Interlude: I Will Come As The First Snow

“‘Lo Summer,” I step out from the tree behind the red Horseman.

He grins back at me with his mischievous razor smile, “Gavri’el. Long time no see.”

“Winter’s no fun to talk to,” I grumble. “But, alas, he is the one you all decided to be your de facto leader, so…”

“Perhaps if you called him by his new title, he might not be so frigid. Although, I suppose he was closest with Lucifer of all of you, and he’s never really quite forgiven you all for...that,” Summer snorts and I laugh back with only the smallest of groans. I should, too, call Summer by his new title, War, but I prefer to use the old names.

I wonder if Winter still meets with Lucifer. Maybe I could find a way to talk to my baby brother by pretending I’m there for Winter...

“What’re you looking at so intently?” I change the subject, stepping up beside Summer.

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Following his eyes, I see a figure in a small clearing of the forest. They wield a long staff, whirling and spinning it around as they dance about a tree in some kind of ceremonial battle-dance. I cannot see their face, but I am transfixed by the graceful sight. When, finally, the figure pulls down the cloth over their nose and mouth, and throws back their hood, revealing long, black hair tied back in a knot with a pale ribbon, I realize…

“Summer…” I elbow my friend. “Do you have a crush on some errant human girl?”

“Human?” he arches a brow at me. “Look again, Gavri’el.”

I look. I trace the shape of the girl’s face; watch the way her hands grip the staff; trail, even, where a scratch on her cheek bleeds a single drop of crimson. She shuts her eyes and turns her face to the grey, winter skies, as snow begins to fall lazily down in fat flakes; the girl inhales deeply, smiling at the icy air that fills her lungs and that exhales out in shapes like curling smoke.

I recognize the private reverence in her face. Even moreso, I recognize the defiance in her stance, the way a tear falls from her eyes as she opens them to the heavens and wonders aloud, “Father, Mother...are you proud of me?”

“That’s…”