What I Own: Four bottles of Lush Rose Jam shower gel, eleventy-seven bottles of lotion and two pounds of amazing coffee.
What I don't: Chicago PD. Yeah, nope, not mine. I just like to make pretty messes with them. I promise I will clean them up when I am done. Maybe. It can get pretty fun in that sandbox.
Author's Note: Hi, My name is Helen and I can't seem to get a muse to stick around. Also, I'm not dead. I know, the last thing I needed was ANOTHER work in progress but the fic muse… she is an elegant, cold hearted whore. And she isn't cheap. I know I have all kinds of things that need updating, and they will be, I have bits and pieces and scenes ALL OVER THE PLACE BUT… this happened. I blame music. And sick. And Linstead on my TL. I'm not sorry. Y'all know how I work… this is just a little tease but I already have more mapped out and I am aiming for weekly updates in all kinds of places… so, don't hate me, please? This is rated M for a reason kids, so if you can't smoke, buy porn or enlist in the armed services in the U.S, you can just hightail it right on out. The song for this one is 'Cover Me' by Candlebox. Crank it up and have a read. Reviews are appreciated like crazy, they help pay that cold-hearted whore I was talking about earlier. As usual, this wasn't beta'd because I suck. All mistakes are mine, mine, mine. Anyway, enough babble, I hope y'all enjoy my foray into a new fandom. I KNOW it is short and will probably bring up more questions than answers but…. They will come. I promise.
It was cold. Not just temperature wise, although that was into the negative digits, easily. It was the kind of cold that seeped into your bones and became a part of you; weaseled its way in through whatever cracks that it could see. It settled into your soul, freezing it, just a little bit, and twisting it, distorting it just enough. Not enough for it to be noticeable to everyone, but enough for you to know that something was wrong, different… cold. Some people dealt with it better than others, it was dependent on who you were, but no matter how hard someone tried, they couldn't ever fully hide it. Every breath was burned and crackled as though it was a shock to your system even though you needed it to survive.
It was a physical presence, this cold, the chill. It took up space in rooms, and demanded respect. It was a powerful companion, though fickle, and it could change on you in an instant.
As long as I could remember, I loved snowstorms. Everything was so quiet and still and beautiful, cloaked in white, even in a city like this. It was all pure again, and for a moment, when I looked up and smiled through the flakes catching on my lashes, there was nothing wrong, everything was quiet and still, just for a blink.
But then everything came crashing back down.
The snow wasn't so pristine when it was scattered with droplets of red, splashed out across the surface like a macabre Jackson Pollock rendered in blood.
The snow was falling in earnest, piling up almost in an attempt to cover the gruesome tableau, but it was all for naught. This couldn't be unseen, no matter how much snow fell, how hard the pavement was scrubbed… an image like this was burned into your memory, haunting you every time you closed your eyes, it would be there. I had my own ways of trying to wipe the image from my mind. Pale skin, golden girls, blue lips, blue nightgown, a white teddy bear with a long white braid all spattered with red… but not her face; that was clean and pure despite the mess that surrounded her.
The blue lights flashed off of the snow as I crouched down, my gloved hands itching to cover her. It wasn't right that she lay on display like this. She deserved more, she deserved a life… something more than this. And she would get it.