My fingers felt cold against the window, the frost on the other side of the pane nipping against my skin. Quickly I pulled the fingers back, not enjoying the feeling of my skin freezing against the glass. Gaunt and tired, I saw my reflection in the window shining translucent in the candle light.
“Why are you here?” she asked.
I jumped back and yelped at the reflection’s words. I wrung my hands together, warming the cold fingers as she stared at me intently, curiously, strangely. “Why are you here?” I replied, watching her intently and seeing her hands work to warm themselves as well.
The girl crumbled into a ball next to the reflection of the empty fireplace, staring at me with scared face. “I’m cold. When is Daddy getting home with the wood?”
“I’m cold,” I somberly agreed, laying down by my fireplace. “When is Daddy getting home with the wood?”
I watched as the little girl nodded. “At least I’m not alone.” Her eyes closed, her thin and gaunt face becoming pale as she lay there.
I stayed where I was, next to the empty fireplace, watching her, waiting silently to see if the reflection in the window pane ever moved again.