. . .
"A blend of homesickness, nostalgia, and longing. 'Hiraeth' is a pull on the heart that conveys a distinct feeling of missing something irretrievably lost."
. . .
"What's your favorite season?"
She raised an eyebrow at the question as they carried on walking. This time, in search for a bench to sit on. They've been walking for quite some time, after all.
"...That's kind of a given now, isn't it?"
Alastor chuckled, "No way. It's winter?"
"Ha. No, I actually preferred the autumn season."
"Huh. Well, I really love winters," at the look on her face, he quickly added in a rush: "The season, I mean! You know! It's usually snowing or very cold back from where I came from, so... yeah. I guess I'm more used to icy temperature and personally, I prefer it like this."
"I somehow thought you'd prefer spring..."
"Well, I thought you'd prefer winter since it's your name."
She gives him a strange look for a moment but says nothing. After that, there was only the sound of their breath and the usual crunch of their (or more like, Alastor's) boots between them as they kept walking.
Winters seemed to ponder about something then, her gaze slowly becoming distant as she stares somewhere off ahead, her expression returning to its usual blank slate. That familiar look she had on her face was something Alastor has soon come to recognize as whenever she becomes much too engrossed with her thoughts.
Most of the time, Winters doesn't say anything about whatever she's thinking whenever she got in this particular kind of mood and Alastor doesn't like to seem invasive, so he doesn't really ask, even if he has to bite his tongue or was left to stew in curiosity.
(Alastor would rather that she reveal her thoughts to him if and when she feels comfortable enough to share or even talk something about him.
He'd like to respect her privacy, thank you very much.)
But apparently, this time wasn't one of them.
He almost missed it when Winters suddenly began to talk, her voice soft even amidst the seemingly quiet stillness, "...I have never liked this season."
Alastor tries to blink back his surprise.
"Wait, seriously?"
Her eyes glimmered in amusement, "Yes."
"Well, you know what they say..." he mused.
"What?"
He wiggled his eyebrows, "Opposites attract."
She scoffs, rolling her eyes good-naturedly.
"Well, winter was practically the norm from where I came from... so I get used to it." Alastor explains, rubbing at the back of his neck as he grins sheepishly at her. "Anyway, why not? It's pretty."
She hums, "I don't like the cold."
"But I thought it doesn't affect you?"
"Okay, then. I don't like how gloomy it is."
"You don't like its atmosphere?" an incredulous laugh escapes him as he absentmindedly brushed off some of the snow that was gathering on the top of her head again, "Wow, talk about irony."
She chuckles, the sound soft and lilting, as she slightly raises a fisted hand against her smiling lips, "Indeed. Just imagine my displeasure when I experienced my first winter season... kind of annoying since I had been named after said season."
Unbidden, Alastor tried.
He tried to wrack his brain, his imagination scrambling and trying to create a picture of a younger Winters in his mind's eye:
A Winters that has still baby fat on her cheeks, perhaps a whole lot shorter than she was now, taking in the sight of her first snowfall with eyes round, and much more expressive... and promptly gives up because he realizes that he just can't. Alastor has absolutely idea of what she could have possibly looked like back then, what she had been like before becoming the goddess of shadows.
The image of Winters Veil being someone so young proved too hard to even imagine, let alone grasp that she too, had been a little child once upon a time.
There was just something about his mate prohibits it, some otherworldly quality—her movements are far too smooth, with a sort of grace that shifts so easily from elegance to violence, her gaze far too steady or face far too calm.
No one can look at her in the eye and not instinctively know that she is different somehow, the same way an animal intuitively recognizes a predator.
Still, Alastor couldn't quite help the wistful smile blooming on his face as he playfully nudges her on the shoulder, "Oh man, what would I have given just to see a much younger you throwing a tantrum over frozen water...!"
She huffs, lips curled in amusement, "Guilty."
He chokes back a laugh, "Wait. Seriously?"
"I had my fair share of them, for sure."
"So..." Alastor fidgets for a moment with the ends of his scarf, trying to pick out the proper words without sounding too persistent. He was just curious, is all. "Winters, you... uh, know about the Northern pack, right?"
"Just a glimpse from afar. Why?"
"Well... just curious," he shrugs, "I was wondering, since you already know where my home was, but what about you? Where were you from, really?"
The question hangs in the air between them.
And Alastor tries not to wince at the way her smile quickly shifts, looking more like a grimace as her eyes suddenly becomes a little sad. He suddenly regrets asking what was supposedly an innocent question.
Even after all this time, personal information was still a difficult subject to talk about for her, let alone broach... although she had wordlessly given him the green light to ask as much as he wanted from her all those weeks ago, back in the private resort she and her brother had briefly stayed at.
"I... you don't have to answer," he tries.
"I no longer remember the real name of the place, but the locals called it the Veiled Valley," Winters suddenly says at the same time, unblinking, "Me and William... we used to live in this old summer house by the edge of the town. Figures, because it was a private property."
"Oh. So, you came from a really big fam–"
"Like the Northern pack, that place was usually so cold. Snow falls so early there compared to the other countries... it was nothing beautiful like this though. We were far more closer to the sea than the nearest house, so we were usually left alone," she says, as though she hasn't heard him, hasn't been interrupted.
Winters's free hand gestured at the scenery around them, encompassing it as she slowly clenches her hand to a fist. "And as the months go by, everything becomes frozen solid. Dangerous."
