Watch. Watch the snow fall, fall from the sky. See it dance, see it twirl. Catch a flake, look real close. Isn’t it pretty? A delicate, beautiful thing. It’s not human, no, not even alive, but would you hurt it? Would you see it die? Look, see, it’s art, art gifted to you by the sky. It’s a fragile thing, a fleeting thing, here for so short a time. They should be enjoyed, these flakes, for their short lives.

Mica stood on the roof of a restaurant, huddled against one of its chimneys. The snow seemed to have slackened as of late, but there was still plenty of it. She held a hand out, catching a handful of snowflakes.

She stared at them, but didn’t see them. Instead she imagined something better: a starseed, cradled gently in her hand. Starseeds were no longer the mission, but energy balls, well, they lacked the beauty of a starseed. Nothing quite compared to a starseed, except maybe a crystal.

With that thought Mica shook off the snowflakes and brushed off the ones clinging desperately to her suit.

But of course, that’s right, snow’s not alive. It can enchant and captivate, but to give it a thought, to give it such merit, well, it’s just snow. Just snow.

Mica had missed the crystals. Both crystals. There had been two crystals, and both had gone to Senshi.

Listen. Listen to the wind. Can you hear it? It’s crying. It sweeps the snow across the sky, gives it a ride. It knows though, knows the snow is doomed. The sun will come and it will melt. Or stupid, stupid humans will come, and they will crush it, kill it beneath their clumsy feet. The wind is crying.

The imposter Queen was dead and gone, an old thought that would normally be of little importance to Mica. There was only one person, one Queen, that merited a fixed place in Mica’s thoughts, and she was no alien.

A gust of wind blew snow in Mica’s face, a stray snowflake getting in her eye. Cursing, she rubbed the stinging eye.

Feel. Feel! The Queen is dead! My Queen is dead, dead, dead! Humans helped. Humans hate the snow. Such a cold planet, no heart in it. How can humans hate the snow? It’s a gift, and- look, one curses it! To curse snow… A killer, cold not outside but in. The Queen is dead. Humans hate snow, curse snow; murderers.

A high-pitched battle cry drew Mica’s attention. There, dancing towards here, was what looked like a tiny fairy. Arching an eyebrow, Mica felt a faint sense of curiosity, up until the moment when the little thing danced up the chimney and blew frosty wind in her face.

“ Murder! Murder! How could you? My Queen, my Queen.”

Blinking frosty eyes, Mica was distinctly unimpressed, both by the face full of cold and the midget’s wailing. As the thing pulled at her hair, Mica reached up with her cane and smashed it against the chimney bricks.

My Queen…

With a smear of her cane, the thing stopped twitching and turned to back to normal, nasty snow. Good. Mica had better things to do then listen to some ice pixie’s caterwauling.