Summer days missed her and winter stay pissing her off. Never had she longed so strongly for something so insigificant as the warmth of a 2 o'clock afternoon. She spat in Frost's white face and sneered a pretty look at Jack as he applaude and pats himself on the back.
Misery was his favortie game. And he was winning.
This season raped her. The calm of the still snow was not paralle to her inner turmoil and conflict. She was cold inside her skin. Biting wind penatrating without at least a kiss goodbye or a tip on the night stand. It ate away at her energy and made her sleep in anger, not in peace.