Of ice and blood.

In dreams I see.

Snowflakes drifting on breaths of winter chill - Buffeted away and hidden by pelting sleet.
White virgin snow covering gently marbled rock - Beaten into ice by relentless weather.
Trees, bare of leaves, standing tall in the forest - Wilting into menacing dark shapes.
Blood.

Pure red blood.
Splashing across the icescape as a ghoulish vermillion.
Clinging onto gnarled branches, dripping cloying maroon.
Staining the forest, the weather, the ground.
Staining the stone-grey colossus and his jagged blade of rock.
Staining the little girl with blood-red eyes.

She looks up.
White snow falling onto snow-white hair.
Is that fear? - or pity? a tear rolls down her cheek.
Falling into the soil, as white as her skin, as red as her eyes.
The giant moves not.

The edge of life is narrow, knife sharp, rock hard.
Breathing raggedly, the girl looks at the unmoving grey monster.
And cries.

Who? When?
- How could anyone not care for the dying, sobbing girl?
- The gold-haired man in golden armour approaches.
To help perhaps? Carry her back to warmth and care?
Away from the frigid weather and horrifying white-red tableaux?
Hand raised-

He rips out her heart.


Haunting images of dreams.
How they play with minds.
Forget thee not, daughter of winter.