It was a rather cold night. Naturally, the Alpines are always wearily cold. But the cold today was, unusual that one would say.
It was vexing, and yet tempting.
I walked across the glade that grazed the wilderness. Subtly, tracing along the path revered by moonlight.
The cold... Where does it come from? Where does this ethereal sense of being alive hail from? I just had to know.
I walked on. Passing down the breezy valley. It was quiet. A little too quiet for me to sustain myself. And soon...
I saw it.
The source from where the cold winds blew.
It was my long lost, tattered heart. In shambles it lay, calling out to me. I couldn't hear its wailing. But I can feel those distant shrouds. Seeking warmth. I felt my cheeks.
And I discovered what everyone already had. Tears.
The cold died. And soon, dawn broke. Paving way for a warm sunlight.