Okay, I have to admit I’m cheating a bit this week. This is something I wrote a long time ago and I might even have posted it on my other blog at one time. But I figured, what the heck, at least it’s seasonally appropriate. :-)
the Snow Child
Once upon a time there grew a garden that was so beautiful that even in winter it was a wondrous sight to behold. When the snow fell it covered the trees and bushes in a soft blanket of white so pristine it looked carved from marble. And when the weather changed too rapidly causing ice to form it was transformed into a garden of crystal.
Near the garden was a house, and in the house lived two children, brother and sister, named Damon and Celeste. The house and garden being far from any town or village, they had only each other to play with. However, since it had always been this way, they were quite content with things the way they were.
One day, after a fresh fall of snow, Damon and Celeste decided to go outside to play in the garden. They played tag and threw snowballs, even played hide and seek among the heavily laden fir trees. But it was not long before they ran out of things to do.
"I know," said Celeste. "Why don't we make a snow child?"
"All right," Damon agreed. Damon was always agreeable to whatever Celeste asked of him, she being older than him and he being an agreeable sort.
"It will be much more fun with the three of us," Celeste said.
Together they began to fashion a child out of snow, and because it was Celeste's idea, they decided their snow friend should be a girl too. She had an oval face, with large eyes and a little mouth like a bow. Celeste and Damon were quite talented, it looked just like a real girl.
“She needs some hair,” Celeste said, standing back to observe their handiwork. “She would look too strange without hair.”
Damon thought for a bit. “What about this?” he asked, removing the red woolen scarf from around his neck.
Celeste agreed it was just the thing, and they picked the scarf apart, using the strands of bright red wool to create hair for their friend.
"Now we need to bring her to life," Celeste said, once they were finished.
"How are we supposed to do that?"
“Well," Celeste said slowly, "in the fairy tales, a prince's kiss is usually magic. Maybe you should try giving her a kiss."
So Damon went up to the snow child and kissed her, right on the lips. The children were not at all surprised to see her lips turn red and color suffuse her face. A sudden gust of wind blew from the north and the snow child came to life. She moved, she smiled, and to the great delight of the children she began to play with them.
A while later, the children's father happened by. Though sunny, the day was cold. He decided it was time for the children to go into the house.
"But father," said Celeste. "We don't want to leave our friend just yet."
The father was startled to see a third child in the garden. If it were not for her bright red hair, she would have blended right into the garden with her pale, pale skin and pristine white clothes.
"Well, by all means, your friend is most welcome too," he said, smiling.
The snow child shook her head no.
"Nonsense, my dear," said the father, taking her by the hand. "It's very cold out, your hand is chilled. Come in and get warmed by the fire and then I can take you home."
"But father _" Damon tried to protest.
"Now, Damon," the father replied in a voice that brooked no argument.
Celeste and Damon looked at each other, Celeste biting her bottom lip. The snow child said nothing, only sighed sadly. They went meekly into the house. Celeste and Damon were sent to their rooms to change into dry clothes, and the father took the snow child to the parlor where a fire was burning merrily.
"There you go," he said cheerfully. "You just stand close to the fire to warm up, and Damon and Celeste with be with you in a few minutes."
The snow child stared up at him sadly. Uncomfortable with those big eyes looking at him so silently, the father left the room.
The snow child went over to the window and stared longingly at the magical, white garden. Great, silent tears rolled gently down her cheeks as she began to melt, until all that was left of her was a mound of red woolen threads, and trace of white snow on the wet carpet.