A Frosted Night
From the dust of the stars to the frosted covering over every surface, all glittered in the candle light, which, of its own, sparkled too. And in the glow, the light, sharp, refracted in points, turned the world almost to magic.
A lovely scene. Too lovely for the faerie burdened to improve upon the beauty of the cold night. But that was his task. To look and see and add a hint, just a hint, of something that could make it all other.
He had thought to use the trees, their bare branches, to cover them in golden dust. But in the light from a flickering lamppost, the frost turned the trees to gold itself. Next, he thought to take the ground and cast an enchantment of diamonds upon it. But the cold had dipped the road as far as eyes could see in brilliant, icy jewels. Then, he thought he could cast an ethereal gleam to make the world seem Fae. But this night had not only stars, but a soft moon as well, and so the world gleamed in light all its own.
The faerie wandered, wondering what his hand could add. When he thought there would be nothing that could make the night more beautiful, it came to him. He took the cool, crisp air, and made it bitter, biting until it was almost more than could be born. So piercing that one breath was all a body could take within the cold.
Thus, the beauty of the night was fleeting, a moment, no more, to see its jeweled golden gleam. But, of course, that is what made it magic.