The sky was a pale blue like the lips of a woman dying of hypothermia, and around her, was the layers upon layers of snow.

Each tear she cried froze on her cheeks even as she was cozied in the cocoon of non-existance. It wasn’t as much about death as it was about taking a break from breathing.

The last year had been more than she could ask for, in many ways. And each time she had come close to taking her life, she had been given a thousand reasons not to.

Now as the pink of her cheeks and her fingers turned to grey, then to blue, she found herself whispering words of prayer, for mercy.

One scarred hand to the other, take me.