Immortality could be quite grand every now and then; although Jack was forced to spend it hand in hand with death's natural chill.
He had always acknowledged that he was merely all bones and...well, bones. Layers of muscle and veins with flowing blood became foreign concepts to him overtime. Then things began to feel just as cold and hollow as he.
And that is where the lastest problem started. Naturally, when there's a hole, there comes a yearning to fill it not too far behind. In short, Christmas had become his obsession in search to hide those empty spaces.
But Jack hadn't fully remembered how it felt to be warm, not until Sally began to rest her head upon his chest by night.
Happy Harvest, my fellow readers!