Arabella and I, as sisters, were as close as any two beings could be. She was the snow, and I, the wind sweeping her up. And like the snow and wind, separately we hardly made a sound—we gave no trouble. But together, together...well, our paths' collision resounded as the most memorable times in our lives. We shared our food, our playthings, and sometimes our dreams. It seemed only inevitable that we'd also end up sharing a man.

The heavy snow outside our manor had started innocently enough. But then came the wind and no one could really say when this unruly mess took a dangerous turn. Because separately, a gentle snowfall and a delicate breeze were praiseworthy creatures. To be honest, the wind was innocent, too. As was I.

I had not wanted this. And she hadn't known. But she was married now, though I was the one he first courted. And she was married, though I was the one he said he remained close for. And she was married, knowing how I felt. In the end, what did any of that all matter? We weren't his only conquests. The two of us just happened to be the first, and only, to give him a child.

Mother sat stoic on a large ornate chair, watching us from across the room. The flames of the lamplight danced against her face, casting her in a warm hue. It was a tender tone that stopped at her frigid scowl.

"Two days now with little progress," the midwife declared.

Sweat dripped from my brow. I could barely keep my head up. My dear sister wasn't faring well. She was in a fever, babbling throughout most of it.

Another sharp pain tore through me, thrusting me forward. I let it come, helpless as I waited. This was unexpected. Mine should have arrived second. Arabella's was late. But Mother watched me. At one time, that gaze fell upon me because I was her favorite. Now...now she hated me.

I turned my head to the left to peer at my sister, perhaps for the last time. Mother wouldn't allow me to stay. It was the terrible weather why she hadn't sent me to the convent sooner. After this—after my stupid mistake—I'd have to go, the blizzard be damned.

"It's coming," someone announced.

That tingling at the base of my spine returned. I gritted my teeth as it ripped through me, and I perceived something different.

Mother's stoic expression never faltered. "Best look in on her; I see the head."

Exhausted face after exhausted face turned around to see what she meant. The crowd rushed me, squawking in panic. Young midwives, they were who came to my aid. The far more experienced ones never budged from my sister's side.

I should have focused only on the voices ordering me what to do but instead, my eyes stayed fixed on my Arabella's greying face. She was fading. And much like the snow clinging to our windows, desperate to perceive yet another day before they ultimately gave up and vanished, I feared today might greet me with both life and death.

"A girl," someone announced.

Eyes dripping with sweat, I tried to look finally.

"Bring it here," Mother ordered.

My struggles to sit up proved useless. I crashed back down again. The baby's cries were the sweetest sounds I had ever heard. They punctuated the panting and groans of the night, fluttering to my ears with a sweet sense of relief.

And as the world dimmed, guilt came with it, for what would become of us—me and this child—once we were no longer safe here, hidden away in winter?

My lashes heavy from sweat and defeat, I lay back to take a much-needed rest. A glance at my Arabella revealed tears in her eyes when a midwife whispered to her, words too soft to reach my ears.

I awoke to darkness in the night. Something latched to my breast. As strange as the sensation was, I was proud. In the pitch-black night, my child nursed well. So in the morning when I awoke again, I could only stare down at the still body beside me. The baby didn't move.

My scream awoke all who'd cared for and cleaned me in the night. An elder midwife glanced at my mother as she entered the room. They said not a word to one another.

Trembling, I watched them, waiting for someone to do me the courtesy and speak.

Arabella stirred, her bundle tucked neatly in her arm by one of the younger midwives.

"Oh, she's lovely," Bella said, tears streaming down her face.

And me? I looked at mine, feeling cheated. No movement, nothing.

"I'm sorry, miss," someone muttered, "he was too weak."

The world faded for me when I understood those words. I'm sorry. So many months of pain and insecurity amounted to an...I'm sorry.

Tears stung my eyes, but I had no right. It hardly mattered if the wind was first or more justified to a claim. It was responsible for carrying on the new, for giving life's breath. This winter, we both failed.

"Take the body out of here," Mother instructed.

"Wait." The words came back to me and I yanked the still frame into my grip. When I uprooted the wrappings, tearing a gasp of disgust from the women around me, I beheld something far beyond my imagination. A boy. This child...was a boy. "I had a girl," I insisted.

But when I scanned the room for any eyes that would meet mine, anyone who would corroborate my words, I found silence.

"I...I had a girl," I said again in a whisper.

"Enough!" Mother bellowed. She seethed when she slammed down her cane and used it to pull her forward. Bracing herself against it, she leaned down to meet eyes with me. "Filth."

I bit back my shock.

"Your jealousy for your sister led you here. It's led you to this moment and it's led you to this fitting fate. I need not send you away now, but should you ever, ever utter such evil, malicious words again, not even in my death will you know a moment's peace."

This time when the shock took all sensation from me, I could not even feel when the boy was snatched from my hands, leaving me with nothing, not even a sense of false closure.

Arabella watched me from her bed. That pensive expression of hers was one I was familiar with, but today I could see the satisfaction behind it.

But what was I to do? Drag myself to my feet and wrestle my baby from her? Run off into the night, an unwed mother, with no home to give her?

No. This was mother's rescue. Even the admonishment; I saw it as such. This was better. Better for everyone. This was better even for me.

I could pretend. The way I pretended Gareth hadn't taken what he wanted from me, finishing mere moments before he proposed to my sister, I could pretend here.

Nothing happened today. My sister welcomed a beautiful baby girl into the world.

That morning when the storm ebbed, I saw everything anew. Till now, I'd imagined the snow and wind moving in harmony, complementing one another, but now I recognized their competition. One had to lose.

So I gave in.

Shortly after, winter faded, giving way to spring's warmth, but I felt colder each day.

My...recovery. My recovery was fast. With this perfect family set, Arabella and Gareth both agreed to pay for my room and boarding the next city over. Mother thanked him for his generous offer. The day I had to turn to them both, their beautiful baby held between them, and offer up my utterances of thanks, was one I'd never forget. I suspected it would haunt me until my dying day.

Instead, it haunted me for only fourteen years. Mother's arranged marriage for me was swift and neat. He wasn't a handsome man, but he was a generous widower, and I showed my appreciation by following his way. Our two girls grew well, and we'd amassed a small fortune before he passed.

Upon returning home from the funeral, flurries of snowflakes danced around the carriage. I should have heeded the omen for I entered my modest manor to find my sister sitting in my living room. I was...unmoved.

"I'm sorry for your loss," she said, refusing to stand to offer up even a hug in her greeting.

Her face looked gray and those haunted brown eyes followed my every move from the threshold to the sofa across from her.

"What is it you want, Bella? Because you've chosen such a wonderful time to request it."

She had the grace to blush. Eyes cast low, she confessed, "I hadn't—I had not known of your situation before coming."

I believed her as my name was rarely uttered fondly by our aging mother.

Fate sent her to me, her head bowed, on another unfortunate winter's day. No. I had not loved my husband. But I cherished the love he'd offered me. I could not love him—I could not love myself. All semblance of love was robbed from me fourteen years ago and I cast my eyes before me at the thief.

"How—how is everything here?" she began. "It's so lovely in the country—"

"What is it you want?" If I had to endure her presence, it must be a short encounter.

Bella's face was still red as she gazed at me.

"Oh, you simply won't...can't imagine what I've been through. Ga—Gareth has an awful habit with poor investments. We owe everyone. Why...I wouldn't be here if I wasn't desperate. His ideas are very good—very good, you see. But, it's just been bad luck. One bout after another. If you'd...if you'd be so generous."

From anyone else, I would express shock. Today, I was surprised, though, because this seemed reasonable. She'd heard that much about us.

"I'm dying," she said.

Stunned, I blinked myself awake.

"I'm dying," she repeated. "I'm too weak now, and I don't have much time. I haven't even the strength to travel here, but I have. I'll give you back all that I've taken." Her eyes held longing when she said, "All of it."

The child.

My breaths came faster but I pushed back that flutter of hope. I'd resolved to never see her again. To never gaze up on my own eyes reflected back at me again.

"And you have some money. You could help Gareth's debt. You need only wed him."

I leaned away, appalled.

She perceived death close enough that she wasted no time on morality. The snow outside, without any guidance, fell wild and uncoordinated.

"Wait the appropriate amount of time after your mourning. I will not last the year, I've been told, and I am...I am certain it is true. Clean up the debts and give our children a possible future."

Those gentle words came with no effort on her part, but it was all I could do not to lunge at her and finish the job fate started.

"Our children?" I dared her to open her mouth and utter those words again. And when she failed to rise to the challenge, I repeated, "Our children? You mean mine, correct? With the man I wanted. Correct?"

Arabella chewed her lips then nodded.

That small action, that one thing, overshadowed all else. Never. Not once had she ever told the truth about our dynamic. We hadn't 'shared,' not freely. She'd taken. And I'd told myself I hadn't minded. Everything of mine was hers, deep in my heart. For I could find pride in helping that snow flourish. No one need see the wind directly. I'd allowed myself to be insignificant.

This was as much my fault as hers.

In the last fourteen years I'd relived that terrible storm and that terrible night, and no findings satisfied me. Despite mother's firm belief, I had not been the intrusion. For I had been free with a man I'd given my heart to—given more than I should have. The blistering snow to come disguised itself as soft and gentle, its innocuous demure nature masking the coldness beneath. Arabella had stolen him. And I'd let her.

Youth hindered my perception, but I hardly felt an inkling of youth anymore.

I was no longer a breeze to pass through; I'd become a hurricane. And I did not need her.

"But what will happen without your help?" she asked, wheezing. "What should happen now? Save them—save her. We have no money left."

Her words washed over me, and I replayed them again and again with no discernible emotion to pull from. It was best to leave it—it was their own doing. It was best to leave it. But...that child—my child.... The two I had now were enough and with the money from their father, they had bright paths ahead. What was the alternative? Drag them down? Risk their futures for that of a stranger to them?

"I did not honor you. I attribute my poor health to that one wicked act. Because I have known no peace since. But you are generous and good. It is a lot that I ask, but while I did not do right by you, history will honor you. Others to come will recognize your goodness. She's your daughter, dear sister. And you must save her. Without you, Cinderella has no chance at a good future."

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