Two Sisters

My sister and I, we are nothing alike. 

I’m older: born at the dawn of time, forged in an explosion of stardust and space. When I came into being, the earth was young and cold, for it was the age when all things were carved of ice. I don’t mind the cold: I was born of it, and it suits me.

My sister is the opposite. She is younger, newer, brighter in every way. She radiates warmth like a fire. When her hand sweeps the earth, darkness flees and days grow long. Flowers bloom where she walks, trees bear fruit at the height of her time. I do not have such a gift. When I turn my sight on a field of flowers, cold air whisks the petals away and the stalks grow brittle and thin. Only my sister has the power to grow them back again.

When the world was new, and my sister and I were still young, we vowed that despite our differences, we would always stay united for our planet. The throne of the universe was ours to hold, yet we agreed never to argue or fight for sole power, for neither of us could truly live without the other.

So it has been since the dawn of time: we share the kingdom of the earth. For half of the year, my sister rules, and plants blossom under the shining sunlight. For the other half, I grace the throne, and the world is renewed, sleeping under a blanket of snow. This is how it has always been. This is how I thought it would always be.

But lately, my sister is growing greedy. These past few years, she has been stealing days from my time to rule for her own. Our home is scorching. She only laughs, saying she loves the heat. She doesn’t care that it grows harder for me to cover the trees in snow. We argue like we never have before, and I am afraid of her power. What will happen if our planet burns?