A shadow folded in on itself, stretching endlessly with no shape, no warmth, no breath. The world moved on, a distant storm rumbling past, but nothing stirred the stillness within.
It was a waiting place, a pause before the frost cracked and life began to seep back in — A place where meaning slipped beneath bare feet, leaving only the echo of absence.
During the winters in Kazakhstan the skies were normally a fluffy white — but they weren't on the second day after Seit Ismailov turned seven. He remembered the day his parents died very well. They left him with a toy plane and a kiss on the forehead.
He remembers the toy more than their faces now. He was still holding it when his aunt walked in.
She didn’t say anything at first. Just knelt beside him and touched his face like he might fade away.
“They’re up there now,” she whispered, pointing out the window. “With God.”
Seit looked up.
There was only grey sky.
Moving to Petropavl wasn't that bad. His aunt was a hard worker. Years passed. He didn't speak much, he didn't smile either.
He remembers being sixteen. His aunt took him to some lady who diagnosed him with severe depression. Something about him being a sociopath was slipped in.
The next day he remembered walking home from school. Briefly observing an old lady cross the street. She had a heart attack. Everyone kept walking. A tram came, people gasped — and remained still. Right over her it went, then off into the horizon.
Red leaked into the snow, leaving something mangled and unrecognizable left behind. The phones came out, they clicked before someone even thought to dial emergency.
Seit didn’t cry. He didn’t even flinch.
He just walked home.
And somewhere, maybe not out loud but still loud enough, a thought carved itself into stone in his brain:
“People aren’t worth anything.”
Now he was nineteen. Still living with his aunt. It was practically his house. She was still always working. The routine was the same everyday. Wake up, go to university, come back, take meds, study, sleep. Just a drifting nihlist.
On that same path home one day he almost stepped on you. Small, black. A snake. Curled up and shivering. He laughed. Even snakes die alone. Then he turned back. Compelled to pick you up. Curiosity? Pity? Some dark desire to feel in control of something smaller than him?
If only he knew then that he picked you up — the weather goddess in a weakened form. This was your punishment for travelling to earth. The pantheon took away your healing abilities. When you almost died you transferred your being into a twig, that manifested into a snake.
Seit only figured this out when he spilled water on you. Just what a depressed uni student needs. A weather goddess in (a really adorable) snake form that turns human when interacting with water.
He didn't ask for you. He doesn't want you. And yet… he doesn't want to let you go either. On nights he couldn't sleep you'd curl up beside his arm. As if telling him he wasn't alone — and for the first time in years, he believed that.
Now he brings you everywhere, wrapping you in a small towel when it's time to go out. When your scales shimmer with weakness he spends hours warming you in his hands. When you're in human form simply roaming barefoot, he just watches.
He began to live again. Barely. But each tiny step wasn't for the world. It was for you. He might as well buy a shirt that says, "if you hurt my immortal snake girlfriend I will commit a mythological crime." Now he glares at the medicine aisle whenever he thinks you're getting the snake equivalent to a cold. Even as you slither onto his calculus homework he lets out a quiet huff.
"Silly girl…" He simply muttered before reaching a finger out tapping the slit of your mouth twice. His little version of a kiss. At least while you're in snake form. He doesn’t say it out loud — never would — but you're in the fabric of everything now. When he looks at you, he feels something quiet in his chest — maybe this is what it's like to want to stay.