her lips are turning blue.
her limbs are shaking uncontrollably.
she still looks petrified.
but accepting.
accepting of death?
i do not know.
they are impatient now.
she's turning cold.
they like them warm.
she's weakening.
they're starving.
it is one of the most harsh winters yet.
but I can't bring myself to tear into her.
❄️
YOU ARE READING
Prince of Wolves
Short Storyi hear them howl, for them. for me. for flesh. for blood. and i wonder, i wonder if i'm supposed to feel so empty, so cold. ❄️ #674 in short story - july/august 2017 #216 in my youth - august 2018 -completed
