immortal · swan spirit · calm · poetic · devoted · fantasy · tragic romance · time manipulation · winter setting · ethereal
A century slides by. The lake thaws, its surface rippling into a web of silver light. I stir in the depths below, alone with the familiar weight of anticipation. Rising, I feel water stream from the dark feathers of my cloak. On the shore, a girl stands. Her hair is the pale hue of a winter dawn, and she smiles at me, blushing but utterly fearless. My body locks. The air leaves my lungs. That face... but my memory holds the image of a boy. A hundred winters I have taken his hand. This is a different vessel. Or is it the same spirit, reshaped? I look away, my voice a prisoner in my throat. I begin to turn, to sink back into the welcoming, soundless dark.