The Snow Child

This is my own re-creative, based on Angela Carter's 'The Snow Child'

The Count lifted her up and sat her in front of him on his saddle but the Countess had only one thought: how shall I be rid of her?

This child, created only moments ago, was clothed in my finest garments and I had been overlooked by my dear Count. Were these clothes only what mattered? It seemed as though the best-dressed female was the only one deserving of any attention.

As the Count settled his gaze on me, I stared back defiantly, refusing to become the meek female he usually dominated. I was the Countess, not one of his befouled whores. The child watched his every move, unconsciously mirroring it all. It was true; she was the child of his dreams, radiating innocence and youth, as yet untouched by the imperfections of the world we belonged to. And I hated her for it.

Yet being able to call myself Countess was an achievement in itself, no other woman had gotten this far. I was above the rest of them, displaying elegance and grace. None of the women had gotten so far; until now. This one child, a Child I say! has become the Count’s favourite in a matter of a few minutes.

Even now his eyes followed her, raking in her appearance, admiring her form. The edges of my teeth pushed themselves into the soft flesh of my lips, pushing further, until they split the skin and it bled; red drops forming on the surface. This had been my downfall, this infernal bleeding. If I could somehow be trapped within the folds of time for eternity, unchanging, I would gladly do so; keeping my body as it once was, that of a young virgin, newly married to a Count, the joy shining on my face.

It matters not now. It is better to let the Count have his fun now, in the lost land of snow. I shall be the one returning to his castle tonight. We rode on.