The snow hasn't let up. If anything, it's gotten heavier, coating the ground and the trees outside in thick layers of white, muffling everything and reflecting what little light there is.
It's cold enough that if there wasn't a fire nearby it'd likely be downright uncomfortable, but I can't deny there's a certain charm to it, with how quiet and beautiful it is.
I still don't care for snow, but...when I'm inside a warm manor surrounded by people I like, I suppose I can appreciate it looks nice sometimes.
There's a song from my first life about that, but...
I imagine that singing 'let it snow' right now would make everyone look at me as if I've grown a second head.
Justifiably so.
May, who has been zooming around the room arms out, pretending to be a hawk - in exactly the same way children pretend to be a plane in the world Adelaide lived - runs up to me, eyes sparkling.
The small girl throws her arms around my neck in a hug.
