Angels would die

These castle walls covered in snow, and it's black bronze gates of about 12ft high. The doves that fly above wear it the cologne of Christmas. It reminds me of an event that took place a long time ago in front of these castle walls, in the early hours of the morning, I'll say, between 7:00am and 8:00am.
A young man in a grey jacket, black leather trousers, grey hat and a black muffler swung twice round his neck. He walks past the castle gate and stands in front of its 12ft tall fence, takes some steps back, dips his right hand into his pocket and brings out a small white stone. He throws it to a specific window; he threw it with the hand of an expert. Suddenly, the curtain divides, a fair young lady's face is seen. lady Victoria the daughter of Sir Edward the fifth. She was a lady frail as a cotton wool in water, but Never the less, she was beautiful.
Victoria watches him from the window, if you looked closely, you'll see tears run down her face; she says "No!" What's the problem? It's freezing out here, the man freezes too. Guess he wanted to take her ski diving or something lovers do in winter. But she can't come out, Angels can't come out now, cause angels would die covered in this falling powdered frozen waters of the heavens.
I'm just an old shoe cobbler, I know nothing of this sort. My wife was betrothed to me, so I never had to stand in the ice, waiting for her to appear.
A brown puppy dog walks past, it's heart you could tell beats faster for a normal puppy. It walks into the tarmac from the snow and stops at the middle of the road. You wouldn't quite imagine what was about happening. It layed on its back, raised it's paws, opened its mouth and it's tongue falls to the side; it's eyes still wide open. It's heart is frozen.
The young man turns away from the castle wall, feeling embarrassed; he glances at me. His thoughts randomly in motion, weighing all possible causes of the reason why she wouldn't come out to him as before. He heads straight down the street, blind to the fact that he was in the middle of the road. The man in the junk truck horned six to seven times. He was in the way. I left my table In pursuit of this guy, but... I was too late. In other to save my life also, I had to forget all about my age and jump right into the snow beside the tarmac. Colorful red snow, the color of blood. He lay there on the road in his own blood, dark red. I guess it was the tarmac that added the obscene darkness to it, because it was the opposite of the one on the snow. The right side of his chest had been run over by the truck, all the bones were crushed. I came closer to the dying or already dead man, but his last words were "she didn't come out..." and died. The junk truck was no longer in sight. In barely ten minutes the paramedics and police came to the scene. They declared him dead and arranged the street like nothing ever happened, because it was Sir Edwards street, a noble and wealthy man, so a fly shouldn't dare leave a stain on his white walls. The next day nothing was said. The junk truck still passed like yesterday never happened because he was no son of a noble, but the son of a poor news paper vendor seven streets away. His death could not cause as little as a stare. Alphabets are used to spell numbers and numbers do spell life. For the past 20 years during winter, lady Victoria would come out to the window. Curtains divide and her face appears, but not at the prompt of a stone. She doesn't know anything, but her heart thinks for its self "he's left me..." Her pale face, slowly sinking and wasting, crumbling like pastries in the hands of a toddler.
No! Angels can't come out this winter, because angels would die, covered in snow