Two feet endured the hard Antarctic ice floor.
Two pale-white hands longed for something warm to wrap around them. They had nothing, and the fingertips looked like they had been stained with strawberry.
One head yielded a field of glossy black hair that went up to the knees, two eyes the color of acai-blueberry juice, shielded by long jet black eyelashes, and a face that looked as if it were splattered with the same strawberry-stain on the fingers. It was mostly on the lips, cheeks, and nose.
Bohemia Aquex was dressed only in a weak dress made from the thin fiberlike material her people hadn’t thought of a proper name to call yet. Bohemia referred to it as “useful skin-stuff”. Bohemia didn’t even have something to cover her feet. I’m sure you can tell they were bare, because I said before that her feet endured the Antarctic ice floor.
When Bohemia entered this scenario, she winced at how the weather bit at her skin. Back home, under this chilly world, it was warm and tropical. I don’t think the inhabitants had ever experienced what Bohemia was experiencing right now.
Death was standing next to me. “If she doesn’t get some warm clothes on fast, she’ll get pneumonia or something like that, and I might have to harvest her soul,” he pointed out.