Winter comes late this year. The ground ices beneath her, the twilight stars twinkle clear. She hates these sordid affairs, hates Hammerfest town, and hates the heat more. She breathes on the windows near naked and draws patterns in rime. Wanders the streets and kills flowers as she goes. Sits herself down on the harbour's edge, and stares at Summer where Autumn used to be. Once a time was, she could freeze the blood of man with her glare, now his can burn the flesh to ash. His face is full of flickering grin and madness beyond control, become like them, like Hammerfest, outside of time and weakness. Summer, murderer of kin, shaded by a chemical halo. For a while the world stumbles back and forth between them, caught like an awkward child. Men and women shivering and sweating in their shadows.

Eventually he shrugs, and fades to steam as if as a favour. Summer grows whisper thin but reaches out as he goes, brushing a single searing stroke down Winter's cheek. It blisters in an instant, it shatters her beauty, it is the only time they have ever touched. His eyes burn black, and Winter takes the pain unflinching.

Tears freeze in her eyes, but only with him gone does she choke out a single curse before she chills the northern wind toward bitterness.