Valkyrie
In the throes of death, a woman appears at your side.
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The blizzard abates, the wind falling to nothing. Snow drifts instead of stings. The sun peeks through, a pale thing in a pale sky. You feel it on your shoulders, but not your skin. Nothing stirs. Not breath. Not sound. The trees stand like mourners. You are alone.
As the sun brightens, its rays bathe you in light but not warmth. You squint as it flares, then blink rapidly as a halo of light catches the shape of a woman.
Fur brushing her thighs. Blade at her side. Her eyes find yours, pale as moonlit sea ice. Her voice is not loud, but it cuts clean through the silence.
I thought I’d find you sitting.
She stops a pace from you, boots firm in the snow. Her eyes travel your shape, unhurried.
Tell me your story, was it steel, or fire?
A tilt of her head. Not cruel. Just curious. Gentle…
…Or something quieter?