Undressed with rainy winds, stunned and unnoticeably shivering, she stands within her own shadow. Her steps are not movement - they blend with the changes of light that bends around her like a sheet of transparent silk. Her shadow completely approximates her body.
As the air settles and rain suspends in mid-air, a silent echo of sleepy sifts creeps to her ears. Abruptly, the claustrophobic and colourless sky breaks a spasm that reverberates in her milk-soft bones. It is winter, wielding wildly it's frosty breath, freezing the frozen over and enkindling the alight.
The perfection of the snow beneath her gives way to the soles of her feet - they throb with coldness so vigorously that, although unwounded, they seem to leave red tracks on the white gleaming ground. Like a walk of the tip of a fire-flame on a fluttering crystal veil.
As she reaches the hazing river, snowflakes and icy air tie a knot around her fading silhouette, smelting it to an undividable glass mosaic. Murmur fades in. The turgid and raging water thunders in front of her with untameable brawl - and under it thunders even louder the silence, humming it's own superior tune. She feels it like the spikingly algid ground on which she stands. Only silence has not spikes, but smooth, long and delicate fingers.
She puts out the palm of her hand and raises her head as if waiting for something to fall to her from the blindingly luminescent sky. Then, as she gazes back at her palm, a few snowflakes gather on her fingers and she manages to catch sight of their imperfect branching structure, before they quickly melt down from the heat of the blood that roars under her skin just like the river before her. She freezes the image in her mind unwillingly, and closes her eyes to feast on it's beauty. As she closely observes it within her mind, she realizes the intertwining structures of the snowflakes resemble a face. A warm human face, in all their coldness.
Not any face.