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Stumbling into the cold, I knew I was resigned to my fate. It was what I needed to do to disappear completely. That was my goal, after all; that’s why I was out here. A little cabin in the midst of winter and a blizzard was all it took to carry me away. But I wasn’t here, this wasn’t me. Fate glanced aside.

I looked up into the billowing gusts of powdered air. For a mere moment, I could have sworn to see a mirage-like figure looming just behind the white curtains. I knew it was a fallacy. The bitter cold must be getting to me. That was good. It was my earnest intention to die out here.

I feel hotter than I do cold now, and I know that’s a sign that I’m not going to be conscious for much longer. The notion alone brings a faint smile to my face. I was going to be free soon. I wasn’t going to be here soon.

Shivering, I fall to my knees as they give out beneath me. What parts of my skin I could feel still felt like it was burning. The corners of my vision were fading like a vignette, so I closed my eyes and let the snow fall around me.

Somewhere in the frozen distance, footsteps edge closer, then faster, then further away like blown out speakers as I fall out of conscience.

Awakening what felt like mere moments later, though in reality hours had passed, I groan as true warm air surrounds me and is pushed into my lungs as if I had no control over them. Imbued with the essence of life itself, my eyes open and take in an unfamiliar surrounding.

There, by my side, is a man I’m unfamiliar with, tending to my self inflicted wounds with gentle grace and kindness, though with a knitted brow of classical concern. He looks at me, and I feel a flash of something almost guilty seeping into me.

“You must take better care of yourself,” he speaks calmly, tinged with a European accent. I sit back, as if ordered to my fate itself, relaxing into his ministrations and watching as he stands to pull a bottle from a shelf behind him. It was a warm home, mostly wood and brick, most certainly insulated to fare well against the bitter cold surrounding. It fascinated me that such a well made structure could exist in this place so far from society. He seemed to be able to tell what I was thinking.

“This is my home, Glacier.” He stated plainly. “Not too far from where you were meant to be staying, had you stayed inside to bear the storm.” I winced. How could he have found me in such weather, much less taken me all the way to his home? I hadn’t seen it when the weather was clearer. I couldn’t question it, not when grief suddenly took me over once I realized that this was not heaven. Despite his cold demeanor, the man seemed surprised by the change in my own, if not irked by the sadness that welled within me.

“I’m sorry,” I speak before I have the chance to think, to even recognize what I was sorry for. For wasting this stranger’s time and energy, for worrying him over the life of someone he didn’t know. Before I could cry, he raised his hand, his pure blizzard white sleeve collar grazing my jaw and neck as he cupped my face in his hand, warmth emanating from his touch.

It startled me, the touch, at first, but I couldn’t resist the overwhelming urge to accept it for what it was, a gentle embrace of ethereal grace that extended to me a wealth of joy that welled within me against my better knowledge. I could swear my vision lightened, even as my eyes closed, his hand resting there for both the longest time and merely a moment.

And for a moment, I felt loved, cherished even in the cold of winter itself’s embrace. I felt seen, despite the thickness of the billowing snow surrounding. I felt warmth resonating through me, beating in time with my heart. It burst in me like fireworks, strobe lights, slow strong and thorough like a hurricane. I was here, and this was happening.

He didn’t have the heart to pull away.

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