The Boy Named Winter
A beautiful girl has a dark, yet romanced-filled past. This story is about her journey, and how she came to be a lonely thirty year old woman, living by herself in an abandoned forest with no-one to care for but spiders and wandering deer. I guarantee this will be filled with romance and mystery and I hope you enjoy :)
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Cat stood over the fire and stirred a pot of warm porridge, as the aroma of wild mushroom and chopped stinging nettle drifted towards her nostrils. She grimaced and sank down into the sagging cushions of the once-beautiful grandfather chair. A spring popped as she shifted to poke at the fire with a stick, and Cat glanced around the room as wind rattled the door. It did not take much to reassure herself that it was only the wind and not an unexpected visitor, she had long stopped expecting intruders.
Cat wrapped the frail blanket tighter around herself and glanced around the barren room. Her bed was falling apart, but its polished surface still gleamed in the firelight. The table next to it held nothing but an unlit candle, a box of matches and an old book. On the opposite wall there was but a large, ornate cabinet, that held her clothes and most prized possessions. Cat tried to avoid the mirror hanging on the doors but the reflection caught her eye. Long, beautiful black hair cascaded around her shoulders, framing a flawless face. Her supple, tender skin shone and her green eyes sparkled. The ruby red lips pursed and Cat wrenched her head away from the mirror. She noticed, she kept her unnatural beauty even through aging, there were indeed the smallest of wrinkle lines. Cat shook her head and focused on pouring her revolting dinner into a clay bowl. But as she sat there, chewing on the rough leaves and berry mush, Cat's mind could not help but drift to when she was ten years younger, a young thing of only twenty, and how her exrtraordinary beauty had become a burden. A sudden flash of blue in her mind made Cat stand up suddenly, dropping the bowl and spoon. She hurriedly put on her traveling cloak and despite the cold outside, she opened the door and started a brisk walk towards the lake. She needed to sit and let the cold dull her senses.
It was not until very late at night that Cat returned to her cabin. The fire had burned out and the remains of her dinner were where she had deserted them. Slowly cleaning mush off the wooden floorboards, Cat's mind began to wander back to the striking blue eyes of....... Cursing herself, she put down the rag and water. She shouldn't of looked in the mirror, she shouldn't have! When only the mere reflection of herself brought back the memories, it was too risky to have the thing around. Cat grasped the mirror in both hands and yanked it off the wall. But...she couldn't throw it out. It was her only reminder of him. After a silent war in her mind, Cat opened her cabinet and tucked the mirror in the back with her old and revealing clothes. It was too much. At the sight of the familiar green velvet and lace, Cat's mind went berserk. She collapsed into a fit of sobs, only managing to drag herself into bed. She pulled the shabby blankets over her head and lay there for what felt like the longest time.
Cat woke up while it was still dark. She felt the presence of the dresser still open, and she crawled over to her keepsakes and curled among them. As a red, silk scarf draped itself over her head, Cat began to cry again. Her fingers felt the cool surface of the mirror and she pulled it closer to herself. It was all a mistake. None of her past should have ever happened. Cat cursed her looks, her cabin, the mirror, the lake, her dresses, the scarf, the porridge and cried herself to sleep.
In the middle of the forest, next to a lake, in a freezing cabin, a beautiful woman with a terrible past lay resting in a tight wardrobe, clutching a mirror and pulling a velvet dress closer to her shivering form. She was the only human within a thousand miles of the cabin, and nobody but the spiders weaving their webs in the corners of the roof, or the ants lapping up the spilled porridge would have heard her sadly utter the words, "Oh, my Winter.."