Dawn

She rose from the east, the sun blowing in the flakes of snow behind her. She stepped out from the hill's horizon like the coming dawn, and the colors of her took my eyes and kept them.

The pale golden white of her hair shone like the snow itself, almost painfully pure. Those loose strands reflected everything – the sun, the moon, the whiteness of the sky – right into me. She wore the world as her platinum crown, and beneath it, she ruled me.

A face of ivory burned with pale blue eyes, aggressive and eagerly alive. They were cold, but a cold that burned and made my body shake and shiver. She made me want to be hot, made me want to move with those eyes. Yet I was floored. Sealed. Silenced. The weight of her presence was too heavy for me to pierce.

Her lips, chilled by the morning air, had purpled to a royal shade, full like a plum with just the hint of frost. I felt drawn in to those lips, to the promise of sweetness and the coming Christmas. Those lips parted and I felt myself breath in, trying to catch what left her. Those lips spoke.

“Waiting for someone, or just staring, stranger?” she asked me. She smiled.

The sun rose.