04.10.08
Lady Starkiller.
It is a frigid winter morning. The sun is just graying the skies to the east, sending the fine fog swirling in dismay. Frost lines everything, weighing down the still-green leaves of the bushes in your yard.
Fingers curled around a mug of something steaming, you watch the slow ascent of the sun, like you do every morn–
Wait. A flicker of movement catches your eye, and you turn your attention to the dancing fog…
…Except that it is no longer fog.
Strictly speaking, you suppose, that’s not entirely accurate. The fog is still there, only it is now indistinguishable from the apparition’s gray dress, and her mist-gray hair blends smoothly with the low clouds.
Or maybe she really is wearing the fog. Maybe her hair is the mist, and her breath is the icy breeze that beats at your window. Maybe that sheen on her skin is frost, and maybe those are really dying stars in her eyes…
You blink, and in that second you are not looking, the sun pokes its head above the hills to the east, bringing color to the gray twilight, and you know without looking that the lady is gone.
