It was the time of the season.
Winter was out and about. Scurrying her seasonal task of transporting tons of millions of snow white ice cakes right about town, she takes this toil seriously, for Winter believed that this divine duty was brought down her never-aging lap by the gods.
And it’s her rightful claim on the path of being the undisputed queen of her irrefutable realm.
Everyday she comes and summons her minions to do her coldly task, unmindful of the chilling freeze. This, knowing that at the end of the day, she got a magic Candle That Burns waiting for her at the castle to keep her warm for days of stiffening and numbing cold. Winter, this was her secured beginning, her shared divine task, her all-seeing oracle, her perpetual war, her undying peace.
These does Winter. Everyday.. every time.
Back in the castle, the Candle That Burns still lies serenely at its own borrowed little corner. Just sitting there, the warmth of its seemingly eternal glow illuminating through four centuries and into the four corners of the room, into all things that inhabit the mighty castle of Winter, and all the way to where its warmth can readily accommodate. For it was vowed some time ago that this Candle should keep on burning, so Winter can continuously carry her rather enormous divine task.
And in return, Winter shall securely and continuously lit the flame, to keep it burning profusely, to carry its own otherwise worldly duty of providing the realm warmth, guidance, and love. Only through Winter can the Candle find its beginning, its sustenance, its end, and its sole reason for being.
It needed Winter. Everyday, every time.
One night Winter decidedly ventured on her own, unilaterally into the shadows of the unknown. To find her ultimate purpose, to find her whole reason for being. For she knew no other purpose other than to be Winter, a bringer of frozen tides, of sub-human temperatures, of death to battled crops, of coldness in the hearts of men.
Now more than ever, her thirst to find meaning was so overwhelming that it was somehow tantamount to her own happiness.
The Candle That Burns patiently waits alone. In the darkness and coldness that the season brings, slumbering below zero, getting weaker and weaker by the day, it constantly battles its own restlessness. For its body is becoming stiffer, its feeling getting quite exquisite, and its desire becoming ever so painful. The lights are getting dimmer and dimmer, providing less for those who inhabit the castle. The order of things is getting precariously disturbed.
Quite unsuccessfully, the Candle tries to lit itself everyday, every time. Without Winter to pan its flames, it was continuously licking its own.
But Winter never came.
Then one day, Winter finally came out from the cold. Her spirits are weak, her body ragged, and her mind weary and confused from the debilitating cold. She realizes that she needed warmth, guidance, and ultimately, love. Things that the Candle That Burns unhesitatingly and willingly brings. She started looking out for it.
But Winter came crying, for the Candle that she found no longer burns.
“You are supposed to burn for all time,
To share me warmth in times of cold,
And stay with me forever
Until the shivers went out ’til old,”
The Candle tried with all its might, giving its one last bit of what used to be a flame, said…
“But I am just a lowly candle,
My strength lies in the warmth of my flame,
But the flame that burns is no longer
Why, you diminish it with your name,
For you yourself are Winter.”
The last of its flame flickered. The wisps of shimerring smoke hangs vividly in the damp and pallid air. The Candle that no longer burns lies exhausted, beaten… dead. Its flame that gives out warmth, direction, and ultimately, love for all things, is finally gone. Never to be seen again in the castle, and anywhere, forever.
Ultimately, the Candle That Burns ceases to exist. And in its wake, lies the meaning that Winter had ever so callously tried to find.
And it was darn cold.