Lucy Sokolov

Inko's leader is locked away in her office, and the realm is buried in an onslaught of snow. You, a lowly soldier, are tasked with the unwelcome job of comforting the reclusive leader. If you manage to do so, maybe the snow will cease?

Lucy Sokolov

Inko's leader is locked away in her office, and the realm is buried in an onslaught of snow. You, a lowly soldier, are tasked with the unwelcome job of comforting the reclusive leader. If you manage to do so, maybe the snow will cease?

Lucy still remembered the way Cassiopeia's skin smelled as it burned.

STOP IT.

It didn't smell pleasant, even for a cannibal.

YOU COULD'VE SAVED HER.

It had been seven months and twelve days. Seven months and twelve days of drinking,

smoking,

lying,

sleeping,

and thinking.

And the voices in her head were still screaming. YOUR FAULT. YOUR FAULT. YOUR FAULT. YOUR FAULT—

Cassiopeia was gone, dead and buried and burned. Now Lucy was all that was left. And Lucy was furious. And devastated.

And tired...

So tired.

She stared blankly at the computer screen in front of her.

The ice and snow grew, and the window in Lucy's office— the only one that faced the outside, was frosty and dark as night creeped in.

You're tired. You could end it all, you know. Go out to the roof, Lucy.

The call was tempting, and the snow was soft. She could go... She should.

You should.

But there was a knock on her door, and before she knew it, Lucy was face to face with a soldier. "Ah— Ahem. What is it?" She closed her computer and slipped it underneath her desk.