Snow

Winter sky's blinding grey light reflected itself in the white mantel that cloaked the city.

Eimhàar was aglow with stolen light refracted again and again in the ice, diluted to the point it was but a pale phantom of itself, meandering the streets as a lost ghost.

On top of a thin building, delicate snow crystals swirled by a hooded figure. A playful breeze tugged at the hood and promptly recoiled at the sheer force of loathing seeping from their cavernous eyes, burning coals embedded in an otherwise stony mask of a face.

A young tiefling girl.

Her skin was taut on her sharp features, a deep shade of purple except for a pale broken scar that messily snaked its way from sharp chin to her cheekbone.

A flash of black curls and twisted horns peeked from the hood before a skinny hand darted to its hem and pulled it back in place.

Ruth hated snow.

She hated its pristine beauty. Hated its yielding softness. Hated the graceful dance of snowflakes in the wind.

Most of all, she loathed with irrational, frenzied feeling its alluring promise of comfort.

To crawl into her frozen womb and sleep life away.

She inhaled deeply, feeling the frost of the air scratch her throat and lungs.

This was true.

Pain, cold, hunger, the rough cloth wrapped around her scrawny shoulders.

Life.

These were true.

Snow, Ruth thought bitterly, snow is just a wonderful lie.

She shoved that thought into her unconscious and ground her teeth.

The hollow promise of snow didn't tempt her.

The world owed her.

She was not about to lay down and die like a heartsick puppy until it gagged every bloody penny back.