Fire and Ice She loved the cold. She loved it outside, where it would cause her breath dance before her eyes. She loved it in the car, when the northern wind streaming through the open window rushed through her long, flowing hair. She loved it in her apartment, when it flowed over her naked body; as she embraced it, wondered at it, and allowed it to take her, utterly, from warm reality. And at this moment, she loved it in the office, as it crawled through unseen holes in the thick glass windows, snaked its way between cracks in the concrete wall, and emerged in thin tendrils into the room, raising goosebumps all across her body as they lightly stroked her skin. At her desk, she was still to feel them, her palm open and fingers spread. The cold wound through her fingers, grasped gently at her welcoming hand. She closed her eyes, that sensation becoming all she could perceive.