Guess who’s posting two stories this month?! I know it’s quite a shock. But I decided to add another story to my plate when I saw the Intuitive Writing Guide prompt for January.
I’ve always wanted to write a retelling of the Snow Queen, so I had to try the prompt. Now, I haven’t actually read the original story or anything, so I guess “Statues” is more of a story inspired by the Snow Queen than a retelling.
Anyway, I hope you enjoy “Statues.” Sorry if I break your heart.
The icy curve of Gwyneth’s cheek was as pale as it had been in life. Eirwen let her fingers linger on her half-sister’s face as she stared into the blank eyes of the ice statue. “Good day, Gwynni,” she murmured.
Gwyneth didn’t answer, of course. But if Eirwen stared at the statue hard enough, she could almost imagine a gleam of life in the eyes, a warm breath coming from the lips, a breeze stirring the hair.
Eirwen squeezed Gwyneth’s hand, forever stretched forward, desperate for touch. And that was what had killed Gwynni in the end.
Tears did not accompany the sudden surge of emotion, but Eirwen wished that they had, impossible as that was. At least her heart was still capable of feeling. She turned away from Gwyneth’s statue and fastened a glare on the other two statues at the edge of the throne room. “Hello, Father, Stepmother.”
Father’s lips were stretched wide in a never-ending scream. Stepmother’s were curled in a sneer, her eyebrows arched with disdain. The statues did not melt, perhaps because of the coldness of the air, perhaps because of their magical essence.
Some said that it was the coldness of the palace that had frozen Eirwen’s heart, simply ignoring the fact of Stepmother’s decree. They were lying to themselves, blaming an external factor instead of their beloved former queen for the wreck that was the bastard princess.
“I can touch you now, Stepmother.” Eirwen’s nails scraped against the former queen’s frigid form. “You cannot stop me.”Read More »