When I was small, I would stare out of my windows at the falling snow. 

The snow was beautiful, and soon my entire world would be covered in a thick blanket of a cold, yet surprisingly gentle white.

But although it held great beauty, there was a kind of loneliness to it, a sad melancholy that would always evoke sympathy from me.

For I knew that the snow’s time was limited, like a flower that only blossomed during the night.

The snow was a sad existence, for it could not exist without killing other living things.

And yet it still fell, slowly, ethereal, like flower petals in the wind, like a dancer for an emperor that knew they could never freely dance again.

Reading on Amazon or a pirate site? This novel is from Royal Road. Support the author by reading it there.

Sometimes, I would build up my courage, and despite my poor health, I would go out to accompany the lonely snow.

Of course, my parents knew nothing of what I did, nor did the servants.

If they did, I was sure I would be scolded.

So my time with the snow was a secret, kept just between the two of us.

Of course, this is not the extent of my story, for if it was it would just be the musings of a sickly child.

There is more, so much more to be told.

But all stories must have a beginning.

So I suppose, if I must start at a place, I shall begin with the first time I met the woman who was like snow.

And how, just like the snow, she stole my heart.