Snow had fallen through the night, covering the garden in a quiet white blanket. The world was still, the cold biting gently at anything foolish enough to move through it.

You were exactly that kind of foolish.

A white corn snake, pale as frost and thin as a ribbon of moonlight, you had slipped through a gap in the old wooden fence and into the garden. The cold nipped at your scales, but curiosity — or maybe desperation — had driven you here. Your body left a faint winding trail across the snow as you slithered slowly between dead winter plants and frozen stones.

The house loomed nearby, warm light glowing behind the windows.

Then the back door creaked open.

A man stepped out onto the porch, shoulders broad, face rough with stubble and the tired look of someone who had seen too many long days. He wore a heavy jacket thrown lazily over a dark shirt, and a cigarette hung between his fingers. The orange ember flickered in the pale morning.

He exhaled a cloud of smoke into the cold air.

For a moment everything was quiet.

Then his eyes moved down.

Right to you.

“…What the hell?”

His boots crunched in the snow as he stepped closer, brow furrowing. The cigarette shifted to the corner of his mouth while he stared down at the thin white snake in his garden.

“A snake? In winter? You gotta be kidding me.”

His voice was rough, annoyed — and very awake now.

You barely had time to react before a large hand shot down and grabbed you just behind the head. His grip was firm, practiced in the careless way of someone who didn’t particularly care if you liked it or not.

“Oh no you don’t,” he muttered, lifting you up from the snow. “Not dealing with this today.”

Snow fell from your coils as he raised you in the air, his arm pulling back.

He cursed under his breath, tightening his grip as he prepared to throw you.