‘Eternity is lost forever’ She thought to herself. 

Naked and exposed to the elements, she trudged the rugged ridges of the mountain range. She pressed on as the gentle falling snow picked up into a storm that cleared the view from colors. Snow. She had never seen snow before. She could not help but wonder how something so beautiful and pure would be the sign of the end times.

All that was left for her was to keep walking a bit further. She could feel sharp rocks piercing the skin of her feet, but it was much preferable to focus on the soft, desperate kicks in her womb. She caressed her swollen belly with a compassioned hand, mustering the strength to continue, ignoring the uneven ground and the freezing snow.

The blizzard grew ever stronger, blocking her vision and dampening her senses. She felt it would not be long before she gave in to its punishment. There was something comforting in the fact that her struggles were coming to a close, a blessing in knowing that everything dies. When it finally came for her, it was as simple as a misplaced foot and a tumble backward onto the rocky ground. At that moment, the storm was so thick that her face was entirely obscured, though I would like to imagine she was smiling.

Temporary as all things now were, the storm too subsided after a spell. The Suvi mountains, which had been known for their luscious greens and vibrant flora, were left nothing more than a white desert. 

At the spot where two hills met, there was a tiny hump, too easy to miss. The snow on top of it slowly melted as it came into contact with the blood that started gushing profusely from between the dead woman’s legs. Soon, the red covered the ground. A tiny hand then pushed out from its corpse mother.

The blood flowed as if it were a sealed spring cracked at the source. A second hand joined the effort to break out, and a new struggle began within the dead woman. Captivating as that must have been amidst the barren white, it caught the interest of someone else.

Descending from above, a person with a pair of furry black jester shoes gently crushed the snow underneath as they planted themselves firmly on the ground. As soon as the shoes made contact with the cold, wet soil, bewildered emerald eyes opened wide on the outer sides of each foot.

“Blasted witch!” the jester shoes spat, outraged by being woken up so inconsiderately.

The upper half - the witch - was wrapped in a long dark hooded robe resting around the shoulders, while a peculiar mask covered the face. Whether the witch had any reaction to the shoes’ words was impossible to tell through the mask’s darkened holes. There were four holes, to be exact, alluding to the witch having four eyes, while there were none for the nose or mouth.

The vicious emerald eyes darted around the shoes in a frantic craze, like a famished predator looking for prey. When the eye on the right shoe spotted the bloody scene, the eye on the left one closed and disappeared. It appeared right next to its pair on the same foot when it opened again, getting a better view. The baby was making final efforts to push out into the cold world, and the shoes began to pace around it, pulling the witch in an awkward walk. What followed was a man’s laughter, eerie in pitch and one that lasted a moment too long.

“You mean to tell me this is her?” asked the jester, trying to suppress his laughter. “Look at that miserable wretch!” he exclaimed as he ogled the red-drenched babe rolling on the soaked soil, crying. Perhaps displeased with the remark, the witch stared down at the shoes through the mask’s vacant holes. The jester immediately flinched and ceased his mocking snicker.

“Recite your lines, jester.” commanded the witch in an echoing monotone voice.

“I’m a poet, you evil hag!” exclaimed the jester heatedly, though he set out to comply with the task, nonetheless. He could be heard drawing a deep breath, even though he had no mouth. He then spoke:

“Nauseous 

gnawing 

nerving 

madness-” 

The words vibrated through the ground as it started quaking. The baby felt its effect and doubled its wailing. The witch wasted no time and pulled out a knife from her cloak, stabbing the right shoe, along with her own foot, through to the ground. The jester bellowed in pain, followed by a pitiful whimper as she pulled the knife out, with but a single drop of blood on it.

“Fine! Fine!” begged the jester, “I was maybe a tad impatient, that’s all.” he grumbled and muttered another curse. “I know my lines, as we all well should.”

Another moment passed, and again the jester spoke:

“O’ gods of the Vast, 

see now her plight, 

A blackened babe

in a world of white.

Day of the snow, 

spare her some blood,

Naked to the mountains through the flood.”

A warm breeze blew past the babe as the poet's words rang through the air. It filled her with the strength and conviction to reach a particular place. Her cries died down as her eyes shone with the same shade of green as those of the jester. 

“All risked a birth that came from decay, 

The ones inviting the snowy day

Her people, they fought, 

their eternity lost.

Now is her turn 

to try, fail and mourn.”

The green light left the babe’s eyes, and a certain knowing seeped in. At only a few minutes old, she already realized two important things: first, that at almost ten days' crawling distance southeast, there would be a town set at the foot of the mountain, and that she shouldn’t ever again listen to the mockery of the talking shoes.

And So she crawled through the snow on the unpaved path to the town of Sheleg.

“Are we done now, or do you want to stalk the infant on her way down?” asked the jester sardonically. The witch paused to look at the babe making its way through the snow. 

“I don't want to leave her with him,” the witch whispered.

“Xusfia!” shouted the jester, and the witch leaped into the air at once. As soon as the witch’s feet left the ground, the emerald eyes were forced shut, and the jester shoes were but shoes once more.