The Frozen Heart
A soft, crystal clear laugh escaped her, vibrating through the frozen air like a silver bell.
“Snow angel,” she said breathlessly, her cheeks flushed from the cold. “I have not made a snow angel in years.”
I stood beside her with my hands in my pockets. The tension slowly drained from my shoulders, but the confusion remained. She lay at my feet on her twentieth birthday, delighting in a childish game at the edge of the world, while only days ago she had been fighting for her life.
“You are childish,” I remarked, but there was no edge to my voice. In truth, I could not take my eyes off her. Moonlight glinted in her hair, her skin glowing white as pure crystal.
Bab Populer