She walked barefoot upon the snow, the biting and cruel winds buffeting her tiny form, her fiery hair billowing like a tiny candle in the vast Siberian wastes. So seemingly insignificant and tiny in this wilderness she appeared to be too fragile and delicate to live beside the jagged and ancient Ural peaks. But rather than shying away from the majestic strength of the storm and the even harsher landscape, she embraced both; opening her arms wide and closing her eyes.

It should have hurt her. The snow should have frozen off all of her toes; the wind should have flung her across the crags. The tempest should have murdered this ostensibly fragile piece of humanity. But neither happened. She felt the gale like a lovers caress upon her cheek, the snow seemed pleasantly cool, like the gentle lapping off the sea around one’s ankles during a beachside stroll. The violence of the storm made her pulse race so vigorously that it caught her breathless.

It felt wonderful.

She burst out laughing, opening her eyes to watch lightning blazing across the heavens, the roll of thunder vibrating in her head. For a moment she thought she could smell something burning, perhaps the lightning had hit something close-by. But it had not hit her. It never did. It tried to; the mighty storm clouds summoning their strength and attempting to destroy the lady that dared to manipulate them. But they could never strike her down; if they ever got too close she would destroy the storm and send it back where it had come from, back into the darkest corners of her mind.

She longed to feel the tiny kisses of snow upon her skin so she closed her eyes once more and dove down into the coldest regions of her heart. The wind became bitter and violent, so much so that she swayed on the spot. Gripping the rock below her with her toes she kept herself upright.

She thought of him and the thunder rolled away. The universe would have become silent except for the howling winds which whistled and whirled, circling the seductive curve of her hip, the layers of her dress billowing around her legs. She switched off the lightning like it was only a light in her mind. She used her bitterness to rip through the dark, ominous clouds to generously grant the moon a space to peek beyond the black guards which had imprisoned it so harshly.

With the moonlight shining down upon the Urals, a glistening kiss fell down from the heavens and pressed itself down on one rosy cheek. Again she smiled and spun on the spot as millions upon millions of tiny snowflakes flurried around her head, many settling like countless diamonds on her long, abundant auburn hair. Shimmering Winter crowned her Autumnal mane and her skin flushed as the snow caressed the flesh that was open to the Siberian extremes.

The snow buried her bare feet but she felt no pain. She knew no physical pain. The only piece of her that ever ached ever bled and ever stormed in rage was her heart which was almost as frozen and barren as the landscape around her. She was only half a person, and half something cruel and dying. She was the Autumn and the Winter; she knew nothing of the rebirth of Spring or the gentle love of Summer even though she was as old as the world itself. Every Spring and every Summer had snuck beyond her notice and everything she knew was death and decay lit up in all the fiery golds’ and bitter whites of the fall.

The Earth knew her name although mankind had forgotten her. The Earth had to bury her many victims, fallen prey to famine, disease and catastrophe, thousands of little horrors she had unleashed to amuse herself. She had created the storm because she had grown tired of the everyday torrent. She may have terrified a few villagers that lived close-by but if she had the mere concept of their terror was delicious. She licked her lips thinking about them huddling closer to the fireplace, shuddering as the storm rattled their window panes.

She considered visiting their homes, seducing her way into their sitting rooms with her disarming smile and her beautiful face. If she found them suitably terrified she would teach them a whole new meaning of fear, inching close and sucking lustfully on their throats. If they were hardened she would leave them be, but if ever she saw them venturing out into the vastness of Siberia she would bury them in the snow. If they were ever found by their kinsmen, the idea of them found frozen like statues in the middle of nothingness amused her intensely. With their hearts and wills hardened to the storm, she would harden them completely.

She laughed aloud at the idea, her laugh sounding like gentle rain or a fresh spring in the whistling wind. Although her laugh was like music, it was a false reflection of cruelty within. She raised her hands so the snowflakes pooled in her palms, cleansing her face as they melted and tried to disappear between her fingers. Her ivory skin glowed in the moonlight and her icy eyes glinted towards the distant villages. She always watched them from afar; she liked to imagine the ways she would destroy them from this vantage point.

Mankind might have forgotten her name but they feared her still. They remembered her somewhere in the primitive recesses of the minds. They feared her seductive smile. They shivered under her caress. They wanted to tame her brutal strength but mankind had never succeeded. They still suffered from her whims and her excesses, her famines and her plagues.

The Earth remembered her name because it mourned all her victims. The wind that blew up and around her skirts and whipped her mane between its fingers whispered and moaned her name in her ears.

Lilith… Lilith…