The snowflakes were falling unto her skin. "But I thought it was still summer?," she said, trembling, the snowflakes melting on her honey-coloured skin. "Well, the flowers will die now," he laughed at her foolishness. "Yes, they'll die. The red ones, the pink ones, the yellow ones. Die, die die." He danced in a circle. Wide-eyed she stared at him. "No more lilies, no more roses. No, no." Her eyes were burning with tears, she struck him. "What the hell are you talking about?!" He gazed at her, astonished by the strucking, hand on his cheek. "I don't want the flowers to diiee!,"she cried, picking up some of the already withering violets. Her dark hair fell into her face when she bent down. He watched her silently, his lips pressed together. She looked up again. Tears in her eyes. "But why did winter come so fast?," she said lowly. "I thought it was still summer..,"she repeated the words again and again until they remained nothing but a whisper. "..thought....still summer..". Her skin seemed so pale suddenly, the flush vanished from her cheeks. His gaze at her was cold like the snow falling all around them. "Death is all around. I'm scared..I..I don't want him to....," she whispered, threw herself into his arms, she felt so weak and weightless. Surprised he closed his arms around her, let them stroke over her back. She was sobbing "He will get me too. He will..he..he..will get me as well as the flowers, the beautiful flowers..and the leaves." "Yes. In the end he will," he said, having no comfort in his voice and also his hands on her back, his fingers in her dark curls bore no warmth for her. Her sobbing abrubtly stopped when he tightened his embrace, looking now almost like a snake about to devour its victim. Her eyes widened more, but she couln't make a sound, her mouth open as if to scream. His fingers digged into her fallow skin, her eyes filling with tears. Dry tears. Her body was drying slowly, she closed her eyes, some tears streaming from them still, unable to move or do anything else, limp like a puppet in his arms. When he finally released her she sank into the snow, her arms and legs like sticks, her face like the mask of death himself. He stared down at her figure, her limbs. Dead she was. Dead she must be. He didn't feel something like compassion. He picked up some of the flowers she'd dropped, strewing them over her body. "Sleep well, my dear. Sleep till spring comes to awake you again." He stood there for some long time, watching how the snow slowly covered her with its white blanket. And then everything was still.