Guests Of Winter

20260112

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

The air in the meeting hall is… odd. I sit between my parents, holding their hands tight, and wonder what’s going on. I don’t remember the last Winter’s Draw, seven years ago I was only a toddler, but every time someone talks about it, there’s a certain… sombreness. Anxiety. But here we are, about to actually choose someone to gift to Winter, and there’s no fretting at all.
Even when the lottery drum start turning everyone remains at ease. I don’t understand. Until I realise I’m getting sideways glances.
My breath catches.
Had they…? No, that’d be against the rules. The Guest has to be chosen randomly.
But…
My parents are holding me close. Closer than usual. They’d been really fussing at me these past few weeks. Because they knew they’d be losing me so soon? I look back and forth between them. Father is misty eyed. Mother kisses my forehead and pats my hand.
I blink back tears of my own and struggle to swallow a lump in my throat. I… I don’t know how to feel about this. I’m sure it’s for the best, I just… I wish I’d had time to say proper goodbyes.
The drum grinds to a halt. Elder Doyle plucks out a tile. “Riley.”
Everyone nods. Silent. No gasps or murmurs.
My parents give me one last, tight, lingering hug. Then they nudge me to my feet and hand me my bag.
I wonder if everyone else packed theirs? I mean, they’ve all got a bag ready with them, but did they actually pack? If it’d already been decided that I was the one being given to Winter.
Elder Doyle is waiting next to the circle. I put on my bravest smile for everyone and step into place. With a nod from Doyle the crowd starts the hymn.
It’s really happening. I’m… leaving. What a strange thought. This doesn’t feel real yet.
Before I wrap my head around it an icy breeze swirls around me and vapour condenses into a beautiful figure.
Elder Doyle bows deep, and I do my best to emulate him, though my heavy pack makes it tricky. “Greetings, o Radiant Winter. We have here a guest to keep you company.”
For a long moment, Winter gazes at him, one eyebrow lifted in a distinctly knowing expression.
My stomach flips. Doyle suddenly looks worried.
Then Winter gives a thin smile and says “Yes, I will take the child who will die in Spring.”
A flock of soft exhales envelope me as the room relaxes.
“But… this once, hm?”
Doyle nods earnestly.
Winter turns to me and offers their hand with a smile. I return it and promise - to both them and my parents - “I’ll be good.”
“I’m sure you will be delightful.” Winter assures me. Though their voice is as cold as their hand, it is a soothing cold which puts me at ease. “Come, let’s get you settled in. That is, if you’ve said your goodbyes? Remember you won’t be able to see them until I next return to this land.”
I nod. That was how it worked, after all - once you belong to Winter you follow wherever they go.
Behind me the Guests who’d been visiting loved ones had formed an orderly line, weighed down with gifts to tide them over their three seasons in Winter’s underground palace.
With a final wave goodbye, to my parents and Elder Doyle and everyone else, I follow Winter through the shining doorway which appears and step out onto a shining courtyard.
“I suspect Spring will be annoyed with me.” Winter murmurs in my ear, their breath chilling and tickling. “We’re not meant to interfere with fate, and your sickness falls under that. But… since nothing was said about fixing the draw, very carefully in fact, Spring can’t prove there was a plan.”
“Then…” I hold Winter’s hand tight. “Me not seeing another Spring does mean…?”
Winter gives a thin, sly smile. “Fate is like that. It only respects its own rules… but it follows those rules without fail. Your health will fail on your eleventh Spring… and Spring can no longer reach you.”
A weight so old it’d long felt a part of me drops away and joy bursts from my throat in a wild, raucous laugh. I hastily try to smother it - but Winter has already joined in, their giggles like tinkling icicles, and Robert (who was chosen by the draw last time) ruffles my hair with a huge grin, and while this cold and austere place doesn’t feel like home yet I’m sure I’ll settle in just fine.

Prompt was “Every seven years, winter claims a person from your village. Keeps them—doesn’t kill them. Tonight is the drawing. You can hear the lottery drum turning. The chosen don’t die. They just stop belonging to spring.”