(no subject)

She looks almost like a ghost, moving through the snow at the edge of the lake, far from prying eyes. White on white, and each step crackles with ice as she passes.

The environment does not bother her, nor does the chill of frost and ice. It is no colder than the anger she bears with her, no more deadly than her rage.

(no subject)

Somewhere deep in the forest outside Milliways, a storm rages. Ice-tipped winds shriek, whirling clouds of snow and blinding all vision with white. Trees crack and shatter in the killing cold, the explosions lost in the howl of the gale.

At the center of the blizzard is the White Rider, untouched by the cold. Her head is tipped back and her eyes are closed as she vents her fury through the power at her command, and the small smile on her face is cruel.

Foolish it is, perhaps, to rage so-- and yet there is no other target here, not at present. This power, this control she does have, and can use-- and will have, will use, despite everything.

And meanwhile, a few of the Lords of the Dark found a refuge out of Time where they could huddle, and do what little malice they could still do. Here. The words are bitter in sudden memory, and as she snarls, three more trees explode, sending splinters of ice-coated wood flying.

"Bran Davies." The storm intensifies, raging with the expression of the fury that shows in her sneer and her glittering ice-bright blue eyes. "Oh, but I will see you pay for what you have done, you and every single one of those mewling pawns of the Light. I will not suffer such humiliation longer, not now."

"You also will learn the meaning of loss before I am done. Each wound I have felt I will visit on you in return. I may have been cast out of your world, but there are other worlds and this place as well, and in them none shall stop the Dark from rising!"

The final words soar in a thin scream that blends with the shriek of the wind, and Blodwen begins to laugh, high and mocking and cruel.