The wind roars outside my window and I shudder to think of this huge animal shaking trees, whisking the snow off rooftops, turning water into snow and ice and who is, right now, on a winter rampage.
Where are the fantasy animals of yore? They are alive and well.
I cannot imagine the girth of this one, or the length of his stride. He is so massive that only his breath touches me. I cannot even see his face.
The anti-dragon, a creature who does not spurt fire down upon his unwary victims, but instead freezes them where they stand. Like Medusa, only more powerful, this one does not need me to look at him to keep me forever more frozen in one position. He isolates me, imprisons me in my tower like a modern day Rapunzel who has cropped off her hair and can therefore never hope to escape, or have company again.
I have outgrown the shell of femininity and yet the creature within cannot come to terms with this new body, the one whose inner workings far outweigh its outward appearance. I am learning to fly, to soar on these thoughts that can carry me away, but I need to trust in their ability to support me. I need to drop the chains that tie me to a world that lies to me and says only the young and the beautiful, the ones with gold and the hearty have a place here.
The north wind stalks me, speaking to me in tongues only my heart can translate, but when that translation is over will I rise to my full height and take control of my own destiny?
This is the hero's adventure, the quest for self, the determining factor in so many things.
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