Monday Writing Prompt from Clarian Press.

The constant drip-drip of melting ice filtered through her consciousness; the first day of spring, and snow lay heavy beneath the fragrant pines. The circuit training had payed off as she dragged the wrapped bundle down into a hollow, huffing frosty steam from her panting mouth. It was a moot question now: Would she have fallen so hard if she’d known his secret from the beginning? The razor sharp edge of the shovel bit into the softening ground. By the time some hunter stumbled across the remains next fall, she’d be long gone. Rather sardonically, she addressed her statement to the murder of crows cawing out questions of her. “If I wanted vanilla, I’d have ordered ice cream, instead of a man who thought it was funny — after he fucked me — I actually believed he was a Dom.”