On dark wings it came

I had called him my dark prince since the first time he came to me in the forest, the beat of his wings, soft and powerful in the snowy skies, like the beating of my heart. I’d never felt afraid of him on those long winter nights, his dark eyes, blue pools of the deepest waters, held ancient mysteries that I longed to share.

He came to me often as I grew, my secret love, whispering of his devotion, his need of me. Cold arms, wrapped about me, as though my warmth could thaw that icy countenance that never smiled, stern and unyielding as though he was made of that ice that covered our lands in the depths of winter.

I longed to give myself to him, to let him take me far away from this white wasteland. I promised him my heart with steaming breath as he kissed me. I felt his chill enter me, his lips on mine, my eyes tightly closed as he flew me away from my life. Rising above the snow-mantled canopy, with only the biting winds touching us, my heart grew weak. Shivering in pain from the cold, I forced my eyes open to gaze on him, his wings were bearing us aloft into the empty night; he seemed so distant, so alone.

I held him closer as I felt my limbs stiffen, my breath coming in ragged bursts from the arctic air. He turned his face away from me then, a flake of snow at his eye, gleaming in the moonlight. I was his, but he could never be mine, this thing of cold and wind. I loved him, the death that came to me on those dark wings.

He would tell me his secrets, his tales, the lore of his frozen world as I stood by his side, forever beautiful, forever a silent statue of blue cold, forever his.






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