House of Glass

The snow, soft and white as marshmallow, snuggled around the old
house. From the roof it dripped into candy glass icicles that hung like
a fringe of frosted tears.The broken windows, sugar glazed by winters
breath, were frozen shut. So too the huge oak door, a bank of ice at
its feet sealing its fate. Like a crisp new duvet, the snow spread out
across the garden to the forests edge.

All was silent. All was still. Save for soft falling crystals that
clung to the chimney pot and balanced atop the sills.

Two figures, lost and weary, stumbled from the forest. As they stepped
onto the pure white path something stirred.

Quick as a sunburst starkwhite melted, giving way to greenest of
greens. New buds opened bright hearts and bowed rich heads. Golden rays
danced from open windows. Song birds dipped and dived.

Following their winged messengers the travellers staggered towards the
house and through the open door. Falling to their knees a cold breeze
caressed their frail bodies. And the crickle-cracking of air
freeze-snapping could be heard as the heavy timbered door slammed
shut.

Quick as a sunburst the greenest of green gave way to starkest of
white. And ice, thicker than a forest tree, clawed with deathly
fingers. Entombed within its glassy case the house stood still as all
around fell silent. Save for the fluttering of a petal, crimson
staining the snow.