In the Silence
Happy New Year!
Her hands are numb as she gathers snow in them and works diligently to shape it into something recognizable. He likes silly things, and she is determined to give him something, anything that she can. This is within her power, this molding of snow.
At least it is clean, she tells herself. Clean and white and beautiful.
So unlike the rose-red spatters that he had trailed through the forest. He's always been a slob, and she knows he'll never change, not even for her.
Flakes fall from above in the silence, but she pays them no mind. The sky darkens. The moon is all that keeps her company there in the blissful field of white.
The cold doesn't deter her. It pushes her onward.
She can't feel her fingers anymore, and they shake with wild abandon; they are one more thing to add to the list of the uncontrollable. She forces them to do her bidding, but no amount of scowling can convince them to bend and twist in the ways she needs them to.
Soft snowflakes land in her hair and on her eyelashes. She pauses her work.
"Ilian beauty," she murmurs, giving herself that instant to remember, to feel that surging of love she first felt years ago.
The moment is lost.
Warmth fills her limbs.
She bends her head and looks at her creation. Three oddly-shaped snowballs sit before her, the biggest on the bottom, the smallest on top. It reminds her of snow angels and that ridiculous look he'd had on his face before he'd pulled her down into the snow with him.
A playful, completely unnecessary wrestling match.
She misses him.
She props her lopsided, ugly creation next to a smudge of grey beside her, and fumbles in her pocket for the two little lumps of coal she needs. Crumbs, really. Not suitable for keeping a fire lit.
They're all she has left.
She lost everything once before, but he came to help her pick up the pieces. Now she's alone. Again. No one will help her, now.
The snowman stares at her with its crooked eyes, sending a shiver down her spine, but she can't look away.
There are no sticks for arms, no carrot for a nose. Her stomach stopped growling days ago.
It's a horrible gift. He deserves better.
Her hand knocks it down. Finally, her body obeys her.
The two little speckles of coal watch her from their new resting place amid half-packed chunks of snow.
They look sad.
Tears burn at the back of her eyes, and she lets them fall. They're warm, so warm, and she's so cold, both inside and out.
The field around her is white, gleaming with the moonlight and the gentle silence that surrounds her. She feels a tightening in her chest, and she swallows thickly before her fingers scoop up the body of the snowman.
Shaking, she tries to put it back together, the poor, ugly thing, but she feels limp, and her hands refuse to do anything she tells them to. She surrenders, and watches the misshapen head of the snowman. Its sad eyes seem to echo her grief.
God, how she loves that man. That silly, sloppy, unpredictable man.
Large, soft flakes continue to fall, and she feels as if she's being buried alive in them. It's a wonderful release, a beautiful way to die. There will be no rose-red splatters disturbing the ground of her resting place.
She's glad about that.
She's always liked things to be neat and tidy.
I really enjoyed writing this. Fiora and Sain are one of my favorite Fire Emblem couples, but I don't write them enough.