152 A Chilled Heart

Daphne breathed in the frigid night air. It chilled her to the bone, stinging her pores and slowly seeping into her internal organs. Her heart seemed to beat slower and slower, such that she could hear each irregular thud as echoed throughout the still night. 

For the first time in a long time, it struck her how terribly cold the Northern Kingdom had been. Her face was already numb, but the wind only relentlessly pierced her again and again. The wounds seemed to have reopened, impaled over and over by these invisible daggers. 

It hurt. Both mentally and physically, she hurt so much. 

The two vials of liquid weighed heavily in her cloaks, alongside a special third concoction that she had prepared for the confrontation. 

They were so heavy, much heavier than the weight of her own heart, the heart that she had finally warmed up. 

Staring at the pinpricks of light in the distance, more than anything, Daphne missed home.