The Soft Witch

There were worse places to be trapped, Ian thought with a reflective hum.

He had his long brown winter coat, woolen and warm, though the temperature was higher with the snow falling delicately like this. There was no perceptible wind, just a slight bite to the air that refreshed him more than anything. Gloves might have been nice, he thought, rounding another corner of the small town.

Ian hadn't ever paid much attention to how many buildings crammed themselves into the decoration but on this level, low like an ant in the street, it was remarkable. Breathtaking.

Grey eyes turned skyward. He really couldn't see the glass perimeter. Not through the snow.

He sighed, pausing under a dim yellow streetlamp beside a grove of thick, snow-covered pines. Small clouds puffed from his lips as warm breath filtered into the night. It was so quiet he could hear the hissing sound of it leaving his lungs. Far off, there were sounds of chatter and merriment touched by liquor and the Christmas spirit but here it was nearly perfectly still.

Ian tugged on a branch, dropping a heap of snow to the ground with a muted thump.

This wasn't how winter was in his city.

Winter was loud. Snowplows growled as they stormed the streets with their loud engines and scraping metal plow blades. Cars honked and skidded and crashed. People cursed. Sirens howled late into the night and tow trucks flashed their orange lights all night. The snow, grey with dirt and road debris, crunched. It was half-ice anyway.

He stooped low and picked up a palmful of the cold snow.

Light as a feather and just as soft. He blew it back to the ground, making a silent wish. Of all the places to be trapped, this was not so bad.

Ian brushed his hands on his coat and wandered back toward the busiest part of the town.

Warm Christmas lights decorated the entire street, casting a comforting glow across the street that felt like childhood. Booths of all sorts lined the middle of the scenic downtown. People sold chocolates, food, ornaments, absolutely everything, but there was one thing he wanted more than the rest.

Something he needed in his soul.

"One hot chocolate," he said, offering a palmful of cold coins to a small brunette.

"Oh no," a scratchy voice replied. Ian's heart sank as he yanked his hand back. "You keep those."

"You."

The woman turned revealing arctic eyes twinkling with amusement and the barest hint of a smile. The brown hair shifted to white and the woman rose several inches. It was the witch.

"Yes, me. Sorry to disappoint."

"Well, great. Send me back," he said, slipping the coins back into his pocket.

"Do you want to go back?"

"Of course," Ian muttered, glancing down the street.

A tall woman tossed her head back and laughed. Snow caught in her dark hair and melted on her cheeks. She reached for a smaller man and grabbed his hand, walking away. Somewhere, from one of the stands, Swan Lake played.

The witch pushed his hot chocolate across the wooden counter of the booth and followed it, leaning thin arms against the counter.

"Yeah? You're sure?"

Ian silently grabbed the paper cup full of hot chocolate, doubting his wish as he fiddled with the cardboard wrapped around his cup until he was sure he wouldn't burn his hand. By the time he was finished, the witch was gone. A smiling brunette stood in her place.

"Enjoy!"

He snorted a quiet laugh to himself.

"Thanks," he said, looking down the snow-covered road. "I think I will."

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A/N: This was done in response to Mackenzie Davis's challenge "Tag! Photo Game". It was such a cool idea and I'm glad to be able to play. Alexander McEvoy tagged me (thank you!) and I had an absolute blast trying my hand at this. Photo is Alexander's as well! I cropped it just a touch.