Yes, Midwinter. The time she had flirted her best; the time she had held Jonathan's fist in her own cold one. She looked with empty, once captivating green eyes at the occasional flake that flitted through the bars. I will never be what I have once been. Her hand curled in the fabric of her tattered dress.
A guard came in to check on her, smiling sleepily. "You care for a Midwinter kiss, sweet?"
Her eyes shuttered closed. She was not a stranger to this, but she would refuse.
"No, I don't."
Her voice, though hoarse, was sweet as sugar.