Life is simple in Frostspire, a sleepy little village perched by the sea, cradled in the lap of mountains tall and snow-clad. Yet a simple life is not without its problems. Fortunately, the folk of Frostspire have someone to turn to when in need; a...
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The downpour of falling leaves left the trees bare, and so came the time of the year when Frostspire truly lived up to its name. Winter arrived, tugging the end of the year in its wake.
By the end of autumn, Aunt Elena had finished working upon yet another one of her undertakings, with the help of her 'bee lady' this time.
It was a tiny house in one corner of the grounds, its walls and roof all made of sheets of glass. Wooden frames held it aloft, complete with a small door with a round window on it. Inside it was wonderfully warm, and there the plants thrived, untouched by winter.
Day and night, Alvar looked after them, and by the end of each day he would be exhausted, because the flowers in the garden outside the glass-house needed more magic than ever to be kept well.
In the cold nights, snowstorms howled high up in the mountains and the forest and through the village. In the mornings he and Aunt Elena would be up at the roof, shovelling off layers of snow. By the time they would be done, their hands would ache from the cold, faces flushed pink.
"Let's get you a nice hot cup of tea before you freeze to death!" She always said, though she was just as cold as he was.
It was wonderful to sink into the armchair before the fire with the warm cup in hand, and even someone like Alvar didn't feel like going out and working.
One such lazy morning, he willed himself to go out, and half an hour later, he returned with a bunch of white tulips.
He placed them on the shop counter. "Could you help me get them ready?"
Aunt Elena rose from her crouch and set the watering can aside. She sighed as her eyes landed upon the flowers. "Ah. It's today, isn't it?"
Alvar nodded in silence, placing the flowers apart and brushing flecks of snow off the petals. She snipped off bits of the stems, arranged them, tied them with string, and at last wrapped them up, a pale blue ribbon fastened to the front.
"Let's go," she said quietly and picked up her parasol. It was a delicate thing made out of black lace, fit for a sunny day outside.
Today it was not the case, and snow fell steadily as they made their way to the cemetery on the outskirts of the village. They'd made the same journey many months ago under a starry night.
