The silence was overwhelming, but final he spoke, “Open me.”
She tensed, unsurprised by his acrimony. She, at least, would become a keepsake, for him there was no point, the die had already been cast, but she looked away hurriedly as the scissors were raised.
The life of a Christmas ribbon was always short lived.
Contrary to popular opinion, the Winter Solstice wasn’t the only time I saw her reclining in the snowflake encrusted darkness.
There was another time I chanced upon her. The stars had been shining, painting the moonshine into dust, and scanning the horizon I decided that this stroke of luck channelled meaning meant especially for me.
Decided, I turned from the mansion, slipping into the forest under the moon’s stony gaze, but as I followed the lure of her song, my absolute certainty grew cold.
Silently I catalogued my tremulous emotions, then bid them a stern goodbye.
The Goddess embodied beckoned.