The Scarf

Elias was standing in the alley.

He wasn't running. He wasn't holding a pitchfork. He was shivering, his arms wrapped around himself, snow accumulating on his beige sweater.

He was staring at the spot where the monster had been. Then, his gaze shifted to Morana.

Morana straightened her spine. She adopted the haughty, untouchable posture of the Winter Witch. It was her armor.

"It is dead," she said coldly. "You are safe. I suggest you go back inside before you catch a chill."

Elias took a step forward. His teeth chattered. "You... you stopped it."

"I obliterated it," Morana corrected. "I am a creature of winter and death, Elias. I freeze blood. I shatter bone. That is what I am."

She waited for the fear. She waited for him to back away.

Elias walked up to her. He stopped inches away. He looked at her face, which was pale and severe in the moonlight.

"You're shaking," he said.

"I do not shake," Morana snapped. "I am the cold."

"Adrenaline, then," Elias said.

He reached up. He began to unwind the thick, woolly scarf from his own neck. It was a terrible shade of mustard yellow, knitted with uneven stitches.

"You got snow on your dress," he said softly.

He stepped closer, invading her personal space. Morana stiffened, her breath hitching. He reached around her and wrapped the warm scarf around her neck. He tied it with a clumsy, gentle knot.

The heat from the wool—and from his neck—seeped into her skin. It was shocking.

"I..." Morana faltered. Her ruthless persona cracked. "I nearly killed a man earlier tonight. The drunk one. I wanted to."

Elias shrugged. He rubbed his arms to keep warm. "I wanted to hit him with a frying pan. But we didn't. That's the important part."

"I am a monster," Morana insisted, desperate for him to understand the danger.

"You saved me," Elias countered. "And you ate my pastry. Monsters don't like cinnamon."

He reached out and took her hand. His palm was hot, rough, and human. He didn't flinch at her cold skin. Instead, he squeezed, as if trying to transfer his heat to her.

"My oven is still on back at the bistro," Elias said. "And I think there's a raspberry tart with our names on it. Unless... you have more ghouls to fight?"

Morana looked at the scarf. She looked at his kind, ordinary face. She realized, with a jolt of terror and joy, that he wasn't leaving.

For the first time in centuries, the winter inside her chest thawed.

"No," Morana said. She squeezed his hand back, careful not to use too much strength. A small, genuine smile touched her lips. "No more ghouls. Just dessert."

"Lead the way," Elias said.

Morana didn't let go of his hand. They walked back toward the warm glow of the bistro, leaving the darkness and the cold behind them in the alley.