Brista

It’s so cold.

These people hover around you, throw blankets over your still body, light fires over you, but they cannot stave off this freezing, horrible numbness. They kneel beside you, beg you to eat something, to drink, to blink.

It’s so cold.

You are left behind. They gave up on you. Winter is at its peak, the winds howling and whipping at your broken wings. You only stare at the frozen spring in front of you, where they left you to rot.

It’s so cold.

Even as the spring begins to flow, you simply cannot bring yourself to move. The pain is too much- Even your eyes don’t bother to look around at the blooming bushes. You start to wonder if you’re even alive.

It’s so cold.

A tent is built around you. A faceless woman comes and speaks in foreign tongues. She gently wraps a blanket over your freezing, tender body. Others start to come in. They feed you. They force water down your throat. They place hot coals around you, and some recoil at your touch.

It’s so cold.

This newfound family is not enough to warm your broken soul. The woman comes every day, and tells you about who she is, what she does, and why she does it. She tells you about her life, her goals, her friends, how wonderful they are, and she wonders aloud about who you are.

It’s so cold.

You finally drag yourself out of your tent. You stumble a few times, but you poke your head out. It is a bright, sunny day, and there are many colorful tents and buildings around you. People laugh and play with entertainers, and the smell of freshly cooked food wafts up your nose. The spring is untouched.

It’s so cold.

You hold a blue-flamed torch high up in the air, signaling the beginning of winter. The woman who visited you claps with glee as the bonfire is lit, and your fellow Magus dine away at freshly cooked meats, snowberries, and fine pastries. You feel a twinge of regret as you look over your new family- A reminder of what could have been.

It’s so cold.

It’s so cold...

I t ’ s f r e e z i n g . . .