She loved the way snow set the slate of her life clean. The way it covered every imperfection and deadened every sound.
Her neglected garden became a soft blanket that hid weeds and brambles and bounced fresh winter sunlight onto her skin.
Her heavy footsteps and the sound of her mother’s voice telling her to “stop shuffling for goodness’ sake” were muffled by that musical crunch and squeak.
Her home became a fortress with its moat of impossible paths, her only visitors the pair of pheasants painting the canvas with their dazzling feathers.
Plus it helped her hide the bodies.
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