cakeMind if this is set on the 15th?
i have come curiously close to the end.
cakeIt was snowing outside. Again. Lighter this time, the snow took longer to reach the ground, and, lost in her head, Talitha had spent some time watching it. Sometimes she found it impossible to leave behind her thoughts, and they chained her down and forced her focus to work against her. The thoughts clouded her blood-red eyes, until they filled her consciousness with things to leave behind. Yet when the silence got too much, she would always find a way to break it. Standing abruptly, the girl left the window, guitar strap slung over her shoulder. Her walk was casual, her eyes curious but not wary; she seemed to be alone. Alone was good. Alone was something she was used to, and the familiarity made her comfortable.
cakeSubconsciously, she knew what she was looking for, and found it fairly quickly. First impressions aside, Talitha wasn't lazy; her languid movements and laid-back speech might have given evidence to the contrary, but she wasn't afraid of hard work. Earlier in the day, predicting her own future, the girl had (with some difficulty) chopped some wood and brought it inside. She was sure there was some already there, but this fact was an irrelevant thing. She could take care of herself. It was this wood she found, next to the old fireplace. Temporarily abandoning her instrument on the sofa, she set to work.
cakeSome time later, before a slowly growing fire, the girl sat with the guitar in her lap. Her wavy hair, reddish in the firelight, hid her face from the world, and idly she fingered the various chords the books had taught her. It was peaceful, but she knew with the certainty of a survivor that it wouldn't last forever.
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