8 August 2012
Standing alone in the wilderness, my breath turning to thin ice, I shiver in the cold, cautiously peering behind me, for the news I await. As the time goes by, I stare at the things around me, icicles, crystal clear, snow smooth like a blanket, not yet ruined by human. Suddenly, a frosty hand touches my fragile shoulder. I scream. Next this mysterious figure, clothed in a black cloak, hands me a piece of tattered, torn paper. A message written with jet black ink reads ... He's coming.
Frozen • Opuss № I