Vivienne sat in the dining room, but the room's actual warmth meant nothing to her. The calendar said it was spring, full of promise, but to Vivienne, the air was biting cold. Freezing. The sunlight spilling through the tall windows felt fake, like it belonged to another life. Her skin prickled, not from the warmth but from the memory crawling up her spine.
Everywhere she looked, she saw snow. Winter. That painful, awful winter from twenty years ago. Her heart clenched, her chest tightening the way it had when she was five, when her tiny fingers were stiff and purple and shaking.
She remembered the cobblestones outside, thick with snow and ice. She remembered her small, fragile body trembling from the cold as she walked. She remembered the sound of her teeth clicking violently, her breath fogging, her legs numb, each step feeling like punishment.
