The short story a short year later
Oct 18
Years of frosty build up. Layer, after layer, after layer. Layers so deep she could not see herself past their murkiness when she looked in the mirror anymore.
Layers so thick that they kept her away from it all. Protection. Cold, yes, but safe.
Silence.
Then, they started melting. But they did not melt the way they formed. They did not melt as layers.
One day, she went to sleep.
One day, she woke up.
One day, they were gone.
