It's all relative. She must know that. She must, having known seasons before I brought the Long Winter. So she must also know the relative heat my passions release, and why the walls of the Ice Palace are so thick and so clear and pure. Gerda, therefore, is choosing to complain about the cold while I, with Kay, will not complain about how hot I am. I, the Snow Queen, am very hot.
I don't see why she can't just leave her brother be. He's obviously happy here. His blue lips keep their curved, plump, bow of a smile. His blue eyes sparkle with delight every time he lays his cold hands on me. Kay loves me.
Besides, which would she rather: the temperatures of the Long Winter, or the timelessness of absolute zero, wherein nothing happens and nothing ever will? I could make that happen. A queen with a broken heart could make that happen—take the universe with me into a deep sleep, like Beauty, or Rose.
But I won't threaten her with that, yet. Gerda is miles away, according to my crystal ball, dancing with fairies or some such, while here I warm myself with my own fire, stoked by my own darling young man. If she ever makes it here, I intend to show her all the beautiful, wonderful things I've shown her brother.
Here, Kay, shuffle forward on your knees. See how, even in this blue and white palace, I glow red hot. Yes, lick at the embers of our last embrace. Your cool tongue only makes me hotter, makes me feel little sunbursts of pleasure alongside icy shivers. Oh, how could anyone think me cold, when it is I who warms you up, little Kay? And, when I've warmed your tongue enough, how I moan and growl as you push it into me. Drink up the Snow Queen. Drink me up until I am nothing for a moment, until I am a dancing flame.
No comments:
Post a Comment