On A Cold Winter's Night That Was So Deep の小説・ストーリー

With a sigh, I place the items back in the drawer and lock it. Outside, Snowfall Valley glimmers under a blanket of soft white snow. The streets are quiet, peaceful, as the night wraps its arms around the town, and the twinkling lights on the lampposts cast a warm glow across the road. The world feels like a scene from a postcard, the snow falling in delicate, swirling patterns. I step out into the cold, feeling the sharp bite of winter air against my skin, but instead of shying away, I let it in. Let it clear my mind. It’s the kind of cold that wakes you up, sharp and fresh, stripping away the heaviness that clings to your thoughts.

We all went to bed—well, Ares took the couch. That night, I dreamed of frost. The wind howled through an endless expanse of snow, a vast landscape stretching beyond the horizon. I stood at the center, untouched by the cold, unbothered, maybe even powerful. The ice shimmered beneath my feet, and I felt a strange pull, as if the winter itself recognized me. Then I woke up. Surrounding me were people holding candles, their faces hidden beneath hoods. Was this still a dream?

Some men leave the world to forget. Kael left it to protect what the world must never remember too soon. And now, as the wolves whisper again beneath a cold and ancient moon, he wonders if it was ever his choice at all. The mountains were colder here. Not merely in the way winter laid itself upon stone, but in memory—the cold that sharpens the mind, that cuts to the quick of bone and soul. This was the Deepwilds, a place where even time learned to walk softly. Every footfall of wind sounded like an old story closing, or a prophecy trying to speak through lips frozen by regret.

SKYE'S POV The deep winter of the northern peaks did not announce itself with a sudden, dramatic blizzard. It crept in like a predator stalking through the high timber, dropping the temperature degree by degree until the very stones of Nighthaven seemed to hum with a brittle, freezing tension. When I woke, the fire in the hearth had burned down to a pile of glowing, cherry-red embers. The heavy velvet curtains were drawn, but the ambient light bleeding through the thick fabric was a stark, brilliant white.

That shared memory was a bridge that no entropy could collapse. On our final night of the saga, as the first natural winter began to dust the peaks in white, we sat by the hearth. The fire was small, built of cedar and pine, casting long, dancing shadows against the timber walls. I was shivering, a soft, rhythmic vibration of the flesh that came from the sheer beauty of the silence.

811 Kilometres Emily's POV The tenth birthday was in winter and the morning was cold in the specific way of the coldest mornings — still, crystalline, the kind of cold that was beautiful rather than bitter because it was honest about what it was. The hill was white with frost. The territory below was dark at the edges and beginning to lighten at its centre as the sun worked its way up behind the eastern hills.

Here it looked as if everyone had stepped away at the same time and never returned and the silence that hung over the clearing was the silence of wolves who had been taken by something that the forest had no name for. I crouched and I pressed my fingers into the soil and it was cold and it was not the cool of shade because it was a deeper chill that reached up through my fingers and settled into my bones and I pulled my hand back because the cold was not the cold of winter and it was not the cold of the north because it was the cold of something that had been waiting in the darkness since before the old laws were written.

Loved how we were together. Could I picture him as my husband or not? Sighing into the cold air, I resumed walking and beating myself up. It had snowed all day, fresh paths carved out of the heavy white stuff, weighing down the branches of the trees. I paused part way home and looked around at the crystal night sky with the pinpoints of stars just visible beyond the glare of the lights in the Yard. The waning moon casting its cold glare over the snow. Beautiful. Quiet. Everyone was inside, leaving me alone in the silence of the winter night.

RPOV The wintry, cold morning brought a poignant feeling upon me—white, fresh snow was falling to the earth in sheets, and the dark trees were extremely bare, their gnarly branches resembling a witch's claws. Weather like this made me feel dead and hollow, as if I was a ghost lurking within a human form. The Russian children playing outside, laughing and running without a care, couldn't even uplift my spirits. Why had Mother's demise occurred during this season? It was supposed to be a time of happiness, reunion, and love. However, every time winter arrived, I couldn't help but think of sadness, emptiness, and pain.

~Noah~ The pulsating beats echoed through the dimly lit house as Winter unleashed a side of herself I never knew existed. Winter, typically serene and composed, became a force on the dance floor, moving with a magnetic energy that left me both captivated and intrigued. It was a revelation – Winter on the wild side.