The Stormborn GirlShe whirled into my life like a winter breeze through an open window, deciding she should grace me with her presence for a few days. She smelled of pine and aspen, and she wore nothing except a polar bear skin around her pale, bare body.

a short story/poem thing

She whirled into my life like a winter breeze through an open window, deciding she should grace me with her presence for a few days. She smelled of pine and aspen, and she wore nothing except a polar bear skin around her pale, bare body. Upon her head of long silver hair sat a crown made of twigs, flowers, and leaves with two large moose antlers jutting out of either side. As I sat at the kitchen table watching her dance around to the old Christmas music pouring out of my radio, I wonder how they don't fall off; I wonder how her crown doesn't scratch her soft face.

One night as we were lying together, I rolled over and pulled her close, whispering to her, "You put the 'see' in galaxy, for all the stars in the universe must be placed in your green eyes. You put the 'rest' in forest, with your peaceful demeanor, and you put the 'now' in snow, with your pale skin, and I fear you will one day slip through my fingers like melting snow and disappear."

"Do not fear," she leaned up and gently kissed my cheek, "I can't stay forever as you would like, but let us enjoy this night together,"

Her delicate hands clutched onto my shirt, and her petite head rested on my chest.

In the morning, she was gone. No evidence that she'd even been there; except her scent. It was in my sheets, on my shirt, in the air. I whimpered and pulled the sheets to my nose, taking it all in.

I looked out of the window to see if maybe she left some footprints in the snow, but she hadn't. Her crown lie discarded at the edge of the forest, so I pushed open the door, trekking through the cold wet to get it. I picked it up gently, and realized it was lined with moss. I took it back inside, and thought to myself, she'll be back for this.

As I sat at the kitchen table staring at it, it started to drip. Droplets of thick brown liquid ran off of the antlers’ tallest points, and fell to the table.

“What are you-” That’s when it hit me; the crown was melting in the heat of the house. I picked it up as gently as I could manage, and placed it in my freezer.

Yet, still it disintegrated. In a panic, I took it outside and set it back down in the snow. It began to piece itself together again, then in a poof of snow and ice, it was gone.

“No, no, no!” I grab at the place in the snow the crown was, tears freezing to my cheeks, icing over my eyelashes. Yet, the crown is gone, just like its owner, the stormy girl, and I’m left here with cold hands, and burning cheeks.

 

The End

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