Gazing out the large panes into the white, she could practically smell the snow through the glass. Gliding softly over the creaky clapboards, she opened the solid wooden door to stand between two worlds. The outside elements whipping across slivers of her exposed pale freckled skin. The warmth from the inside world providing a safety net of protection. She could always shut the door.
In these moments, she felt the raw onslaught of the elements. She willed the exposure to numb out the searing pain inside of her. Wanting to avoid the groping fingers of her memories, she concentrated on the blankness of the white.
Crackling of dry wood in the hearth, invited her back into the warmth, she preferred the cold. A frost, threatening to congeal the blood pumping through her heart, giving into iciness of her veins to steady herself against the grief roiling inside.
Her dreams were filled with the loss of that indigo life. A black hole stole that soul for another time, and maybe another world.