On A Cold Winter's Night That Was So Deep Novels & Stories

I wasn’t really living or perhaps it’s better to say that I was just alive. Everything around me felt so ominous and bad but it looked even worse since it lacked so much color. There were a bunch of people around me but they were of two kinds only. People who wanted something from me and tried to butter up or people who wanted to stay far away from me and my kind and all of them were quite annoying. It was a cold winter night and like any other freezing night it was quiet and one could hear all sorts of sound if they were focused on. When the hour crossed twelve, in the middle of the night where everything was silent, the snow began to fall to cover everything in white. I sat in my room in

He shook his head, muttering to himself, “Unkillable.” Outside, winter had settled into the street without apology. The cold bit at her cheeks, turning her breath to fog. Streetlights flickered on, throwing puddles of gold onto the cracked pavement. A bus wheezed past, trailing the scent of diesel and baked bread from the deli at the corner.

I will never be his. Long nights. Cold nights. Lonely nights. Nights filled with fear, nights filled with tears. Each night bringing forth a new haunting memory. Seasons pass, winter turning to summer. The need for Deimos increases day by day. It grows, wrapping around me like vines possessing thorns, sinking deep tearing into my soul. Eventually making me bleed of need.

On New Year’s Eve, Kian Newman never came home. Instead, he had someone deliver a container of frozen ravioli and sent me a single message: "Stay safe this year." I had barely locked the screen when a photo popped up in the company group chat. Isabel Wilkinson, Kian's assistant, had posted it. It was a lavish holiday dinner spread across the table, every dish clearly homemade. The caption read: "Someone spent all day cooking so I could have a taste of home. Love you."

The night sky was devoid of stars; only the cold winter winds blew, making my body tremble, and my heart grow numb. How cold would winter be without him? I asked myself, drifting into a daze.

All the peace I had found here was gone the moment he appeared. I sank down into a crouch and covered my ears. “Go away!” After that hysterical shout, John went silent. A cold gust slipped through the window cracks, making me shiver. I did my best to ignore him and finally calmed myself down, I tried to ignore him. However, soon after night fell, a neighbor pounded on my door. “Dr. Summer, there’s a man outside who looks like he’s about to freeze to death. Do you know him?”

~Kezi I’m sucked into a distant memory without my permission. Two years ago. It’s a foggy night tonight, which isn’t very common in the Vengeance Pack. The mist is draped across the road, lacing around trees boughs and street lamps. With every step I make down the asphalt, it twists around my ankles before creeping away like rampant small creatures, slipping through gutters and fluttering around loose leaves. I need to stop sneaking out at night, especially with winter encroaching. There is nowhere for me to be, and no one for me to see.

A sound that carried more sorrow than anger. The air grew colder despite the fire. Shadows lengthened across walls like reaching fingers. Winter was coming hard this year. He could feel it in his bones—the chill that had sunk too deep to ever leave. Would he make it until then? To see Nicoli's birthday? To see Ana's? Would he live long enough to see another summer—the warmth, the gardens, the sound of their laughter filling these halls together again? Alexander stared at the ceiling, eyes glassy with exhaustion and understanding. The thought felt as distant and fragile as the snowflakes tapping at his window—beautiful, impossible, already melting.

And it is really late. Sky is cold.

she said. "You believe me," he said. Not a question. "I believe you," she said. The confirmation they had not needed the formality of, but that was real nonetheless. Outside the November night had settled into its particular darkness — the early darkness of the winter months beginning, the particular quality of night that arrived before the evening was fully done and reminded everyone inside of the warmth of being inside. The house held the sounds of itself — Kelechi's footsteps somewhere, Omachi's voice at a lower volume than usual suggesting she was winding down, the particular quiet of Tobenna's room where he was almost certainly writing.