Deeper and deeper we lowered into the snowy earth that never shifted to soil. It appeared more like a circular tube of white moving around us, twisting and turning.
And, images moved in the ice. Faces with smiles. Eyes that blinked. Beautiful winged-creatures fluttering within the snowy walls.
After this, I could never question whether life existed after death. Something surely continued to breathe and move on. That thought gave me comfort and the ability to further let go.
More heat came, and I thanked God, when we stepped onto solid ground.
Not explaining anything, he guided me, arm-in-arm, along a hallway tunneled in carved ice that looked more like cold mirrors.
This world was not one I’d seen before. It was a world of snow and spires. Steeples that rose high out of the ice, curved upward, and pointed like elephants’ tusks.
Deserted, white snow covered most of the space. A stirring imitation of the fairy tales Mom would whisper in my ears as we lay under my great grandmother’s quilted blanket made of scraps she’d found through the years—velvet squares and silk circles, patches of plaid and polka dotted purples. This world smelled of bedtime stories and enchanted magic bred from dreams.
Fog swarmed around us.
Milky mirrors dangled from the ceiling, framed in rubies and emeralds.
A chandelier of ice hung above a large table that sat in the center of the room, dripping pure elegance. Instead of orange-yellow flames, blue light flickered from the chandelier’s fixtures.
Food covered the table’s surface—pink cakes shaped like hearts, chocolate triangles, and golden loaves of crusty bread resting next to tiny squares of artisan cheese.
A hot liquid, probably tea, steamed from ornate cups. Little porcelain ones that had tiny roses painted around the rims. Someone had embroidered gold thread into the purple napkins and folded the cloth into little boats. Silver knives, forks, and spoons lay on the side of them.
My voice came out shaky. As I stared at everything, wide-eyed. “This is a tea party?”
“Would you like something different? I could change it all.”
“I don’t know.”
“What do you want?” he asked.
“For all of this to make sense.”
“It won’t. That time has passed long ago. Just live and let go.” Where Daniel’s voice was spice, Remy’s was poetry. He wove words together. Great tapestries embroidered in gold and roped with silk.
I took a deep, uneven breath, hesitated, and then whispered, “Okay.”
“Are you cold?”
“No.”
“Here.” He handed me a cup. “This is tea.”
The liquid melted on my tongue. So many flavors burst in my mouth—ice and earth, dreams and the cold shiver of night. While I sipped, I found myself so anxious I could barely sit still.
I stared down at our shadows. They remained in place for a few seconds and then danced away together, leaping and twisting along the walls.
“Are you comfortable?” he asked.
“N-not really.” My clothes and jacket transformed to a gown covered in even more snowflakes than the one in my dream. Warm fabric hugged my body. The flakes clinked around me, each in their own unique shape and gleaming in the ice chandelier’s light.
A cloak of feathers covered my arms.
“Are you more comfortable now?” he asked.
“I don’t think it’s the clothes that are making me uncomfortable.”
Remy came closer to me with hungry eyes. “Do you have more questions?”