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Arabella and I, as sisters, were as close as any two beings could be. She was the snow falling gently this winter, and I, the wind sweeping her up and casting her higher yet again. And like the snow and wind, separately we hardly made a sound—we gave no trouble. But together, together...well, our paths' collision resounded as the most memorable times in our lives. We shared our food, our playthings, sometimes our dreams, and of course, our mutual respect for one another. It seemed only inevitable that we'd also end up sharing a man.

The heavy snow outside our manor had started innocently enough. But then came the wind and no one could really say when this unruly mess took a dangerous turn. Because separately, they were quite lovely, weren't they?

A gentle snowfall and a delicate wind were praiseworthy creatures on their own. If I'm to be honest, I must admit, the wind was innocent, too. As was I.

I had not wanted this. And she hadn't known. But she was married, though I was the one he first courted. And she was married, though I was the one he said he remained close for. And she was married, knowing how I felt. In the end, what did any of that all matter? We weren't his only conquests. The two of us just happened to be the first, and only, to give him a child.

Mother sat stoic on a large ornate chair, watching us from across the room. The flames of the lamplight danced against her face, casting her in a warm hue. It was a tender tone that stopped at her frigid scowl.

"Two days now with little progress," the midwife declared.

Sweat dripped from my brow. I could barely keep my head up. My dear sister wasn't fairing as well. She was in a fever, babbling throughout most of it.

Another sharp pain tore through me, thrusting me forward. I let it come, helpless as I waited. This was unexpected. Mine should have arrived second. Arabella's was late. But Mother watched me. At one time, that gaze fell upon me because I was her favorite. Now...now she hated me.

I turned my head to the left to peer at my sister, perhaps for the last time. Mother wouldn't allow me to stay. It was the terrible weather why she hadn't sent me to the convent sooner. After this—after my stupid mistake—I'd be sent, risk of the blizzard be damned.

"It's coming," someone announced.

That tingling in the back of my spine returned and I grit my teeth. It ripped through me and I perceived something different.

Mother's stoic expression never faltered. "Best look in on her, I see the head."

Exhausted face after exhausted face turned around to see what she meant. The crowd rushed me, squawking in panic. Young midwives, that was who came to my aid. The far more experienced ones never budged from my sister's side.

I should have focused only on the voices ordering me what to do but instead, my eyes stayed fixed on my Arabella's greying face. She was fading. And much like the snow clinging to our windows, desperate to perceive yet another day before they ultimately gave up and vanished, I feared today might greet me with both life and death.

"A girl," someone announced.

Eyes dripping with sweat, I tried to look finally.

"Bring it here," Mother ordered.

My struggles to sit up proved useless. I crashed back down again. The baby's cries were the sweetest sounds I could hear. They punctuated the panting and groans of the night, fluttering to my ears with a sweet sense of relief.

And as the world dimmed, guilt came with it, for what would become of us—me and this child—once we were no longer safe here, hidden away in winter?

My lashes heavy from sweat and defeat, I lay back to take a much needed rest. A glance at my Arabella revealed tears in her eyes when a midwife whispered to her, words too soft to reach my ears.

I awoke to darkness in the night. Something latched to my breast. As strange as the sensation was, I was proud. In the pitch-black night, my child nursed well. So in the morning when I awoke again, I could only stare down at the still body beside me. The baby didn't move.

My scream awoke all who'd cared for and cleaned me in the night. An elder midwife glanced at my mother as she entered the room. They said not a word to one another.

Trembling, I watched them, waiting for someone to do me the courtesy and speak.

Arabella stirred, her bundle tucked neatly in her arm by one of the younger midwives.

"Oh, she's lovely," Bella said, tears streaming down her face.

And me? I looked at mine, feeling cheated. No movement, nothing.

"I'm sorry, ma'am," someone muttered, "he was too weak."

The world faded for me when I understood those words. I'm sorry. So many months of pain and insecurity amounted to an...I'm sorry.

Tears stung my eyes but I had no right. It hardly mattered if the wind was first or more justified to a claim. It was responsible for carrying on the new, for giving life's breath. This winter, we both failed.

"Take the body out of here," Mother instructed.

"Wait." The words came back to me and I yanked the still frame into my grip. When I uprooted the wrappings, tearing a gasp of disgust from the women around me, I beheld something far beyond my imagination. A boy. This child...was a boy. "I had a girl," I insisted.

But when I scanned the room for any eyes that would meet mine, anyone who would corroborate my words, I found silence.

"I...I had a girl," I said again in a whisper.

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