She is winter’s storm, awhirl of snowflakes, gathering in the night. Unaware of the cold, eyes glistening ever so brightly, she waits. For it is her destiny to personify he, who dares to freeze the souls of the world. She cannot melt your heart, only harden it, patiently awaiting your demise. You are caught in her icy stare, transfixed by her beauty, as you get lost in her storm. A tempest, by any other, is merely a snowfall, but her storm is the epitome of death. Benumbed, unfeeling, she waits again, for yet another one’s frigid fate.
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