And she should be mad at the abduction, the sudden change in the direction of her night, but she cannot stifle the curiosity blossoming in the wake of her confusion. The sudden flush of something new. The thrill of adventure.
“She spins and twirls, and dances partner-less across the snow, laughing at the strange and simple magic of the moment, before stepping wrong, a patch deeper than she thought.
She loses her balance, and crashes down into the pile of white, gasping at the sudden cold along her collar, the snow that creeps inside her hood. She looks up. It has begun to snow again, lightly now, flakes falling like stars. The world goes muffled, a cotton kind of quiet. And if it were not for the icy damp leaching through her clothes, she thinks she could stay here forever.
She decides she will at least stay here for now.
She sinks into the snow, lets it swallow the edges of her sight, until there is nothing but a frame around the open sky, the night cold and clear and full of stars. And she is ten again, stretched in the tall grass behind her father’s workshop, dreaming she is anywhere but home.
How strange, the winding way a dream comes true.
But now, gazing up into the endless dark, she does not think of freedom, but of him.
Standing over her, haloed by the dark, and she thinks perhaps she is going mad again. It would not be the first time.
“Two hundred years,” Luc says, kneeling beside her, “and still behaving like a child.”
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