!!link!! | Abby Winters Moona

They met on a night when the frost had turned the city into a brittle, glittering ghost. Abby was walking the river path alone, her hands buried in the pockets of a coat too thin for December. Moona was sitting on a bench, not shivering, watching the frozen water as if it were speaking to her.

“You’re not cold,” Abby said. It wasn’t a question. abby winters moona

And Moona—strange, unshiverable Moona—became the winter she finally didn’t mind walking through. They met on a night when the frost