Chapter Text
It was cold and his fingers were stiff.
It was always cold here – even now when the icicles that hung from the eaves of the roof began to melt – and his fingers were always stiff. No, not always. Dream could remember a time when his fingers were nimble, twirling his axe and undoing knots with ease, but that was before the prison, before each of them had been broken one by one. A shudder wracked his body. He could remember the sound the bones made as they snapped and the taste of the healing potions Quackity shoved down his throat, ready to do it all over again.
And when that had ceased to be enough, he remembered the shears, slick with blood.
Dream flexed his remaining fingers.
Next to him, Snowflake’s tail thumped against the floor and she rested her head on his knee with a low whine, looking for affection though Dream didn’t seem to notice. He stared out the window, past the frost that was melting on the window and leaving tracks like tears behind, out into the white of the arctic.
There was the beginnings of new life out there, stubborn blooms pushing through the snow, and Dream wondered why he felt so dead inside.