By Alexandra Austen, Year 12
Gregory and Yulia were hopeless. The couple had been trying to have a baby for years, yet nothing had come of it. They had even gone through the trouble of calling in a city medic to their village, only to learn that there was no cure for their infertility. The doctor’s insight devastated Yulia; the poor woman never truly recovered; her sunshine smiles and warm greetings ceased to exist. Unlike his wife, Gregory had taken the news in his stride. After expressing his sorrows to the village folk, his priorities went back to doing the tough work of ploughing the fields. Years went by as Yulia’s depression worsened and the couple’s relationship soured; the two barely spoke to each other anymore, and on the rare occasion that they did speak, it was only to express their utmost fundamental needs.
As winter began to creep in, an idea came to Gregory. On a particularly snowy day, he called his wife to the dining room and asked her to join him outside. She refused at first, and lay back in bed, but Gregory insisted she go to the yard with him. Yulia was frail and exhausted after her years of grieving, but without further protest, she quietly went to throw on her fur coat and join him outside. Once the two had stepped out, Gregory began awkwardly gathering snow. In confusion, his wife asked him what they were meant to be doing. Gregory simply replied that it would all become apparent soon. At first, all he had made was a little bump of snow, but soon the snow bump took a more familiar shape. To Yulia’s dismay, it was the shape of a young girl; a snow maiden to be exact. At this point Yulia was irritated, she had been taken out into the winter cold only to build a sculpture of the one thing she wished she had: a child. Gregory refused to let her go back inside, pleading with her to help him sculpt the snow maiden’s face. He claimed his hands were too big and his fingers too rough to make the snow maiden’s gentle face. With much hesitation, Yulia began to pick up snow and mould the snow maiden’s features. After half an hour of work, they both took a few steps back to observe their snowy project. Yulia looked perplexed, and she told Gregory to wait whilst she went back inside, and in a second she came back out with two almonds and a few barberries in hand. She carefully placed the almonds on the snow maiden’s eyes and created a mouth using the red barberries. When the sculpture was complete Yulia kissed Gregory; the first act of affection he’d received in ages. A moment passed and she sauntered back home while Gregory stayed back, admiring how wonderfully the day had unfolded.
That night, as the couple drifted off to sleep, a fierce deity by the name of Grandfather Frost raced through the village. His mighty horses thundered by as he commanded his glacial chariot; his otherworldly presence coating every nearby window with fern frost. As the deity was nearing the exit of the village a beautiful young maiden’s sculpture caught his eye. He stopped his stallions abruptly and got out of his chariot to further observe the masterful creation. He circled it many times, paused in front of the snow maiden, huffed in a massive breath and then exhaled the essence of life into her figure. In an instant, the snow maiden came alive. Astonished, the young maiden shook her head about, attempting to comprehend what had just happened to her. She stepped out of her spot, twirling about and appreciating all the beauty surrounding her. When her eyes met Grandfather Frost’s terrifying stature she went still, not daring to move even an inch. The fearsome deity was running late; the night was waning and his duties in the south lands were calling. He swiftly grabbed her by the wrist and warned her to listen. He explained that he had to travel south and that she must wait for him in this village. Anxious, the snow maiden questioned how long she would have to wait. Grandfather Frost told her to wait until warmer weather came. Then he would return and take her to his palace, before the deity named Spring Beauty came to roam the lands.
