Time drags itself across the plains of this barren landscape, fighting to slouch another pace forward into the assault of winter's air. The whole of creation is penetrated by jagged blue melancholy, seeping through the imperfections of our shells and invading our bodies like an awkward lover, all fingers and tongues fumbling towards our dark places, deep inside the recesses where we've hidden away our fires.
But we do not all sleep. We do not all hoard our flames in secret chambers. Those forgotten and dismissed, the discarded remnants of something once grand and impenetrable lay hidden in plain slight, shattering the glassy blue haze of winter's long night with a crimson chorus screaming one universal truth, that there is nothing left to lose, and everything to gain if you only try.