cried in unison all the same.

Pale hands placed the unconscious human safely on thick snow before directing the current of power towards those of ignorant and cruel minds. “Silence! He spoke nothing of marriage like those who dared come before!”

The servants of winter trembled to the harsh wind stinging their faces. “Forgive us!”

A head of silver-blonde curls soon bobbed in satisfaction and the furious wind dissipated. Small heads and eyes looked at each other in confusion to the unusual mercy, but the goblins dared not speak.

Winter’s ruler stepped forward and knelt by the battered and bruised human’s side. “What have you done to me?” She whispered. “You, sir, who came, spoke nothing of your desires…and yet….” She leaned forward and framed the human’s face with her eternally chilled hands. “What is it about you?”

A wolf’s howl echoed in the distance, but the fairy kept still.

‘Wake. Kind Huntsman.’ The fairy silently commanded her spell.

He, however, remained, his eyes closed.

Snow-laden pines creaked while birds took flight, but the fairy kept still.
Her dainty hands gave no healing light and soon a chill ran down her spine.

‘It’s…so very…’

“C-Cold.” The queen looked at her numbing fingers turning a sickly white. “Cold?”

“Your Majesty, you’re shaking,” a timid goblin spoke up, “…are you all rig-?”

“I’m fine!” She barked, looking over her shoulder. “Stay back!”

The mountains echoed her words, the wind flurried around her velvet robes, yet, the goblins began to murmur nervously.

“Your hair, my Queen,” one servant remarked.

“Your skin, my Queen,” piped another.

“The ground around you, my-“

Tears stung the corners of her angry eyes. “Silence! I’m trying to save him- I!” She cried and pinched her eyes shut as she clutched her bosom, her new heart’s rhythm pounding in her ears.

“My Qu-!”

“I must! I will forever try!” She swore, shouting to the starry heavens, ignoring the masses’ plea.

Tiny, silvery-purple flowers and lively grass sprung within a golden glow in a miraculous swoosh of old magic, surrounding the surprised ruler’s knelt form.

‘W-What?! M-My hair is now black! My skin…warmth?!’ She frantically thought.
“H-Hello…angel…”

Within a glimpse of irony, the fairy froze to the rough and sleepy greeting and silently watched a large, gloved, hand rise to touch her tan-from-pale cheek.

The human weakly smiled. “D-Don’t believe…I’ve y-your name,” he chattered.
Her Majesty let out a sigh as her hazel eyes met a kind green.

“Edelweiss…my huntsman,” she wept in relief, placing her hand over his. “You are safe now.”

It is decided. We are to be married in the spring.

Women smile and gossip behind their hands. Little Gerda, Little Kay, all grown up and ready to wed.

Men exchange knowing glances and laugh. Best he never tries to run. That one’ll chase him to the end of the earth to drag him home again.

And Grandmother still sits in God’s good sunshine, reading to us from her bible: “My little children, let us not love in word, neither in tongue; but in deed and in truth.”

Kay nods, as though he understands. His future is simple, now, spread before him like a patchwork quilt. He dreams of sunlight, and flowers, and a little white house in the village. He will rise early, ready to roughen his hands with honest work. In the evenings he will whistle his way home to a glowing hearth, a hearty meal, a merry wife. A plain life, and a simple one, but with love enough to season it. He has already begun to whisper of children.

Stitch on stitch, his dreams weave our future together, and as Grandmother reads, I too am stitching. First a gown to wear to the church, then a white collar to crown it. Next I unpick the seams of my little-girl dresses and snip them into careful squares. Sun-bright cloth of gold, blue-white silk like night-touched snow, velvet as soft and pale as a reindeer’s nose. Corner by corner, the patchwork quilt takes shape beneath my hands, each piece a memory to hoard away for the years ahead.

A square of homespun drab takes its place amongst the finery, empty as the dark between stars. The memories this scrap holds are private treasures. Firelight, the cooing of pigeons, a knife between us as we share furs and blankets. Her eyes like coals against her brown skin, her rough red lips.

“Love is in the doing,” Grandmother says. And I love him, true enough. Why else follow after him, break the woman’s spell, bring him home from the endless snows? Blisters, frostbite, tears that froze to my face – all of them the price I paid, and gladly, for his safe return – my friend, my brother, my Kay.

After it was over, she came to the village, my robber girl – proud as a queen on that stolen horse of hers. “The world is wide,” she said. “Too wide to be content with a hovel and a stolen life.” Her scarlet cap was glowing against the darkness of her hair. Black eyes, lips stained red with cherries. “And if I don’t care for the North Country, there are many other places to go.” And she waved farewell and promised to visit, and I knew she lied.

Tears can melt a shard of ice, but what water could cool the fire that glows like a coal in the heart of me?

That night I pack my bag and lay out my fine fur boots.

I am ready for another journey.

Hi,

I saw you last week.

We were in Willow Woods, in the coppiced clearing, just half hour after the snow storm stopped. Do you remember me, wearing my red parka?

In the whiteness, I didn’t see your dappled horse until she stepped out of the trees. She spooked my friend Greta. Then I saw you, wrapped in polar furs and power. I didn’t feel then what I feel now for you. I didn’t see your beauty, I saw something predatory about the way you prowled the edge of daylight. I judged you wrongly.

 When you paused on your travels I thought you wanted to kill us. Well, Greta did. That’s why we ran away. Now I keep thinking about what should have happened if I’d stayed. I don’t know how to be romantic. Would I tell you how your lips look like luscious red roses against your milky cheeks? No, that wouldn’t work. I’ve never done this before, never wanted to.

Greta said you were a white witch that brought the snow down from the mountains. It’s stupid, I know. We’d watched the snow settling for days before seeing you. It was everywhere. That’s why we left the slush in the city to throw snowballs in the clearing. It was Greta’s idea. She’s like a little sister to me. Such a child.

I see everything much better now. Last week, when I was over at Mr Jackson’s farm moving hay from the loft to the stalls, something got in my eye. It hurt so much I shifted and fell from the loft, banging my chest. I was in agony, but after a couple of hours, the pain passed. Since then, I’ve seen the real world, how fragile life can be. I see the petty things for what they are.

That was when I stopped doting on Greta, tending the roof garden, or even staying in that prissy little town. Please believe that I’ve learnt from my mistakes. I was a child, scared of a docile horse and a beautiful stranger. Never again.

I remember the musky scent of your furs, sweet and earthy. How can I remember the way you smell, but never get the chance to hear your voice? I yearn to hear anything from your lips, just don’t laugh at me. Say one word and I’ll be with you. I know this letter will never reach you.

Where would I send a letter to? If I knew where you lived I’d be there before the Sun rose, but you’re like a shadow in the snow. I imagine you as my Snow Queen in a mountain palace waiting for me to find you. I’d be better off burning this letter and watching the ashes float on the wind. Maybe if I follow them they’ll lead me to you.

Find me and I’ll be yours forever.

Yours forever,

Kai
Xxx