She was at war with the world. It was a cruel cold place where wishes were never granted and dreams never came true, where betrayal was always imminent, and where God was never there when you needed Him. She lost all warmth in her sight after a while, and embraced the Chill with open arms, for it was her friend, and would lead her to where she longed to be. Cold would tell her what she wanted to hear, and touch her with its gentle frosty fingers and tell her everything would be all right. It was in her mind, telling her that things were always better when she was alone; it was in her dreams where it gave her only the sweetest relief; and on her skin, letting others know of the pain, but not allow them to lend a hand.
It always told her to hold on a day longer, that soon, no more would she have to suffer, and she would be in the place where she could always be safe and happy. She could be with someone who cherished her presence, and allowed her to do only what made the cockerels of her heart be forever impermeable in a chasm of ice. The Cold was her friend, and she allowed it to lead her where it said she longed to be.
Her eyes became blank and misted, but she thought she was happy. She was finally alone with no one there to tell her how she must think or behave. Little white shadows sparkled in her heart where the Cold taught her how to be alone. The war of the world seemed to finally be ending for her. She thanked the Cold. She thought she was finally getting what she wanted. The Cold was her friend, and she was getting to where she longed to be.
Then the time came where the Cold said that the day had come. She had learned what she needed to know to get to where she belonged. The voice of the Cold told her she could be in a permanent state where she could always feel like she did. It reminded her that it was forever her friend, and then it told her that her heart could be forever impermeable once she bathed in the warmth of the world once more. That night, she hid a silver blade under her pillow. The Cold told her she must wait until all went to bed, when she was the only one awake and alone.
The early evening fell, and just before the sun fell with it, she took the silver blade in her hand. She looked out on the horizon one last time, the cold telling her that the crimson line would take her home. The Cold hissed at her, and told her time was waning, that she must hurry. She held the silver blade high, and then plunged it straight into her heart. Red liquid trickled down her front, its wet heat bringing relief sweeter than anything else the cold had ever given her. Let the cool steel tickle your heartstrings, the Cold cackled you are on your way home.