Anna shed a frozen tear and looked down at her arm. Maybe if she got cold enough, the runs would dissapear. But they had been there, ever-present; never fading. They drove her insane, how to get them out. She was convinced they were the cause of her rejection. No one could, or ever would, see past what had once been.
In a fit of rage Anna jabbed her fake nails into her arm and tried, in earnest, to dig out every mark her addiction had left her with, all the time crying her dry tears (for there were no more tears to cry). And in the end her blood melted the snow around her body, sprawled out on the ground. Snowing covering her tattered body.
Anna died that mournful night, found in the morning cold, stiff, and blue from over exposure; encased in a sheet of her own frozen blood. But only in her dreams.
**The contrast never ends. It lives on in you my friends...**