by Eolake Stobblehouse

The light is... blue, blue, blue.

The sun is still under the horizon, and the cold rules the world. Bare trees stretch from horizon to horizon, holding the earth in a trembling embrace, trying to conserve the life hiding under the snow.

Something moves. Something pale, and very quiet. It flows effortlessly between the trees, avoiding closeness to buildings, sometimes being awesomely still, sometimes moving with uncanny speed. It moves on the ground, it moves in the trees, it moves through the snow.

It is a human figure, almost. Only very slender, very pale, very beautiful. She has long black hair, and no clothes.

She seems human only in form. There is no humanity in her eyes, or the way she moves, or the way the snow and the cold seems not to bother her.

She spots her goal. A red figure is behind the trees, walking hurriedly on a path.


The snow is white, white, white.

He is on his way home from a late party. He is still a little drunk, though the cold of the pre-dawn air has woken him up somewhat. He is warmly dressed, but yet he has to move fast to avoid freezing.

The sun is coming closer to the horizon, from beneath.

The snow is deep in some places. The path has not been cleared yet, after the big snow fall two days ago. He can hear his own breathing. He tries not to move to fast or breathe too deeply, for it would hurt his lungs.

He is young and strong, a varsity athlete. He is the desire of many young women, and the envy of many young men. He is blond and beautiful. Even in the clumsy winter clothing and the deep snow, he moves with grace and power.

Just as the first rays of the winter sun touches the tops of the tallest trees, he thinks he sees something moving behind the line of trees on the right side of the path.


The sky is yellow, yellow, yellow.

She is tracking the man, easily matching and surpassing his pace, getting closer, until he spots her, and he stops in his tracks, trying to see her well. Then she gives up the stealth, and gets out from between the trees. She moves into his path, in front of him, stops.

At first he is amused. A naked woman in the snow, at dawn. It has to be a prank. He almost looks around trying to find his laughing friends somewhere near.

But something stops him. He can't take his gaze off the strange woman. She looks human. But not human. He thinks of the coldness of white marble. He is standing still looking at her, and she is standing still, looking at him, but the way she is standing still is with a stillness which freezes him from the inside.

She moves, then, takes a slow step closer to him, and then another. Slowly she comes closer.

Her long hair is as black as the night. Her eyes are green. Her lips are very red, her skin very white, and she is beautiful. She wears a very slight smile, which betrays a deep, pure joy in the moment.

A timeless fear seizes him. A wind howls in his mind, and he is trying to shake lose his thoughts, to make decisions, to do something. She gets quite close, within three steps of him. He starts to back away, and then he turns and runs.

He is very fast. But nothing like as fast as her, suddenly she is in front of him, and she grabs his coat and pulls him forward, using his own momentum to cast him sprawling in the snow.

She lands on him, and he is frozen. Her beautiful face comes closer and closer, and he is mesmerized first by her eyes, and then by her teeth, which seem white as the snow itself, and sharp.


The water is red, red, red. But it is gradually replaced by clean water, and the shower is soon without a trace of it.

She comes out of the bathroom into the hotel suite, drying her hair with a towel. She is relaxed and cheerful. She wakes up the man on the bed. She kisses him and fondles him under the sheets. He groans and says sleepily, "how can you be in such a mood this early, always?"

"Wake up," she whispers, "you don't want me to get my appetites quenched elsewhere, do you?"