Common

The world was silent and still, but Sabriel’s heart was not. Tucked beneath a shelf of stone and watching feathers of snow drift down from the sky, the dark mare felt as if it were trying to claw free of her chest. Shivering with each gust of wind that found her poor sanctuary, she ached for the warmth of another living creature— any creature at all. Even the presence of a stranger would have been welcomed over this alien serenity, to this emptiness that entombed the entire world. But no matter how desperately she wished otherwise, the silver black was left to her solitude. For as far as she could see— ice-blue eyes squinting to penetrate the shadows of the nearby forest— she was the only living thing in a world gone cold and dead.

It was the furthest thing from the magic and majesty of the Cove’s winters— no blessing at all, but a curse.

Tilting her face into the pricking kisses of flakes that the wind swirled into her home, Sabriel surrendered herself briefly to the warm glow of memories. Of Sephiroth tumbling his sister into the snow, of Lirael’s shrill screams soon broken by laughter. Of the intrinsic patterns they’d etched in the flawless white blanket, hooves lifted high in dancing steps. How breathless and happy and whole their family had felt for those moments, even fractured. And then— then Solomon’s herd had come, their bodies a colorful riot in their monochromatic world— beautiful, but unwelcome. Because their presence was a sobering reminder of their ruler’s absence, just as the slender mare had started to wonder what it might be like if he played beside them. Feeling the magic of that morning flee, the pale-haired woman had fled too, herding her children before her.

Whatever magic those memories had conjured fled too, and the shadowy creature stirred, her gaze flitting open again. The world in front of her was unchanged— still grey and grim and empty— but Sabriel looked on it with new eyes, her head tipping gently to one side. To her left, a pocket of snow fell from a branch with a soft plop. To her right, the bare stone had grown colder, the chill of it seeping slowly beneath her skin. If she stood here much longer, she might well turn to ice herself— a sculpture carved with haggard lines where she’d once been beautiful. A statue that would watch the world with hard eyes and a hollow heart.

And it would be no different than she was now, warm and breathing but not truly alive.

Pushing away from the wall of her shelter, Sabriel ignored the groaning protest of her joints and began to drift through the white-gowned forest. Moving with purpose for the first time since— since— Since Feray. Since you bared your heart, and she tried to warn you of what you have become. Shaking her head and setting the snow-dampened tangles of her mane aflutter, the black mare lifted her hooves more quickly. Skimming over the sea of white like a raven, she tried to outrun the bitterness of her thoughts. It was not easy, but she did finally escape their burden, if only enough to ease the crushing weight from her chest. Finding herself in the middle of the winter-buried meadow, Sabriel paused to gasp deep lungfuls of the frigid air, relishing the burning ache in her throat. And then stood watching, waiting for something to claim her.

Because no matter what that something was, it couldn’t be worse than the nothingness she’d already endured.