The bird stands strangely before her now. Almost as if waiting for something; its beady eyes are fixed on Margo. She takes a few cautious steps closer, and it shows no sign of fear. The sun reflects off of a glossy surface from behind the bird's spread feathers.

"Are you keeping something?" she asks, automatically feeling silly for questioning a bird.

But the focus of its eyes intrigues her, as if it would indeed answer.

No sooner had Margo made that assumption, the creature bows its graceful head and retracts its tail feathers to reveal what is behind it: a globe set in a gold stand which rests upon a boulder. It couldn't have stood more than ten inches high with perfectly smooth glass and glistening filigree.

The colorful woods suddenly turn gray as ash. Nothing matters but what is now placed in front of her., the only thing remaining in color: this globe. She is drawn in like a magnet. The world around her slips away. The only clarity lingering emanates from this globe.

*

She blinks. The world erupts into brilliant color as she stumbles backwards to the ground. She curses under her breath clutching her numb hand into her chest.

"What..." Margo searches the woods, disoriented. Her arm throbs in violent spasms up to her shoulder, but her hand remains deadened. "How did my...arm...?"

She breaks off in a scream as the pain suddenly becomes unbearable, her face meeting the grass, which she finds is not as soft as it appears. She writhes, its blades scratching her cheek, as the icy current pulses through her arm.

She notices it then. The woods are strange, much too vibrant for early fall, the grass too green, mushrooms too bright. Even the trees seem oddly hued as if brought in from a different forest.

"Margo," calls an airy whisper.

She scrunches her eyes tightly shut. "No!" she wails. Rolling over, she uses her bad elbow to help push herself to her feet, ignoring the razors digging under the skin of her arm. Her hand flops about as she makes a break for the path.

"Margo." The voice returns. Not a man, nor a woman. Just a taunting voice, one she should not acknowledge. "Margo."

But this time she spares a glance in its direction. The colors of the forest dull into grays around the source of the voice once more. Her feet carry her toward the whispers, the woods no longer holding a flicker of her interest. Eyes black with lust, she craves for the promises of the globe. She can hear it calling for her, begging for her to take it into her hands. To own it. To claim it as hers.

"You cannot escape what has already been decided. I am yours. And you will be mine."

She peers into the crystal sphere and finds a forest encircling a small city glittering with tiny lights.

"A snow globe," whispers Margo.

"That was all you could say upon our last encounter."

"Perfect...snow globe..."

"More perfect when the snow is falling."

She marvels over its every detail. Crystal smooth as glass, golden trees intricately shaped in filigree, and, most unusually, a spiral-shaped etching in the front of its base. It appears haphazardly added, its style contradicting the fairy tale feeling.

"You who are cursed must meet your fate." The whispers grow impatient. "Take me, Margo. You are only prolonging your suffering."

The fire blazes within her, the yearning overwhelming. Her numb hand reaches outward and ignores the fact that the cold, deadening feeling grows stronger. She lays her fingers upon its cool surface, and her pain ceases. Life returns to her hand. It seems such hilarity for it to have hurt mere seconds prior when all it took to subside the pain was a single touch. She even laughs aloud, though it is a strange laugh that doesn't belong to her body.

'More perfect when the snow is falling,' it had said.

Margo picks the globe up in her hands looking deep into the forest. She gives it a shake and watches the little sparkles float down from the crystal sky like fairy dust.

Smiling at her new possession, Margo sets the globe down to properly enjoy the falling snow and tries to let go.

All greed vanishes. The fire within her extinguishes.

"How did I...?" She stares at the globe in her hands unsure of where it had come from. She cannot let go. Ice creeps through her fingertips and into her palms. Fingers contorting, she tries with all her strength to peel away from the globe. She puts her foot on the globe to force her hands apart.

"Gah! Stupid!"

Her impulse lands her with three limbs fused to the globe. Her body weakens, and she does the only thing she can think of: she screams at the top of her lungs, knowing it is a wasted effort. The closest house is Michael's, nearly a mile away.

The cold spreads into her forearms and calf like icy splinters climbing from the globe into her body; her scream shifts from a plea of help into pure agony. In a matter of seconds her entire body is frostbitten.

Rays of light break through globe, and it shakes uncontrollably in her hands. The forest is drowned in white. Her eyes tighten; her lids glow red. Wind rips at her hair, and her feet leave the ground. The ice sends her into convulsions until her body shrivels and twists into any shape to ease the pain. Her throat throbs, head feels as though at any moment it will burst.

The cold, hard earth meets her back, and everything stops.

Margo lays upon the ground panting with her eyes still tightly closed, wondering what pain could be inflicted upon her next. She cringes in fear, not certain it is truly over. But all she feels now is cold prickling at her skin.

Something else is different. She opens her hands studying her palms. The globe is gone. Maybe it allowed me to drop it through the torture, she thinks, instantly mortified for considering it allowing her to do anything. As if it thinks...

She spares a glance at her new surroundings. The once bright forest is now very different. Darkness has fallen over the woods and the coldness from the globe lurks. A layer of ice frosts over everything. The wind whips violently through the air. But what disturbs her the most is the way she had entered this clearing is flipped in the other direction. It is as if everything is opposite, like looking through a mirror.

Margo hops frantically to her feet, scrambling around in search of answers, until —

Her steps grow wobbly and her head heavy. The ground teeters below her as what little light is left continues to fade.

She isn't sure what is happening, but two things are certain: one, touching that globe was a huge mistake; and, two, she is passing out.

Her body falls limp to the ground and she hits her head on something hard. Slowly, Margo gives in to the darkness and drifts off into nothingness.