The grueling wind blows and blows, sending flurries of snowflakes pelting to the ground. They slice through the air, tumbling to Earth with a ferocious fury. It is a barren world. A car stops at a deserted stoplight. A lone bird pushes through the air. Nothing stirs but those that know nothing other than this land, the beings that are bound to one spot for their entire piece of eternity.
They are everywhere. Their thick torsos reach upwards and their limbs soar to the heavens. Many are lucky enough to know Warmth, a thick pelt of icy turquoise fir. The more ill fated of their kind face the brutal seasons with the help of each other, huddling for warmth away from the wind.
Then there is the one outside of the grove, the one without covering or company. Isolated, it stands away from the rest, bracing itself for the gusts alone. Slim-figured, its long bony arms curve upwards, wrists pointed, a ballerina among ogres. Its grace and beauty hold strong as the sparkling snow is fired down upon it like bullets from a machine gun. The swirling blizzard creates a twisting and turning confusion, heads spinning, minds twirling, chilling to the deepest room. Still, it stands on during the darkest of winter nights. As dawn turns to day the light pulls away the midnight curtain and reveals the invincible, unmoving dancers, constantly waiting for the promised cue to unfreeze that will never come.