Frosty is his hair and silver is his eyes. In hand, a crystal spear, sparkling white, frozen solid. He awakens from his slumber and feels the welcoming chill in the air. He smiles when he see's Autumn in her bright attire, armed for war. He has on every single battle since the seasons started on Earth, but he is not over-confident, for it may cause him to lose. Autumn tenses as he arrives. She looks ill, tendrils of her dying hair, caught in his wind. "I have come", he whispers, "for my throne." He is please when she raises her dark oak staff and metal blade, "I will not go down without a fight" she warns him. Winter smiles again, ghostly wicked,
"And win I shall, but not with no fight"
They circle, poised for attack. He leaps and kisses her warm cheek. Deciduous leaves twirl rapidly off her, and on her cheek is a dull oak spot. She growls and stabs her sword in his chest. As always, it stung, but ice healed him and left the skin of his chest pearly white. Autumn had been dreading her annual death, but she knew that it was only right that she leave. There was a time where Winer and Autumn had been lovers, a time where Autumn was willingly seduced to death until her rebirth every year, but now it isn't like that. She drew both her staff and sword and plunged it in the empty hole where his heart used to be. He sprawled on the crumbly soil and roared in agony. She feels more dreadful than happy.
Winter towered, dark storm clouds gathered above, and he kissed her once last time before her body dissolved into a pile of dead leaves. He stood, regretting making his love angry. He loves her still, with everything inside him, but couldn't love her, for she hated him. Until next year...