Winter was her favorite season. Everything about it was either pale or intense. During the day, the sky still rang with dark shades of blue, even if the sun made everything else light. Snow would flurry and bury the lonely, old house. It would numb and melt and insulate at the same time. The algid air so bitter, it would make eyes tear up and noses run raw. Snowflakes would lay preserved on wool mittens and red, windburned cheeks. Dawn was most beautiful in the winter. The sun reflecting across expanses of undisturbed snow, making the frost on bare branches of trees glow ferocious hues.

Winter was her favorite season. It was when the rest of her world would feel the way she did. Cold. In need of another body to share the burden of guarding warmth. It was the only time throughout the year her brother would embrace her. And out of necessity, at that. To keep her warm. Though it didn't matter; she was always cold. For as far back as she cared to remember, she had always been cold.

Oh, how selfish her brother was toward her. And when it wasn't for warmth, he didn't hug her for her benefit; he did it for his. And with this thought in mind, she still couldn't help craving the touch of someone who was supposed to love her. He didn't do it for her, but she needed it anyway. It wasn't the same with any other person. He knew her feelings for him, and yet he teased her with affection, keeping her perturbed to the point of breaking. But when things got that far, she would strengthen her walls and draw them closer. She wouldn't let them crumble. Even if that meant she had to leave little holes for people to peek inside.

And they did peek, leaving most people, especially her brother. There was one person who didn't simply peek, though; he prodded. And she hated him for this. He wanted her to break for reasons more selfish than anything her brother ever did. When she was with him, loathsome feelings would bubble and seethe into violence. Yet, loyal to his cause as a stupid dog, he would continuously come running back.

Knives started out simply precautionary. Only to be used on anyone who threatened her very delicate state of mind. But as she drifted into solitude, each one was like a friend. They were welcomed. When the day in which she accidentally cut herself came, the pain sparked something dangerous inside her. The blood was intense against her pale skin. Like sunrise. Like winter. All too soon, the wound would heal before her very eyes, and another would be made. The interest was sick and repulsive, and she knew she had to stop. But it let her know she was still there; that her walls had not smothered her out of her body. The man she hated had once said pain was fear exiting the body. This thought tainted her dirty pleasure, and though she would never admit it was because of him, she abruptly discontinued engrossment. The blemishes across her milky skin faded, blending with older battle scars.

She had once been described as an apathetic parasite, though this accusation nearly made her burst into laughter. She was not close enough to anyone to be such. Apathetic was a compliment. Nobody was to see her emotions. To suffer as she had. And though some of her misery was manufactured, it was real, all the same. She was not leeching off other's happiness. She was protecting it from herself. While others would laugh and smile, even out of habit, she would restrain.

She knew she could not continuously keep up her act. There would come an inevitable day when her walls would be too close. When she would have to choose between blinking herself out of existence and completely obliterating her wall. The thought of that day frightened her into white silence. But when that happened, she simply had to remember: winter was her favorite season. And every winter had to t haw. Dead gave way to new life, and spring would always follow.

AN;;;

I don't know if I like how this turned out. :/

Whatever. Last night I was roleplaying Poland and had the urge to write this. Even though it was a happy RP and this . . . is not really.

lfalskfja'fda; My mind works in mysterious ways. Even to me.

I didn't find any typos, but I didn't edit that carefully. I'll do that later.

But I took my first class in driver's ED today, and it was so sad! Constant stories of people dying for three hours! And it was extremely hard to tell if the instructor was being sarcastic or serious when he was reading us rules and guidelines and the way of the classroom.

I'm kinda scared. : c