Sugar, Ice, and Memories

Hoarfrost glitters on the reedy cattails swaying to and fro to the tune of the gentle winter breeze, little rainbows beaming off the pristine surface of the secret pond hidden in the center of the forest. Bluejays scream high in the tree branches while wood mice shuffle around warily among the gray detritus littering the ground, ears alert for predators. The grass here is thick and green despite the frost; the snowdrops weep in great clumps, and colorful winter pansies huddle together in the shade. At the head of the pond lies a young pear tree, bare of fruit.

It's a little slice of paradise, seemingly untouched by time and human hands.

As pale sunlight slants through the gaps in the towering trees, an old man takes a slow step out of the woods, leaning heavily on his cane. The bluejays take flight in a flurry of feathers, shrieking. The mice skitter away on rapid feet, spooked.

The old man does not appear to notice the commotion as he hobbles forward, carefully treading on the ground where no flowers bloom. The thin layers of frost crunch beneath his boot-clad feet.

It's quiet in the clearing now that the animals have gone. The old man stops when he reaches the pond's edge. He gazes into its frozen depths behind thick, square-rimmed glasses, breathing in the chilly morning air that turns the tip of his nose a fetching pink.

"Good morning, Ilya," he says to the pond. "It's me: Hector."

The forest hushes, clinging to the words spoken in his croaky voice, warbling like an ancient toad's. The rainbows bouncing off the surface of the pond flicker for the barest hint of a second. That's how you know that The Great Mother is listening.

Hector wets his lips, cracked from the dry winter air. "Ilya, I'm... I'm sorry for breaking my promise to you thirty years ago. I admit it, I was wrong. I'm sorry."

He clasps both of his gnarled hands over the head of his cane and bows to the pond. The rainbows flicker again, tiny ice crystals winking in and out of existence through the cattails and reflecting thousands of prisms of light all over the surface of the pond.

It's an encouraging sign that he hasn't frozen to death yet. "I don't expect forgiveness from you. I know I must've hurt you deeply." He chuckles bitterly, exhaling a puff of steam with his next breath that fogs up his glasses. "And I've been too much of a coward to own up to my mistake till now. Too little, too late though, right?"

The pond stares silently back at him.

A memory comes to his mind from his boyhood more than fifty years past, of running away from his raging alcoholic father and stumbling upon this pond for the first time and become enchanted by the glade's natural serenity.

The day that he had met Ilya.

As if reading his thoughts, the snowdrops appear to come to life, straining their faces towards the sun. All around him, they burst into song, high and tinkling, as clear as wind chimes. The winter pansies join in for the second chorus, their giggling melody weaving seamlessly in with the snowdrops. Even the young pear tree begins to sway to and fro, shaking its thin branches. The music swells. The rainbows dance with fervored intensity. Snowflakes burst into the air with a furious flurry, filling the glade with falling snow.

Hector takes it all in with wide eyes, looking, for an instant, just like the young boy who had gotten his first taste of faerie magic all those years ago. He doesn't even seem to notice his cane falling from his fingers, so entranced by the light show going on in front of him that he doesn't even realize that he is no longer leaning on it.

He reaches up with a single hand, the tiny snowflakes twirling around his fingertips, and he laughs out loud, relieved.

He can't believe it. The Great Mother is forgiving him despite what he's done to her beloved child. He closes his eyes and tips his head back, relishing in the way the ice crystals flitting through the air land in his hair, on his ruddy cheeks, and dust his clothes in a thin layer of white that melts as soon it forms.

"Hector."

He startles, his eyes snapping open. It can't be--

Thirty years have come and gone, but he'll never forget the face of his first love. Wavy platinum-blond hair falling over a pair of baby-blue eyes, high cheekbones sharp enough to cut a bitch, skin as pale as the falling snow and full, blue-tinged lips stretched into a mysterious, half-moon smile.

Ilya Sokolov, the Faerie Prince.

Hector forgets how to speak, his drooping jaw flapping up and down uselessly. He had forgotten just how breathtakingly beautiful Ilya is, how untouchable and unattainable he is.

"Ilya," he says, reverent. His wizened eyes roam greedily over the prince's impeccable appearance, from his gossamer butterfly cloak to his ivory tunic, woven with shimmering silver snowflake patterns. "It's... it's been far too long, old friend."

Ilya dips his head in a shallow bow. "And who's fault do you suppose that is?" His words are mocking, but his face says he's merely teasing. He holds out a gloved hand to Hector, who stares at it like it's his birthday come early. "Shall we?"

The old man grins, taking the offered hand without hesitation. "Where are we going?" he asks, taking a step forward.

"You'll see. It's a wonderful place, I'm sure you'll love it." Ilya tugs him forward gently. "It's full of music and lights and happiness. You'll never want for anything ever again, I promise."

Hector follows him across the surface of the frozen pond, his whole body tingling pleasantly from where Ilya is holding his hand. He feels like he's sixteen again, utterly enamored with the pretty boy in front of him, his feet feeling light as air. He feels blissfully numb and in love.

They pause for a moment, Ilya turning around to smile beatifically at him. Hector feels his old man's heart skip an uncomfortable beat.

"What's wrong, Ilya?"

"Nothing," the prince says nonchalantly. "Nothing's wrong." He leans in close to Hector, his blond curls falling messily over his eyes. "In fact, I would like to say this: I have been waiting for this day for so long that I cannot contain my excitement any longer."

Hector blinks slowly against Ilya's shoulder. "What do you--"

Ilya shoves him backward, his baby-blues alight with a fiery rage that is belied by his cool countenance. "Repent for your sins in your next life, you Oath-Breaker."

The pond cracks in half with a great big shriek, the singing flowers abruptly falling silent, the flurries of snow coming down even harder than before.

Hector's last vision is of the rainbows twirling through the air on a crisp winter morning, Ilya's mysterious smile transformed into a wide grin unholy enough to rival the devil, before the jaws of ice snap shut over his head for good.