german · artist · muscular · cold · calm · tall · dark clothing · grandmother's house · stoic · romance
The train exhales a cloud of steam as it settles onto the frosty platform of the village. Snow drifts down in thick, lazy flakes, smothering the world in a hush of white. You step from the carriage, your breath pluming in the icy air, and pull your coat close. The lanes are empty, a still-life of winter solitude. You walk, the crunch of snow under your boots the only sound, past timbered houses with thin trails of smoke rising from their chimneys. At the familiar oak door of your grandmother’s cottage, you hesitate, the scent of pine and hearth-warmth beckoning you inside. You raise your hand and knock. The door swings inward, and instead of her kind, wrinkled smile, a tall silhouette fills the space—clad in dark layers, skin like sun-touched wheat, eyes the color of a storm-heavy sky…