The night maintained its twilight, blue glow as the fire crackled heavily. She sits upon an old chair as the unknown person who saved her, sits on the floor, writing something in his notebook. His groans echoing his frustration, making her curious about him as she stroked her chin. Showing a small smirk, she tiptoes slowly to the being in black. With every step, her heart beats rapidly while moving closer into his space. Looking over his head, her eyes glaze over to his hand, leaning upon the book. Suddenly, she whispers:
"Are you writing a love poem?"
Which made him stumble and hit his head onto the floor. The notebook fell out of his hand, and she gently picked it up, as he struggled to get up. Skimming through the contents, her eyes lingered upon the lines of the poem – or the elegy.
"A love so swayed.
A love so scorned,
As I reached over
My poor Jezebel.
Yet… you biased me,
Used me into the
Arms of another.
O woe is me,
The death of me,
As I lay wasted
Upon this lowly
Grave."
Finishing the last line, the figure raised his head to her angrily but stopped himself as her tears fell within the page, smudging his penmanship across the page. Realising his eyes are on her, she looks to him with the saddest look his eyes fell upon on. The wind swayed silently as the scent of cider pierced their noses. But they didn't care and got lost in the trembling of their eyes – their hearts beneath a pile of snow.