Memory - Part 3
He shivers on the floor of his cell, curled in on himself, sobbing from the cold.
Frigid air burns down against him like a solstice curse, biting venomously at his bare flesh. He used to say he preferred winter to summer, preferred a nip of cold and deep breaths of clear air as you tug up your scarf and hurry off down the icy pavement to the melting, insufferable, inescapable heat of the summertime, but this?
Hellfire runs cold.
“You look a little frosty there, Oskar.”
Oh, joy. And someone to mock him, too, just to make his life a little more perfect.
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