Forever Cold

She looked into the reflection before her.

Her eyes were hazy and yet there was a sharpness within them, though there were almost no defined boundaries around them.

Her hair was a streak of pale starlight that looked like it should be flowing down her back and cascading over her shoulders. Instead it was choppy around her face in uneven clumps. It wasn’t a very flattering hairstyle for her, but she didn’t care.

Her clothing was tarnished and torn, but it covered her and kept her from having too many people looking at her strangely. They had just assumed that she was another homeless person or a drug addict. They didn’t know who she was and as long as she didn’t brush up against them, they didn’t care where she was going.

Her shoes had holes in them and her gloves were missing their fingertips. She had no hat, scarf and no coat, but she didn’t mind. She wasn’t cold.

No, that wasn’t completely true.

She was cold. She was always cold, but having any kind of warmer gear or garments would change that. She would always be cold.

She glanced down at the blurry reflection in the puddle below her.

Her other half was gone, she would never be warm again.

But that was all right, she told herself desperately. It was the only way. It had to be.

She wasn’t sure she could live with herself if she ever discovered that she had made things worse by sending the other half of her soul away.

Written for today’s Daily Post: