On A Cold Winter's Night That Was So Deep Novels & Stories

I never doubted for even a second that the two of them would always be there for me. Now as I stand on the same edge, just six months later, I am without them both. Wilder, because of a horrible twist of fate, was forever taken from me. Wyatt, though, he is gone from me and it's my own damn fault. Over the last two week, ever since Thanksgiving, it's been colder in my house than the December wind outside. I look down at the light dusting of snow, that is so rare in Alabama and I could almost believe it's a sign from Wilder. “You thinking about jumping?”

"Don’t go..." Tomson, I heard the child calling for me but still silently walked in the dark direction. The scene that was filled with people a while ago is now gone, replaced by a cold, desolate forest. Every step Tomson takes They all felt the cold air surrounding them and could vaguely see the thin layer of ice... "It must be almost winter by now!" He reached out his hand to catch the cold raindrops, silently blending into the quiet night. Is this feeling peaceful!?

January 2005 It was a cold January night. The winter wind was blowing throughout the valley village of Ravenna. The nine-year-old Rowan was lying in her bed in her family’s cottage. The window by her bed was closed tight, but she could still feel the freezing wind creeping in and gnawing at her beneath her blankets. This hardly bothered her, however, as she had lived through many winters just like this one in her young life. In fact, Rowan often found the cold to be rather soothing, as it helped her to drift off to sleep, but she was having trouble closing her eyes tonight.

****** The night expands as black angel wings, protecting the earth as she dreams, the dark city set aglow by the bright lighting of the city and the beautiful illumination of the moonlight. The atmosphere was cold due to the approaching winter season and the barking noises of stray dogs echoed through the sub-urban neighborhood where a white-haired girl could be seen peeking through the slightly opened doors of her bedroom prying her eyes into both her parents who were having a serious discussion with a man she recognized as her church pope who listened in on their words with a grim expression.

The soft hush of winter’s breath filtered through the barely open window. Snowflakes gathered along the sill, delicate and silent, like mourners gathering in reverence. Rhea sat beside the bed, her hand resting over the withered fingers of the only woman who had ever given her unconditional love—her mother.

"Why were you wandering around the house in the dark? You should have been resting in your room. If you needed anything, you could've just pressed the button." ​Winter let out a breath. She looked down at her hands playing with the edge of the blanket. ​"I... I woke up and it was so dark. I had a nightmare about yesterday. About the soup. I was so terrified, August. I just wanted you to hold me." ​August’s chest tightened with a heavy wave of guilt. ​"I got out of bed and went to your room," Winter continued, "but when I opened the door... it was empty. You weren't there."

The gravity of our shared past pulled at my heartstrings, and I continued, "Or that winter night when we huddled together for warmth during the pack's mountain retreat? The snow was relentless, creating a vast white blanket, and the world felt muffled and distant." He grinned, "Your insistence on making snow angels and then complaining about the cold, that's something I'd never forget." Pausing, he added more solemnly, "But you know what really stood out for me that night? The warmth. Not just physical but the warmth of our bond, our connection. Even in the bitter cold, with you, I felt warmth even if you couldn't feel it at the time." There was a brief silence, filled only by the distant so

He said, clutching his chest dramatically and making beating movements "Damn it Eion. I can't stand how cute you are. I'll melt here." I wanted to say that but I stopped myself. "Well, when we first met, it was summer. And then you had a heart like a winter. So cold. I was thinking that maybe your heart was stuck in winter." I smiled. "At least my heart is in winter when it produces Snow in cold weather. My Snow."

And maybe that was its own kind of communication, its own way of staying connected to something real and warm and alive when everything else felt cold and broken. Winter closed her eyes and let sleep take her, her last thought a fragmented prayer that the beast would still be breathing when she returned.

*** Hyacinth *** The snow was falling steadily, each flake drifting through the air with a quiet grace before settling on the ground. The cold wrapped itself around me, sharper than I’d ever felt before, biting at my skin, seeping into my bones. Every breath felt like ice in my lungs, the chill so deep it seemed to crawl beneath my clothes, making my muscles stiff and unresponsive. This wasn’t just cold; it was a sharp, unforgiving kind of cold that seemed to gnaw at everything it touched.