The light was blinding. My eyes watered as the sun's rays, polarized in their journey to be witnessed, dispersed over the ice encrusted surfaces of the street and all that accompanied it.

And what a sight it was.

Buildings, fences, gardens and lawns, they were all glittering like a fairy had come in the night to coat them in a spectacular dust that splayed the light in a manner that appeared wholly unnatural though something very deep within me screamed otherwise.

This, this is winter- what it looks like, what it feels like. There was no way not to recognize it, even in the middle of one of the hottest months of the year.

My own breath stole my attention as I let out a small cough, the dry chillness of the air irritating my unaccustomed larynx. I cleared my throat to try and push past the discomfort but found a new form of unease mounting.

Neighbors, frozen in disbelief, stood dumb. In feeble attempts to comprehend the undeniable reality of the situation, we exchanged pitying glances as the weight of our plight was realized. We had been warned of this inevitability. And yet, our ways remained unchanged.

A whimper, only audible due to the lack of chittering from the local wildlife, echoed through the stillness.

Where were all the animals?

My breath hitched again as a full-body shiver ran through me. I pulled tighter on my sleeves, the soft fabric not made to withstand that of freezing temperatures. Not much around here was. The tales of Winter were over a thousand years old, after all.

I gave my numbing toes a wiggle and looked down at my footwear. Well worn and slightly tattered, the fabric would not survive the oncoming conditions. Sounds of distress built throughout the town as others began to vocalize their own concerns.

With quiet awareness, I retreated into my abode and turned my back to the imminent panic that would consume those who had yet to accept our fate.

Producing a bottle of mead that had been gifted to me many years ago, I basked in recollection of the joyous memory. A smile pulled at my lips unsuccessfully, but I was undeterred as I opened the bottle.

It smelled like sunshine. Real sunshine, warm and light. Not this prelude to decay that was the harsh, searing light outside.

Sounds of duress grew louder as the people went through all the expected phases. Anger, denial, sorrow. We would be given time to feel them all.

Maybe that was His last act of mercy. To let us truly feel all that it meant to be human before smiting us with the onset of a slow death. He had sworn He would not again drown the world- He had made no such promises about freezing it.

WC 469