Slowly but surely, winter arrives. You missed the change, when you noticed you were already frozen. Your bones feel like their made of glass, thousands of little needles are piercing through your skin all at once, you have frost bites on your fingertips, from touching things you shouldn’t have. You realize you should have prepared better for this winter, but how could you when it caught you off guard? It’s too late to light up a fire, there’s snow all around.
You see a light once in a while and start to wonder it it’s warm. You want to grab it, beg it to stay, and as you reach, you hear the first crack. You keep trying, you’re shattered by the end of it. Pieces are falling, you’re too cold to do something about it. You’re limbs are frozen, one would think numbness can’t hurt, surprisingly, it does. You remember how in the summertime flesh would heal fairly quick and wonder if ice as the same ability. There answer to that: no. You just keep breaking. One the colder days, the cracking slows down, the cold seems to preserve you better, so you just sit still and watch as life goes by. If the sun dares to peak, or when the light approaches, the cracking restarts. You start to prefer the cold. It’s less painful in the long run.
You do question if there’s still blood running under this icy cover, but don’t actually dare to find out. What if you bleed? The ice, at least, protects you.
People tell you that you’re cold, they can’t bare to be around you. You brought this upon yourself, they’ll say, but you can’t really recall the beginning of winter. You go on, blaming yourself for the side effects of a mistake you don’t remember making. As cold as ice. Fragile like glass, soft like snow, still you’ll take a blizzard wherever you go.