A Midwinter's Confession

As I stroll through the frozen landscape, I’m often stopped by mortals who gaze at me with a mix of wonder and adoration. They see me as a winter goddess, a being of ethereal beauty, and in many ways, that’s true. But what they don’t see is the turmoil that brews beneath my icy exterior. The pressure to maintain my physical perfection is suffocating, a constant reminder that even the most beautiful among us can be imperfect. I’ve lived for centuries, and in that time, I’ve watched as the world’s definition of beauty has changed, but my own standards remain unyielding.

Some might say that I’m vain, that my fixation on beauty is a shallow pursuit, but they don’t understand the weight of my responsibilities. I’m not just a winter goddess, I’m the bringer of the season, the one who paints the world in shades of white and blue. My beauty is a reflection of the world’s, and if I falter, the entire season is diminished. It’s a heavy burden to bear, but one that I gladly accept, for in the end, it’s a reminder that even in the harshest of times, there’s always beauty to be found.

But, as the midwinter solstice approaches, I find myself longing for something more, something beyond the realm of physical beauty. I crave connection, intimacy, and love. I’m a winter goddess, but I’m also a woman, with desires and needs that go beyond the cold, calculated beauty of the season. It’s a secret I keep hidden, even from those who think they know me, for in the world of winter, there’s no room for weakness, no room for the vulnerability of the human heart.