Winter

(Note: This is an excerpt from my unnamed story. The narrator is Amelie, a unviersity student who discovers Edward, a monster living in an old, derelict building nearby. Amelie teaches Edward about the world, eager to solve the mystery. I won't tell you everything- more to come!)

“Are you scared?” he whispered. “Don’t be afraid- come, step out into the winter with me.” So I came, timidly, into a spot where the roof had caved in completely, leaving me to look onto open sky. The stars were above us, and for the first time I actually noticed them- what else was there to see? Millions of them, electric sequins on a constantly changing tapestry. It was very chilly up here, so I wrapped my arms about myself. Snow was falling. I had always thought snow as being white and round and falling in straight lines, like rain. But this snow looked ashen gray in the darkness, and it fell in awkward patterns. They were like feathers, so cold they burned where they touched my skin. He smiled with those blind eyes and pointed below. Amongst the snowy landscape, an ice skating rink had been set up. There was no one down there at night, on the ice. “Do you know how to skate?” he asked me. I nodded. “Come on then,” he said, dragging my arm and pulling me along the roof. Miraculously, he produced two pairs of ice skates, old looking ones. I eyed them cautiously.
He took me across the roof, and then jumped onto a stairwell, offering a hand. I clambered down and we took the stairs down, down, down into the darkness of the park. It was a different world here. The trees were delicate, inky spider webs against the snow. Each step made a pleasant crunch; I could feel the chill of snowflakes against my skin. Silent, swirling, ice world. Winter at night time.
The ice rink was ahead of them- bordered by a wooden fence. “Here we are. The ice rink.” His voice was hoarse as he handed me the pair of ice skates. I slipped them on, and then stepped out gingerly onto the ice. I was amazed at the fact that a blind person could ice skate- but he went off onto the ice easily, showing off a bit in spins and acrobatics. I, however, was stuck clinging to the rails, afraid to place my feet.
It had been so long since I had ice skated, and at first I clung onto the rails as though my life depended on it.
He chuckled at my attempts to skate, but picked me up when I fell and stood behind me in case I stumbled. Gradually, though, I got the hang of it again, and was soon racing across the ice. Pirouettes and figure eights came back to my memory and body, and I began to play tag on the ice. Every breath burned icy in my throat, and came out in a plume of steam. The trees and sky whirled about me; each step was sure but free. Then, for a sudden moment, the world tipped head over heels. There was a burning, knife sensation and a crack as I tripped over and tumbled onto cold ice. I sat up, disoriented. The ice burned where my bare skin touched it. I put a hand to my head and felt pleasant warmth, so I left it there.
“Are you okay?” he asked, offering a hand. He pulled me up, and examined my head, taking my hand away. It was smeared with blood. I grimaced. The cut stung in the winter air, as though it was drenched in fire, not ice. “Here… you’ll have to use the cloths, I don’t have any bandages,” he said, wrapping my head in gauze. I chuckled- what a sight we must look! Now we were both ugly.
To his surprise, I stepped back onto the ice. “I’m not going to let a little cut stop me” I explained, and was up and skating again. He smiled at me. “Do you know how to dance?”
I nodded. “Though I haven’t danced in ages and – “
I was interrupted when he grabbed my arm, and brought me into a steady position. “Have a go… We’ll try something slower for starters.”
It was fun, having to keep in rhythm and aligned, always watching where you put your feet. I gazed at the ice world around me, and for the first time I realized that winter was actually quite pretty at night. The trees, with their puzzling maze of bare twigs and branches, the snow that gleamed sometimes white, sometimes quick silver, but always fell in grey. Our dance that grew quicker, the sound of metal blades on ice. A waltz… one, two, three, one, two, three. It seemed like something out of a fairytale- and, I reflected, he liked fairytales. He was always reading the books I had given him, always poring over the pictures and words. What was it that attracted him to them? Now I experienced a small part of a real fairytale- imagining that we two were dancers in a winter kingdom. Perhaps we were on a journey, or maybe in a grand ballroom. As if reading my thoughts, he said: “I am a prince, this is my castle. Can you see the other dancers?” And, suddenly I could- a magnificent hall, with tapestries and stained glass windows, exactly as he described it. “And you are dressed all in white, with diamonds about your neck and in your hair... We step onto the floor, amongst the crowds.” I was standing in the dress, not in skates but in diamond-studded shoes, a beautiful snow-white dress that swept the floor. And we were dancing better than anyone else there. “I am dressed in a black suit, and I wear a white mask with diamonds…” And now I could see him dancing with me in a sudden splendour.
One, two, three, one, two, three.
“Are you afraid of winter? I’m the winter prince, and I can make the frosts and the snows and the bare trees. And you are my princess…”
He leaned close, warmth on my neck… Too close. I stepped away quickly, stumbled, and the image faded. Here we stood on the ice rink, at night time. The hall was gone, just emptiness. We weren’t dressed in finery and diamonds- I wore my old coat and thick skirt. And he was in his dusty tweed clothes. It was suddenly bitingly cold, and I felt tired and my cheeks and ears were red. He didn’t look angry, just slightly sad.
“You’re right. Its night time, you should be getting back.” I nodded without meeting his eyes. We walked back to the attic, up the steps and inside the warmth. I walked out of the attic, back along the darkened floors to my dormitory. Once inside, I made the fire and sat close to keep myself warm. I was silent, my mind turning over and over. Thinking. Perhaps he didn’t exist, and I was going mad. Perhaps that time in the park happened with me alone. But no… it couldn’t have. I raised a hand to my bandaged head, remembering the way he had looked at me- not bitterly or angrily, not even sadly anymore, but as if I was a graceful princess, and he a prince. Yet he wasn’t a prince. Really, he was a monster. A thing that ate souls, and, I suspected, not born but created. Without parents, nor home, nor love. Living in an attic above a ruined building. Not a prince… And yet, despite his strange, swinging personalities and morbid thoughts, tonight had been different. He had looked different, something about his eyes, the way he carried himself, his manner.