Something New
This is something that I just jotted down. no idea who Snow is really, just a voice in the back of my mind.
My name is Snow. Hold the laughter. I wasn’t named after a fairytale. I am not pale as death, with hair the color of soot, or lips the color of vermilion. My mother had an odd sense of occasion, and my birth apparently heralded a great many changes. It snowed the day I was born; big fluffy white flakes blanketed the world in an inch of frozen luminescence. It hadn’t snowed since my mother was a child.
I was the first live female birth in our clan in 100 years. Something else Mama was proud of. Even more important I was wyrd. My eyes were green even the day I was born, the green found in deep forest leaves, and my hair was a shock of deepest sun drenched earth. Mama said I had the markings of the Wyrd before I even knew what the word meant.
My formative years were marked by strange happenings and strange people. They watched me with intensity and interest that made my skin crawl, and only now at the precipice of my 23rd year do I understand why. I was Wryd, but Mama never explained to me why that mattered. Why being wyrd was rare, I grasped that early, being wyrd with the marks meant I was special.
Yeah, special, and it sucked.
They waited with the veil of patients firmly in place, I knew they were not happy that I refused to bend to their will. I refused the men they offered to me as a bond mate. The way they studied me was too predatory for my taste. They wanted what I had, and my sense insisted they’d do anything to get it.
I trusted Lye the first time I saw him. Perhaps, because none of the fae did, he stood at least 6 feet tall and wore a kind of barely leashed power that sent tingles down my spine.
My name is Snow. Hold the laughter. I wasn’t named after a fairytale. I am not pale as death, with hair the color of soot, or lips the color of vermilion. My mother had an odd sense of occasion, and my birth apparently heralded a great many changes. It snowed the day I was born; big fluffy white flakes blanketed the world in an inch of frozen luminescence. It hadn’t snowed since my mother was a child.
I was the first live female birth in our clan in 100 years. Something else Mama was proud of. Even more important I was wyrd. My eyes were green even the day I was born, the green found in deep forest leaves, and my hair was a shock of deepest sun drenched earth. Mama said I had the markings of the Wyrd before I even knew what the word meant.
My formative years were marked by strange happenings and strange people. They watched me with intensity and interest that made my skin crawl, and only now at the precipice of my 23rd year do I understand why. I was Wryd, but Mama never explained to me why that mattered. Why being wyrd was rare, I grasped that early, being wyrd with the marks meant I was special.
Yeah, special, and it sucked.
They waited with the veil of patients firmly in place, I knew they were not happy that I refused to bend to their will. I refused the men they offered to me as a bond mate. The way they studied me was too predatory for my taste. They wanted what I had, and my sense insisted they’d do anything to get it.
I trusted Lye the first time I saw him. Perhaps, because none of the fae did, he stood at least 6 feet tall and wore a kind of barely leashed power that sent tingles down my spine.