Oh to be in the icy arms of a Snow Witch! To shiver with chattering teeth while squeezed tightly in her wintery grip! Ordinary witches truly can’t compare! I mean— green skin? Gross! But Peter appreciates not this budding romance! Like a huge coward, he wistfully wishes for Yuzuka or Santa to come to his rescue. What’s wrong with you, Peter? What teenage boy wouldn’t appreciate the touch of a scantily be-robed goth girlfriend? What this narrator wouldn’t do to be in your position! Oh the wonderful horrors that would await! Oh the unholy matrimony!
Through an avalanche of burning cold they glided, until Peter’s eyes were blinded with frost. And then he was released, and tumbling down a nightmare slide of ice. There are few things in this Earth more terrifying than a water slide. As if engineered by Satan himself, these claustrophobic death tubes combine the blood-curdling giddiness horror of careening helplessly into a dark void with all the terror fun and excitement of drowning. Now imagine a water slide made entirely of ice, crumbling, melting as Peter twisted and turned— and maybe even went upside down at on point— careening through the frigid bowels of a glacier! Falling, falling, falling forever! Screaming at terminal velocity! And then, like a cowardly wad of chewing tobacco, spat out into the Snow Witch’s abode.
You may want to cover your eyes while reading these next few pages, terrified reader, for Peter has just been dragged off to what is— without a doubt— the most spookiest place in the North Pole. Sculpted by demonic hands, magicked together with crags of towering glacier ice, the Snow Witch’s gothic palace was a dripping, slippery chateau of frigid death!
Without electricity, without candles or fireplaces, the frosty architecture glowed phosphorescent as if illuminated from hidden sigils summoning the visible schizophrenic energy of exgirlfriends. If Dracula could turn into a penguin instead of a bat, and also if Dracula were a girl, surely this would have been her snowy castle where she sucked her victims into shriveled, hypothermic husks.
Peter whipped his head left and right, his eyes crazily bouncing from one gothic detail to another. There was the Snow Witch’s ghastly gargoyle-clad dining table— made of ice, and there was the Snow Witch’s horrifying cello— made of ice, and there was the Snow Witch’s terrifying bookcase filled with Anne Rice novels— made of ice, and there on the wall was a hideous objet d’art spelling out ‘Live Laugh Love’— also made of ice.
No sooner had Peter stood up than the Snow Witch conjured herself from a window, blocking his only escape, and grinned her adorable, pearly white fangs at him.
“Welcome to my abode,” she said.
“You live in an ice palace?”
“I built it just now.”
The floor beneath Peter was whole as the marble, founded as the rock, yet suddenly it stretched like taffy and crystallized itself into a throne of ice, and carried him off his feet and to the Snow Witch, until they were so close their foreheads pressed together.
“Want me to show you the bed?” she asked.
“What are we going to do on the bed?”
The Snow Witch giggled and climbed up into Peter’s lap. Her slender arms reached out around his head and she held him against her chest. Her flesh was frigid as dry ice.
“We’ll do whatever you want to do.”
Oh how quickly a relationship can escalate when a girl wants it. In the time it takes for a boring human girl to respond to a text message, Peter had met the Snow Witch and wound up back at her frost-bitten castle, in her arms. Suddenly her lips were against his, and she was softly cooing, her tongue gliding its way into his mouth. There was no warning, no preparation, no build up at all to Peter’s first kiss! Had there been a pause before it, Peter might have said something about how he was kind of hoping to settle down with one of the elves, but now he thought, ‘Well, I guess this is happening now.’
His saliva began to frost over when the Snow Witch sprang out of Peter’s lap, and she danced around crazily shaking her arms, shouting, “Ah-blaugh-gah-hama-blaugh-guwah-nawah-faaaa! Ow! Ow! Ow!” She patted her lips with her fingers. “Oh my, oh my, you burned me!” she said. “Are you made of lava or something?”
“No, you’re just really cold,” Peter said.
“Okay, lets try it again.”
Like a bather who must ease themselves into a steaming hot tub, the Snow Witch carefully straddled Peter between her legs and lowered herself down onto his lap. Face to face, Peter looked at her wild and glowing succubus eyes, but she put her icicle claws over his face and said, “Stop staring at me!” Then he felt a short peck and heard a soft ‘mwah’ against his lips. Then a pause. Then another kiss.
“Okay,” she said. “As long as we— mwah— do it quick like this— mwah— it doesn’t burn. Mwah! What’s your— mwah— name?”
“Peter. And your name?”
“I don’t— mwah— have one.”
“That’s cool.”
Unintentionally, as the Snow Witch raked her fingers through Peter’s hair and swirled his blonde locks into a mess, Peter’s hand found its way onto her refrigerated thigh. It wasn’t there for long until it started to steam, and she leapt up from him again shrieking. The Snow Witch limped about the gothic chamber and rubbed the charred hand print he had singed into her snowy flesh.
“Sorry!” Peter said.
“It’s okay. We can make this work. You just have to lower your body temperature.”
“If I lower my body temperature I’ll die,” Peter said.
The Snow Witch reached up her skirt, wiggled her way out of her panties, and slingshot them into an icicle chandelier.
“Or… I can try taking a quick ice bath,” Peter said. “You know, just get a little hypothermic.”
In the glowing gothic bathroom, with its flying-buttressed ice toilet and ice clawfoot bathtub and its translucent ice walls, Peter flung his clothes off with the fury and speed of a man possessed in an erotic rage. But hold up! With his pants down around his ankles the absurdity of the situation sank in. Was he truly about to risk frostbite and hypothermia just to do the pelvic cha-cha with a demon woman made of snow?
Her pretty fangs, her pretty claws, and her crazy eyes were all warnings that she was the predator and he was the prey. And what was a Snow Witch exactly anyway? Were they like a mantis or spider which slaughters and eats its darling after the deed is done? Didn’t Yuzuka say she was literally death incarnate? This wasn’t worth the risk. Peter put his pants back on and saw through the frosty walls the Snow Witch’s distorted silhouette undressing. Fair and glittery and thin she crept about the room and glided nude into bed. And Peter’s pants were down again. It was worth the risk.