Death
Before the world fell out of tune, it was said, winter didn't always mean a death sentence. There had been enough time to prepare food, prepare firewood, so you weren't caught unawares.
The wind, too, was different, blowing hard enough to brace but rarely enough to sweep your coat away, flinging your possessions to the four corners of the earth.
There were different explanations for why the world had fallen apart, and Eurydice had heard most of them in her short life—that the weather was a punishment for their collective wrongs, that humanity had outpaced the gods and suffered for it, that it was merely the result of a divine marital squabble.
Whatever the reason, and perhaps it was all of the above, to greet winter with empty arms now was to welcome death itself.
And Hades, his sunglasses and coat standing out in the sable air, welcomed the soon-to-be-dead with open arms.