It was snowing gently, and all around him, people rejoiced. He didn't take part – he was a shadow of darkness, wrapped in his own misery. His deadened eyes took note of the bundles his servant was hauling into the carriage, and he lashed out in his despair. "Don't touch it. Give it here!" The hands that grasped the sodden package were chapped, but glowing with a weak colour – the colour of rust and dried blood.
"Yes, Master." The servant backed away, intimidated. "The Midwinter gift..."
"Take it; I don't want it." The cool air echoed with a dry, wracking sob.