More loveliness from Kathleen for Black-Winged Angels, which is due out in August of this year from Ticonderoga Publications.
“The Danger of Warmth”is my version of The Snow Queen”.
I watch the young man sleeping soundly in my bed. He has broad shoulders, curly black hair, and his eyes, if open, would be a dark blue. His skin is very cool in spite of the bearskin under which he lies; this is due to its recent contact with my flesh, blindingly white and bitterly cold as it is.
I am the Snow Queen and reign wherever winter holds sway. If I look in a mirror (a normal mirror) I see pale grey eyes surrounded by long lashes of curled icicles, set in a white face framed by sable hair. My mouth walks a strange line between being too full and too thin — it changes depending upon my mood. My age, an impolite thing to discuss, is indeterminate, although something suggests that I am very old, old as the permafrost not so far to the north of my castle. Perhaps it’s the languid ice-floe movement of my limbs; perhaps it’s the ever-so-fine lines at the corners of my eyes, like hairline fractures starting in an iced-over pond, just before a skater falls through.