The Meaning of Cold (Solo)

[Maya Frostfawn]

Timestamp: Fall 5, 523 AV Location: Maya's Flat The last rays of the sun's light filtered through the dusty window, catching the dustmotes that floated within the flat's walls in their endless, shimmering dance. Maya sat soundlessly at her table, running a brush through her hair. It reminded her of the silk of a spider's web, not in color, but in texture. As the tips of her cold fingers brushed the edge of each strand each time she pulled the brush through her tangled web of hair, the air began to cool with the dying light. Maya always appreciated this time of year, the time when the air was crisp and cool--it reminded her of the home she had left what felt like ages ago, and it bought her a few more days before she had to shed her skin for another. Within a few weeks, however, she knew it would be truly cold as winter crept across the land, enveloping the world in its pale, grey shadow. And in truth, Sunberth would become most like the home of her youth, the home she had long left behind. It would be frigid, those who could still breathe would leave silver mist in the air, snow would fall in flurries from the sky, and those who could truly feel would complain of the cold. Endlessly. But she wouldn't, for now, she knew a different kind of cold. The cold that came only with both age and distance. Detachment. Despite the differences that existed between the cold of her youth and the cold that she had come to know now, Maya couldn't help but think of the Winter Queen each time the cold and winter rose to the forefront of her mind. Lady Morwen. The fair goddess who ruled and watched over the race she had once resided within, and blessed them in an effort to help protect them from the cruel nature that was her domain. As Morwen's name came to her mind, the nuit realized that it had been some time since she had thought of the Winter Goddess. As she ran the brush through her hair again, she thought it strange, considering how large a part of her life the goddess had been before. But things were different now, and cold had taken on a whole new meaning. One she would not have even considered before, in life. She remembered it though, even though it had been some time since she truly felt it, Morwen's cold. The snow. A pale powder that crunched beneath her feet with each step she took. Her father's large hand in hers, clothed in a fur mitten, that passed a sense of warmth between them as he squeezed her fingers and led her on. She knew where she was going. She knew what was to come, but with each step, she felt only a mounting sense of fear. Of dread, as the cold continued to seep in. A bead of moisture that tickled her toes, a cold wind that slithered down her neck. Tickled her spine and made her tremble, edge closer to her father's side, so that she was nearly lost in his shadow. She remembered wishing that her mother had come too, but she had promised to take another path--to meet them there so they could all go together. Do it together. But her absence had bothered the young Vantha who knew she would have been far calmer if her mother had been holding her free hand, squeezing it periodically just like her father was doing. She could feel her heart beating erratically in her chest, hammering then slowing, over and over. Was it truly more of a hammering? As Maya thought about it a little more, she realized she couldn't quite remember. She knew what it felt like to listen to another's beating heart, to feel it beneath the palm of her hand, what it sounded like as she held her ear up against one's chest. But she could not quite remember what her own had sounded like any more than she could remember what it felt like to have it beating steadily within her core. It had been too long since the last time and she had simply forgotten. Drum. Hammer. The thundering of a horse's hooves against the earth. The fall of rain against a roof. The ticking of a clock. Perhaps it shifted with the seasons, the coming and going of the tides, emotions felt in their entirety as opposed to from the outside looking in. A great, insurmountable distance. How she wished she could remember... Word Count: 760

[Maya Frostfawn]

As she dragged the brush through her hair, she remembered her footsteps. The way they sank into the fresh blanket of snow that had fallen earlier in the day. The way the sun's light danced over its surface as the wind carried the sound of distant voices and calls to her ears, reddening with the cold. The voices did nothing to calm the young Vantha, and as winter's touch continued to creep into her bones, she found herself trembling more and more as she neared her destination. Today was the day. The big day. The day the goddess touched her. As her steps slowed alongside her trembling legs, she felt her father's hand tighten around hers again, felt him tug her steadily along. And before she knew it, their feet had stopped crunching through the snow and she was there--right where she was supposed to be. The wind swept her hair off her shoulders again and in the distance, she could see her, the Queen, and the short line of other children and families that had come to meet her. She inched behind her father. Hid in his shadow, peeked around his side for any sign of her mother. A moment and she saw her coming closer, close the distance that had once rested between them. Smile as she took her tiny hand in hers and held it tight. Squeezing it, trying to reassure her and ease away any sense of nervousness. But it wasn't enough; the cold kept creeping in alongside the unease that would not stop climbing until it reached her skin. Drowned her and enveloped her. Alarmed, her parents squeezed her hands. Tried to ask what was wrong but she could not hear them. Only see a brightness. Eyes that changed color each time she dared blink and feel her heart threatening to burst out of her chest. She didn't know why she was so afraid, why she was letting the cold in. But she couldn't let the Queen touch her. Couldn't let her bless her and drive the cold away with her mark. Couldn't let Morwen help her keep the winter at bay. It's icy claws that had closed around her heart... and hadn't let go, countless years later. Yes, there was still that cold. But another cold had crept into her heart too. Another cold that had taken hold and couldn't be chased away no matter who held her, no matter who dared offer the warmth of their touch. The cold of detachment, of a sheer lack of true feeling. The cruelty the others were convinced lurked in the heart because of the nature of her altered blood, the nature that drove her to shed skin, trading it for another. But it was more than that, too. It was lost memories. It was things that could no longer be retrieved. It was not truly understanding no matter how many questions she asked and how many answers she found. But more than anything, it was the distance--between here and home, between heart and soul, between feeling and unfeeling. And as far as she could tell, it had all happened the moment she had crossed over, from the realm of the living into the world that lingered between life and death and become a nuit. But why? Why had everything started to fade until it ebbed into nothingness at the moment of her transition? Why had she become so cold? A shiver shot up the length of her spine as she ran her brush through her hair again, although this time, it wasn't from the cold. From Morwen's cold. The shiver stemmed from the emptiness, the absence in her heart she couldn't fill. From all the questions she longed to answer but had no answers for. And the death of the memories she sorely missed. The knowledge she could never go back, never go home. Never live. Never remember. Word Count: 653