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Tenderly, she picked up the broken crown from the cold floor. The cracking sound still lingered in the air, thick enough to be cut by a sword, suffocating the echoes of his yelling, and her scream.

She layed out the pieces in front of her. They looked sparse on the massive round table in the vast, empty hall, almost like a fragile abstraction of...

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Witch's Hazel

As soft crystals survive the voyage from heaven, Winter's grip tightens beneath a bountiful, transitory fortune, the landscape a monochrome abstraction of shapes.

Within it, golden petals are unfolding, unimpressed.

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Some hope for silver beginnings, others long for a silver lining. She'd give a fortune to have, at least, one of the two. What a beautiful colour: silver. She'd weave sailcloth from moonbeams, and tar fox with midnight, so that, one day, she'd set silver sails, and become her own light.

© Stefanie Neumann - @KokopelliBFree

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Frostbite her only companion, she leans against the icy rocks on the bottom of the precipice. Life won't wait as time longs for balance. Tiredness turns into fatigue, then into unconsciousness. Her last thought is no prayer, but a dream that shifts her into a new reality.

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2/2

...endings became your acquaintances. How could they ever be at peace?

Yet, as a fairy, she'd give everything she had for the chance to only have this one last first kiss, even if a first kiss would mean the end. It still would be her happy ending.

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Frozen willow branches arrested while teasing the pond's still surface, now glittering like a tinsel curtain on this canvas of a white landscape. A landscape, threatened to be lost to the Specters of the Northern Gales.

It was not the sword of an experienced warrior that convinced the ancient frost dragon to return to timebound realms, and stand against their destruction, but the candid courage of a...

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Lost And Found

I woke up in the dead of Winter with no memory of who I was, or how I got here. In the dusk of a stormy evening, I recognised footprints in the snow, and followed them. The cold carried a scent of metal, and pine. It stung through my cloak like a freshly forged sword of Winter steel. A flicker of green light shot through the auroran fabric, then it went dark. I never knew why it didn't like me....

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The blackbox was snowed in.
We had to find it. Otherwise, there was no chance to reboot the timemachine. It would be dangerous.
The whiteout obscured where cobblestone ended, and bog began.

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Just like magic, blessings fell upon him from the sky. He'd brush them off, not ready to receive before he was reunited with his love, thus blocking her guidance.

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