I took a few steps, drowning in the snow. I shivered as the endless white went on forever in the horizon. I walked on, holding my sister's small, stiff and cold hand, and a cold nervousness slipped into my core.  

The loud whipping wind and constant falling whiteness filled our senses. The light of the sunless pale blue sky refused to bring us warmth. Katerina coughed gently. I clenched her hand, holding it tighter as if I had any warmth to spare.

The footsteps behind us faded, forgotten to the white demon of ice and frost. Mother Nature was an abusive parent, a dark shadow over this path of ice driving us to an inexorable death— yet here we were. A sixteen year old and a six year old trudging towards the smoke, only a few miles off. Delirious with the idea of fire, we walk.

Each crunch of the snow was a step toward shelter from the storm, a step towards a future for my sister. The endless scenery of the same white blinded us. I felt a small, almost imperceptible, tug on my arm. Her face was an ugly red and her eyelashes frosted over as she twitched. Too worn for words, she simply lifted her arms up. I picked her up, cradling her in my arms. The story of her footprints were cut short and four became two.

I remembered the first March, the first March of snow and ice as London was buried in white hell and society groaned and gave way. I remember my mother and father holding hands as they surged forward with hundreds of others towards the nearest generator, the nearest safe haven of warmth. They fell and stained the snow beneath us a grisly shade of red.

I wondered when I would write my story in the snow with red ink.

No, I couldn't let myself die—I couldn't let my sister die. Our stories would be written with paper and pen. White furred my legs with each step. The smoke cloud slowly grew, and the crowd of fires merged into a beacon of light. My sister coughed.

I thought of a life before the cold, before the snow fell, before warmth faded into a delusion of my fevered mind. I prayed, prayed to whatever God presided over this hell, that the smoke was real, miles away and close enough to touch. Smoke meant fire, fire meant warmth and warmth meant food.

My stomach’s agonizing groans grew as the starvation filled my mind. Nausea choked me, and the weight of a human in my arms starved me of strength.

Smoke was sweet hope as bitter hunger filled my every thought. The cold could preserve a dead body for years: food? I remember laughing at that thought. I may be desperate, but not that desperate.

As the fires neared, the snow was dotted with red, the only bright color in this white life. No bodies; only patches of red. The hope of food entranced me and I started to jog. The adrenaline filled me with hope. I began to run, running faster as the heat beckoned me towards it. Passion burned as the image of fire filled my brain — the same shade of red as the missing sun. My sister stopped moving. Her gloved hands stiffened, still clutching onto my jacket.

I would live to see a brighter day.

I started to slow down as I felt the warmth, and then I saw it. A camp. A camp of people— eating and smiling and laughing. One of them approached me as they took my sister to a tent. 

As I sat around the fire, I watched an icy reflection of life before the Great Frost. As I took a bite of warm meat, I watched teenagers playing cards, adults sitting around the fire telling stories, sports being played and women and men sewing jackets.

I looked around for the children.

I saw none.

I took another bite of meat, trying to listen for the telltale small voices and crying. Nothing.

I took another bite.

The knowledge that I would live washed over me, my insistent hunger finally satiated.

I watched them wolf down plates of meat—but there were no more animals left to hunt.

I stared at the meat, boring holes into the not-steak in front of me, my mouth dry as I poked at it with my fork. Thoughts of my little sister filled my memories as I filed those away along with the thoughts of my parents. I wondered if my heart froze just like the world around me. I took a sip of water. The children would die anyways, and we need to eat, need to stay alive somehow, right? Postpone our eventual deaths. There will be no history left of humanity. Might as well live.

And I took another bite.

Katerina's hand was small in Petra's. It was rubbery, frostbitten. It felt like if rotten flesh was meant to be held and loved. It wasn't empty and mushy inside, for the body was just a vessel for her sister. But Petra did hold and love her despite it all. Despite the fact girls like Katerina were not meant to be loved— and despite the fact she was not meant to be held— and despite the fact they were running on borrowed time.

But time would always come to an end, and Petra always knew Katerina's timer would end first. She always knew one day, her tendencies to throw caution to the wind would get to her. Or that one day, Petra would wake up holding a corpse. And that Katerina would never open her eyes.

It was the latter that killed her in the end. It was a day like any other, camping in the forest next to a dead fire. The morning was foggy and the woods seemed so still as Petra awoke. Petrichor radiated off of the leaves and grass, and nothing echoed throughout the forest. For the morning was still new, and the silence was to be expected.

Katerina laid next to Petra, motionless, still as a corpse. Petra didn't bat an eye at that, for Katerina was a corpse after all. Despite the reanimation. Katerina was always cold, always falling apart and never fully there. Petra knew what she was signing up for when it came to her sisterhood with the girl, for no one else would spend hours sewing her arm back on except Petra.

Katerina didn't actually need sleep, so no guilt wracked her when she attempted to wake up the girl. First, with a gentle push. Then, with a soft "Katerina." Nothing, there was no response from her. A quiet word, muttered, became louder and frantic. Her gentle pushes became flustered and violent.

"Katerina." she said, loud. "Katerina." she pushed the corpse again, enough that she almost rolled over onto her side. "Wake up."

She always knew this day would come. She was used to being apart from her sister for years, whenever she was summoned to be part of a different traveling party. She was accustomed to not saying goodbye.

Yet that was different. She always knew that she'd find Katerina in the end. That they would always be reunited. It was a fact of life like the sky being blue, or the grass being green. Katerina and Petra, always together in the end. The rest didnt matter, because Katerina would always hold Petra's hand and whisper stupid jokes.

The girl was her everything. Her love was her everything. Katerina was everything to Petra. Her best friend and sister.

Now, her voice would never be heard again.

Petra picked Katerina's corpse up, and held her. She didn't know how long she sat there, staring at the face that once smiled at her. Once loved her like no one else did in the past. She thought she had Katerina's faced mapped in her memory, yet as she held the doll, she only just realized the haphazard stitching on Katerina's chin.

It was too late, though. Petra would never be able to help her with those stitiches. No much "never again" — and never a new memory to be had. Katerina would never laugh again, never cry again, never smile again and look at Petra like she was the nicest thing in the world.

Katerina loved so much, and never again would the world be blessed with her tender affection.

Petra's arms trembled as she held Katerina close, clutching her like a lifeline while she thought of the forever she was once promised. Katerina was supposed to be her forever, another immortal creature meant to walk the worlds with her, adventuring, watching the worlds change and collide. Nothing mattered, not if Katerina was there.

But now Petra was where Katerina was not. Or was it Katerina was where Petra could not follow?

Either way, she was gone. Petra was too late, she loved, god did she love. She wasn't aware she could love like she did with her Katerina, but she loved like everyday was their last.

Because of this.

Because of the fickle, unknown nature of Katerina's reanimation. Clutching the corpse, Petra sobbed quietly into Katerina's corpse. The soft brown cape she always wore was soft, she just got it cleaned not long ago at the town they stopped at. Yet, it kept warm a body not meant to be loved.

If she was just sooner, if she found Katerina 50 years earlier than when they met, then maybe this could be changed. Maybe they could've found the reason for Katerina's existence, made it permanent. If she wasn't alone for 50 years, maybe, just fucking maybe, she would laugh again.

Petra's trembling, slim fingers struggled to undo the button on her coat. As the button slipped out of the rope loop, Katerina's turtleneck came into view. Brown fabric fell down her shoulders and onto the grass. How would she even dispose of someone like Katerina?

Burial felt wrong. Cremation felt wrong. She could come back one day, couldn't she? She was revived once, maybe again Petra would be blessed.

She laid the body down, and sat there. Coat in hands, tears running down her cheeks.

"Petra, I think you'd like my sister. You're like her in.. a lot of ways." She wasn't really sure, but something inside of her said it was true. It had to be. "You guys would get along. I could have two sisters. I think I'd like that a lot."

Petra shrugged, unable to tell Katerina the truth. "We'll see." She decided upon, watching as Katerina lit up in an instant. Weaving Katerina's small hand in hers, the two continued to wander.

—

"Petra. Petra. Wake up..."

"What is it?"

"My sister. She's-" Katerina looked devastated, tears welling in her eye. "She's not here anymore." She looked down at her hands, the scarred blue one shaking more than her normal hand. "I looked everywhere. Outside the cabin, in every room. All her stuff is gone. She just... left."

"What do you mean she 'left?' What do you mean she-" and for a second, Petra was angry. Anger- it's been a while since she's felt anything close to anger. Yet, looking at Katerina, sobbing, trying to hold back tears, Petra's anger subsided, replaced with something just as foreign. Pity? Sympathy? She wasn't sure. "Let's... let's get out of here, Katerina."

"Why did she leave? Was I-" her voice quivered, "Was she not happy to see me? Was I..." she touched her face, her fingers tracing her scarred face, "Was she afraid of me too?"

"No, none of it was your fault, Katerina... just. Come here." Petra patted the spot next to her on the bedroll. Katerina sat down, tears rolling down her functioning eye. She put one hand on Katerina's back, humming a tune she couldn't remember the origin of.

Katerina cried, clutching Petra's dress as they sat there. Unable to do anything but sit in silence together.