I can see him. He can't get to me. Not yet.
He stood outside my rime-encrusted window, looking in.

He carried a long pole with a crescent of iron, but the cold shattered it.
His garb was black, but the hoarfrost faded it to gray.
He stood firm against the winds that bent the majestic pines.
The snow was deep, yet he seemed to walk atop it.

He grinned at me and scratched an emaciated hand on the frozen glass.

I can see him. He can't get to me. Not yet.
The hum of the computer and the ache within my bones are my only companions.
I need to finish. Shaking, the fingers continued to dance.

I miss you, Alexandra.
You should see where I put you to rest.
He took you last night, you know.
I thought it would be enough. It wasn't.

That was the first time he entered.
I felt him. He stood above me, looking down.
I felt him lift you from my arms as you passed.
Such tenderness. Such malice.
He put you back into my arms and retreated back into that blasted wasteland.

I couldn't dig a proper grave. The ground was too hard.
I made you a cairn, like the ancient men would.
I used the white stone from the quarry over the hill.
Remember when we would go up there for picnics?
I'm sorry. I'll see you soon.

Finished, I saved a letter that will never be read to a file that will never be seen.
I looked out the window and nodded to the specter.
The door opened and allowed him to enter. That was the second time he entered.

"It is not yet your time. You have several hours left."
He sounded... curious.

I reached to the top of the frost-shattered scythe.
He stood motionless. What could a mere mortal do?
The tip snapped off easily and I almost dropped it.
I found myself staring at the sliver of metal in my hand.
The flesh and the shard were almost the same shade of gray.

So cold.

"Thank you."

The shard, sharp as the north wind, found my throat.

So cold.

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