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I wasn't the best person before my punishment. I was a girl, a child of the royal family, but my attitude, actions, and tongue were anything but royal. One winter night, an old lady came knocking on the door, begging to be let in, and I ignored her. As punishment, the gods stripped me of all my humanity, removed it all besides my mind and my eyes, replacing me with a dragon, with sharp teeth, itchy scales, and cold blood. The gods told me that until I learned to love, and have someone love me, the curse would never be removed. The gods then cursed the land that it would always be winter, and that no one would remember anything that was within it. If it wasn't for the warmth brought by the flame of my tongue, I don't think I would have survived. I've been here for years, and yet I fail to age.

"Why? Why did you do this to me?" I asked him. I knew he wouldn't respond; I knew he would never respond again. "Why did you split our worlds?" I could only scream at the statue with his face. He split the world in two, and the only remnants of those separated are statues. He broke families and friends apart! Children without mothers, mothers without their children. He yelled, telling me, "It's the only way!" But I don't care. I loved him. I don't care if he was right—it was wrong! It was wrong to split the world in two just because, the world would have ended. Statues—remnants of people and animals who are now inaccessible—scatter the road, the wilderness. There had to be another way. But as days grew into years, and years into decades, people rebuilt. Do they not remember what was taken? No? I guess that makes sense. The sun now shines, and many aren't alive from when the split happened. I keep his statue in my bedroom; I hope he does the same with mine. I hope he misses me just as much as I miss him. Without him, there will never be magic here again, and I guess without me, there will never be magic there either. We'll finally grow old and die, like the other mortals.