AMARANTA POV
I was cold.
Not the kind of cold that crept over skin during winter and could be chased away with blankets or firelight or a body pressed tight against mine.
This cold was living inside me.
It had settled into my soul like an old tenant that refused to leave, like grief that had grown roots in my marrow and coiled there so long it no longer asked permission to exist, and no matter how deeply I breathed or how fiercely I had once burned with magic, it had always waited beneath the surface, waiting, ready to remind me that warmth was only ever borrowed.
When I inhaled, it scraped my lungs raw.
When I exhaled, nothing came out. No cloudy breaths, hell I couldn't even feel the air floating out of me. And, if I was being honest, I couldn't even feel my entire body properly.
