The cold is overwhelming. Brittle shards of ice freeze to the ground, and entire bodies of water crystallize under the presence of winter's cruel touch. The forest feels empty, as if there is nobody there but her. She is winter, after all. . . her heart has frozen to the point of oblivion. Every breath that she exhales is filled with pain, for despite the numbness within her, she still feels the sharp characteristic pang of heartbreak. The thistle will never understand, of course. He is long gone, his spirit risen to the dark wintry skies. Once, she would have given anything, even her life, to be with him. Now, she only wants to cling to the coldness so that she can shiver for eternity.