A Meeting
When I saw Avogadro next, She was with me—an unprecedented event. For all of those almost-two years, we had never encountered Avogadro together. This was in part because I had acquired the ability to predict his appearances. Whether it was because he consciously gave me the uncomfortable feeling that I was being watched or because I felt the Cold breathe stronger whenever our meetings neared, I did not know. But I always avoided Her when I sensed that he was coming. I feared that he would take Her.
However, near the end of the second year, She refused to leave me, no matter how hard I tried to persuade Her otherwise. Perhaps She began to sense that I was becoming weaker.
Thus when I saw Avogadro in the schoolyard, She held me close. And when Avogadro saw us embracing, he smiled.
As tradition, Avogado whisked us to sandy hills. Here, even as She held me close, I could feel nothing but the Cold. To my dismay, even Her touch did nothing. She did not appear to be afflicted by the Cold, however. She stood up straight and faced Avogadro as I could not. I was curled up fetally and letting the frozen grains cover my face and limbs.
She forced me to stand, holding my arm. She was far taller than me, by almost a head. We stood together, facing him. He was still laughing.
It then occurred that it was the first time I had truly looked Avogadro in his face. His eyes were pale and beige-toned, like the sandy floors on which we were standing. It was not a surprise to me that his eyes were merely a reflection of the Cold that was permeating the air and ground.
Avogadro began to approach us, though he did not appear to have taken notice of Her. Nervous, I looked up and saw that She had been smiling at me. Her pinkish locks shone more brightly than I had ever seen, almost iridescent in Avogadro’s muted landscape. I was scared. Truly, truly—I was truly scared. Never before had I felt so fearful in Avogadro’s presence.