Wings Of Fire Snowfall Novels & Stories

Lisa Jones had never expected how badly her long-distance relationship would go, when James Sachs loved her more than anyone else. As the chief of a hospital, he was a very busy man, but he had flown abroad countless times and clocking over 10,000 hours in travel for her. They could only meet briefly each time. She still remembered in that early winter, he had held her in the snow, saying that he found it all worth it. She received numerous gifts from him, ranging from thousand-word love letters to million-dollar necklaces bought from auctions. If it were just to make her smile, he would pluck the stars from the sky. That love that seeped into their very essence hadn't changed for thre

In that very moment, the sky seemed unable to bear the weight of the falling snow. Snowflakes descended from above, alighting upon their hair, shoulders, and clothing. The air was frigid and dry, causing the snowflakes to resist immediate dissolution, instead forming a growing blanket on the ground, akin to a delicate feathered quilt. It marked the year’s first snowfall, and it was a heavy one. Callie frowned at Jamison’s hand on her arm but didn’t resist. ‘Callie,’ Jamison began, his words carrying a hint of reluctance, ‘If I’d met you earlier, if I’d been the one pursuing you from the start...’

The sky wept fire the night the Silver Crest Pack fell.Not rain, not snow but fire. It dripped from the heavens like molten sorrow, lighting the sacred mountains with flames that danced like devils across the trees. Smoke curled into the cold night air, thick and choking. And beneath it, raw, panicked, desperate, screams echoed through the valley like the wails of the dying stars.

Her wings remained in place as she slowly peeled her lids open, revealing the cluster of stars that twinkled in her eyes as she looked up at me. "You did it." She shifted her gaze from me to the illusion she had cast around us. The flames that wrapped around her wings gave off enough heat to keep us both warm. "It's beautiful," she said in awe, her plush lips parting. Snow fell onto her cheeks, melting against her warm skin, speckling her freckles with little drops of water. "Yes, you truly are," I whispered, pulling her attention back to me before capturing her lips with mine. Sparks travelled through my veins, making my heart race against my chest.

I watched it melt and warp in the flames. I turned to look out the floor-to-ceiling window. Against the gray New York sky, the first snowflake of winter began to fall. Pure and clean, covering all sin, love, and hate. A new day was breaking.

I need to get out of this island as soon as possible. ~ ELEVEN MONTHS LATER ~ The sun is hiding; the snow is falling. Snowflakes dance and twirl as they cascade on the ground. A gust of wind blew. A snowflake kissed the glass wall of my office before it descended on its destination. Ivory snowfield blanketed the streets of Manhattan. Building roofs and car hoods held a volume of sleet that will soon melt to give way for spring and summer. Until then, I’m enjoying the sight of the peaceful snowfall.

{TW: Family violence} The balcony overlooked the sprawling woods, now blanketed in a thick layer of pristine snow. The winter scene was breathtakingly beautiful, with the snow-covered treetops stretching out as far as the eye could see. The silence was profound, broken only by the occasional rustle of a bird or the distant creak of a tree swaying gently in the wind.

They hit the jagged rocks and the skeletal branches of dead trees, the icy wind tearing at them as they fell. Winter’s head was pressed firmly against his chest by his hand. She couldn't see the world rushing past, only the frantic, thunderous rhythm of his heart drumming against her ear. Snow had fallen a few days earlier. In the valley below, thick layers still remained where the sun never reached. Chris wrapped his arms around her as they crashed into the snow. * Several loose rocks crashed into the snowbank below. Winter’s mind went blank for a moment. When she finally came to, she struggled to pry his arm away from her waist.

SKYE'S POV The winter’s first snow was a quiet thing. It didn't howl through the mountain passes or rattle the high stained-glass windows of the castle; it simply drifted down in fat, lazy flakes, dusting the jagged edges of the black basalt peaks until the valley looked like a charcoal drawing washed in milk. I stood by the heavy oak table in the center of the royal chambers, watching a small, pale orange flame dance atop a single beeswax candle.

He added quickly, angrily, as if hating the softness in himself: “Don’t make me regret it.” Then he turned away, leaving Elara with the unspoken truth burning between them— The Fire King was not cold. He was burning too hot to touch.