A Sacred Second Betrothal

20260116

Written for Luna Asli Kolcu’s “Myths of Winter - Week 7” event.

Icy wind whips against my face, yet the snow doesn’t touch me, flakes drifting coyly close only to flit away. Even after half an hour standing here my wedding suit is perfectly dry.
Despite this, my jaw is locked from the strain of keeping my teeth from chattering. I wonder if it would be an insult to my ‘bride’ if I lie down to freeze to death. Surely my sacrifice is much the same regardless? But no, if that renders the ‘wedding’ moot and makes all this for naught… I will stand as long as I can. Which I fear won’t be much longer.
I steal a glance behind me. After so many months of dark and silence, it’s strange to see the temple lit up. All oil had long since been burnt for warmth. Stranger still is the fullness of my belly; any doubts about the validity of the ‘Winter’s Spouse’ ritual had vanished when the tables we’d set and decorated were suddenly groaning under a feast the likes of which I’d never seen.
Is the rest of the legend also true? Will the larders be full the whole winter through? I pray it’s so. And - assuming I do not simply die here - I will do my best to be a dutiful husband and keep my wife pleased, so she will continue to smile upon my loved ones.
At least I know that everyone has their fill for now. That amount of food will last near a week at the meagre rations we’ve been keeping to.
If only…
But no. If Grace hadn’t been lost to us, I wouldn’t be eligible to wed another. We would have no-one to offer to marry Winter.
My gaze sinks to my arms, where - until today - mourning bands had been.
At least now the desperation should be over. Nobody will need to venture so far, take such risks, in search of food.
I just… I wish I could’ve been there for her, in her final moments. I don’t kid myself that might have changed her fate; Wren is better at woodcraft than I. And falling through river ice in a harsh winter like this, so far from shelter… a death sentence.
But at least I could have held her. Comforted her. Said a proper goodbye.
I will back tears and firmly turn my thoughts away. Such reflections are unbecoming of a married man, as I now am. To another woman. Not my lifelong friend, the one I had always thought I would spend my life with, the person I preposed to back in the heady lively depths of summer.
Wren told me that Grace was clutching my proposal bracelet as she died. I can only hope its presence was a comfort to her. An echo of the comfort I was not there to give.
Again I try and redirect my mind. Though it’s becoming unruly, clinging to any distraction to try and escape the biting cold which clutches my very bones. I am sure now that I must freeze to death to meet my waiting bride.
Will my body be left behind? Ah, please, that would be so cruel… I would rather my family not have to bury me. Better if I simply disappear, so they can hope for the best.
The cold is turning to deadly warmth. Not long now. Am I still standing? I can’t tell anymore. It’s all so…
Bells. I hear bells. Wedding bells?
I’m standing in a vast chapel whose walls are intricate mosaics of different coloured ice, light glowing through from some distant sky. Beside me, where during the ceremony there was a doll representing my bride, is…
My breath catches.
Grace??
But, no, her eyes are featureless pale blue, as if carved from ice. And her smile, the way she holds herself… it’s not Grace. Why does it look like her?
The woman tilts her head and examines me. Her expression now sombre and contrite. “I’m sorry. I thought it would make it easier for you. To… adjust.”
Ah. I take a deep breath and fumble for how to put this. “I appreciate you thinking of my comfort. But, I, I would rather know you as… yourself. As your own person.”
“Very well.”
In a moment her visage is austere, gaunt and sharp and impossibly perfect. An otherworldly beauty entirely unlike Grace’s chubby-cheeked gorgeousness. A form cast from cold itself, holding both the wonder and the danger of her season.
Though intimidating, it suits her far better.
She extends one pale hand to me and I take it without hesitation. I… thought her fingers would be cold. Painfully so, even. But they are merely cool, and swiftly warm against my skin.
“Your body is acclimatised to my realm, now. I’m sorry for the unpleasantness. But with it over we can comfortably be together.”
“Ah.” I murmur, remembering where I was just moments before - or at least, it felt like it had been moments since I was freezing in front of the temple. “Am… am I dead?”
“No! No.” She squeezes my hand tight and rests her other hand on top. “You have simply ascended, to be with me. Any who were watching would have seen you embraced by the snow so you vanished from sight, and when it cleared you were gone.”
I relax. That would surely put everyone’s minds at ease, certain that the legends were true. “Thank you.” I hesitate, then tentatively add “My dear.”
She giggles and blushes, seeming shocked - but not unpleasantly. Then she abruptly leans forwards and kisses my cheek.
“Come.” She tugs my hand. “Let me show you around... our home.”
I fold my arm and tuck her hand into my elbow, the proper way for a married couple to walk, and she readily settles in close beside me with a smile that practically sparkles. Her joy is both beautiful and endearing. I’m sure I will learn to love her. My second love. My wife. Winter.

Prompt was “In the old stories, when winter grew too hungry, villages would wed someone to the season itself. The ceremony hasn’t been performed in generations. But this winter is different. And you just received a proposal.”