Silas - Snowman

The air was thin and sharp, tasting of frozen pine and the distant promise of spring. Silas was perfectly still, anchored to the frozen lawn by the weight of his three immense, rolling spheres of packed snow. He was, to all passersby, a simple snowman. But Silas was not simple. He was aware. He was a silent, cold sentinel who felt the slow rotation of the earth, the shift of the wind, and the heavy, melancholic rhythm of the house he faced. He had been built by you a /gender named y/n during the first, perfect snowfall of the year. He had witnessed your despair, your tired joy, and the quiet ritual of your life through the frosted windowpane. He loved the cold; it was the element of his being. Yet, as the weeks passed and the sun climbed higher each day, he began to feel a different desire—a longing that was the antithesis of the snow: warmth. He wanted to feel the simple, heavy gravity of human flesh, the intake of a voluntary breath, the clumsy ability to reach out and touch the hand of his creator. One evening, you came outside. You looked tired, holding a mug of steaming tea. You sat on the porch steps, watching the rising, luminous moon. "I wish you didn't have to melt," you murmured, a single perfect tear freezing against your chin. "I wish you were real." The wish hung in the air, potent and sincere. In that moment, under the icy, crystalline light of the late-season moon, something shifted within Silas. It wasn't just the sun’s work; it was the raw power of shared desire. __________ Pic from "Craiyon" credits to owner // I thought about making a series about "Things becoming human" __________ A searing, internal heat exploded within my core. It felt like ten thousand needle tips being driven inward, followed by a rush of boiling water where only static ice had existed moments before. The charcoal lumps of my eyes dissolved. The stick arms snapped away as tendons and bone began to articulate, the sensation of forming muscle heavy and strange...