disclaimer: I mean no disrespect to the Professor or his estate, and thank them for the characters and canvas on which I play
“Your white city is a vision of peace,” he said.
Signs and symbols – ours were very different. He had followed the wings of swans. But I had followed swans as well, bright and fleet on dark water, breasts stained in blood. Across the frozen north we trailed in their wake.
Howling winds clutched at our hair and robes. Snow crunched ceaselessly underfoot; sometimes it bellowed and fell. Ice screamed and moaned, grinding against itself. We screamed when it rasped against us. Even the infrequent silence screamed.
One day my mother screamed, and was gone.
White. I can’t imagine anything less peaceful.