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2
Rowan
One footin front of the other. Step, by step, by step.
The soles of my feet are cold, as if the earth is reaching up through the rubber and freezing my skin. There’s a little strip of exposed skin between my jacket and my glove. It stings.
Wind knocks me sideways, and I stumble off the road. My roller bag tumbles over, and I fall onto my hands and knees. Sucking a breath in through my scarf, I drag myself up. The castle is still so far away. Still so black and imposing. The landscape barren and desolate.
Scrambling to right my bag, it feels like my limbs weigh twice as much as they usually do. I brace myself against another angry gust of wind. It feels like the weather is screaming at me. Howling in my ears.
You don’t belong here.
A chorus of gods laughs at me from above, watching me crawl along the surface of the earth like a lonely little insect, slowly freezing her little ass off.
I keep going. If I stop, I die. If I turn back, I might find someone to bring me to the castle or give me shelter—or I might die.
As long as I keep going, I can make it to the castle. Two miles. I’ll find Grandma, who will wrap me in a hug and hold me tight. She’ll smell like cinnamon and cherries, and it’ll feel like home. There’ll be a fire to thaw my frozen flesh, and a mug of something warm.
Grandma will tell me why she didn’t pick me up. She’ll show me to my room, where there’ll be a huge, plush bed.
A warm bed. With lots of blankets. Maybe even a bath.
Everything will be warm, and soft, and nice.
I just need to take one more step. And then another. And another.
When did my bag get so heavy? I try to pull it loose from the snow and rocks that drag along the base of it. My lungs scream. My shoulders hurt.
Somehow, I’m sweating. How can I be cold and sweaty at the same time?
I blink, the crusty, frozen mass of eyelashes brushing my cheeks. My fingers are numb. My thoughts are slow.
I start counting my steps, just to prove to myself that my brain still works. When I get halfway between three and four hundred, I lose count, so I restart.
One, two, three, four, five…
My chin stays buried in my chest. My shoulders hunched. My eyes glued to that little strip of ground directly in front of my feet.
When my shoulders stop aching, it’s a relief. When I start to feel a bit warmer, I think it might be because I’m moving. A tiny, faraway voice in my mind tells me it’s a bad sign. It tries to scream at me, to warn me.
I should be cold. I should feel the bite of the wind.
This new warmth, snaking through my body? It should scream danger. The sleepiness that makes my eyelids droop should ring some sort of alarm bell in my mind.
But that little voice is so quiet. The alarm bell sounds more like a lullaby.
Warmth feels good.
I can do this. I blink my eyes open, dragging them up to look at the castle.
It’s so far away.
Wind whips past me, making my eyes water. I stand still for a moment, squeezing them shut. Icy tentacles pierce my red jacket, my sweater, my dress. I feel naked.
Maybe I should take a break. Just a little breather. That snowbank on the side of the road looks soft. I could just curl up and…
No.
