Saxifrage

Instructions

Tw: hypothermia, fire, death to both another character and the main character who the story is told from the pov of ~Saxifrage~ Cold. That was all I was. Cold. The bitter wind dug under my skin, freezing my bones cold. I guess I was used to the feeling by now. The horrid feeling that you were being frozen bit by bit, every inch of your skin being eaten by an invisible, ice-cold monster. Sometimes I had to think hard about why I was out here, instead of in Santa’s Workshop, building and assembling toys with all the other elves. Back where there were blazing furnaces taller than an elf lighting up the rooms with warmth and joy, and where everyone was cheery and working hard and there was not a care in the word other than the fact that maybe a toy would break—and in that case the head elf would say “It’s alright!” and everyone would help fix it. That was where the nice elves lived. But I was a naughty elf. I’d been exiled after being charged with some of the most horrendous crimes known to elf-kind—murder and arson. At least, that’s what the elven court thought. And so I’d been exiled. I swore I wasn’t guilty though—I swore! I wasn’t guilty, I wasn’t! Couldn’t be… I wasn’t thinking clearly. I was starting to grow…warm? This wasn’t right. But it felt nice, so I didn’t complain. I was curled up in a hole I’d dug in the snow. I’d learned from science class, back in Elf Elementary, that it was warmer under the snow than above. It was still cold though. But then again, there was that warm feeling encompassing me, making me drowsy, slowing my thoughts. I remembered how they described the crime scene. I remembered it so vividly, it was almost as if I’d experienced it myself. Did I? According to them, it was after working hours. The only elves left in the workshop were me and an elf named George. I remember not liking him very much. I wasn't sure why though. Apparently we’d talked for a few minutes about nothing much, things like the weather that day—always snowy—and the most enjoyable toys the two had made that day. Nothing had been wrong, nothing at all. Then I’d discreetly pulled out a match. I’d put the lit match to the wooden wall, which she was leaning against. George had cried out surprise, racing to put the fire out. “Saxifrage!” He’d cried, pushing away from the fire. He was burned next. Soon enough the fire had spread across the whole wall, consumed the wall, and all the equipment. I was the only thing that escaped. That was what the charges had said. It couldn’t be real, couldn’t…but as I reflected on it, it seemed almost real. Almost real… My memory was getting foggy. My breathing slowed. I was exhausted, just wanted to sleep…