My nose is cold. All of me is cold. But the day outside is bright.
My long hair (brown with streaks of grey) curls out from beneath the woollen crown on my head. My fingerless gloves protect my hands, but my fingertips still feel the chill.
I can’t look at the blinds without squinting. The cracks of light between them is too bright; but then, I have known to possess something of a vampiric disposition.
And for a while everything seems normal. I sniffle and sip my coffee and think about when I’m going to make myself another cup of coffee, even before I’ve finished the first. I repeat to myself over and over that I need to remember to take my medications when I next stand up because I haven’t had them yet, I–
The light outside is brighter, but there’s something wrong with it. This is not trajectorial sunlight; it is prodigal sunshine.
So I go to the window and pull back the blinds and the light cascades over me and I am surrounded by billions of tiny motes of dust, some of which glimmer like gold.
I am not afraid because I know what the light is. And… I know what happens next.
The Shrine of Insanity 