The blinds are closed. The heating is on. My belongings are lit by the yellow glow of a single lamp. My room is an enclosed, padded box, so I can cough and sleep this fever away in privacy. I haven't even looked outside today. Apparently it's snowing. The Snow Maidens are spreading their gifts once again. But the outside does not concern me right now. The last thing I want to consider is the cold.
But when I glance up from my screen, I get a sudden glimpse, a flash of white: the winter has slid its long fingers into my room.
A crooked mirror. An inexplicable gap between blind and window. And there, sat frozen on my shelf, is an image of cold. Thin branches scratch black lines across the blue-white of the icy sky. Edged with frost, they glitter and flicker with the movement of the light. This slither of winter is bordered by the blue of my blinds and it looks like... a fairytale.