A man sits by the hearth fire, dreaming.
His mind, fatigued, wanders over a wasteland of forgotten memory. He sees a loved ones face, sees a parting gift, a last farewell, an empty grave. He watches from a wintry hill, a burning manor, the screams, familiar. He walks among statues of black ice painstakingly sculpted, each feature, a masterpiece among many. He watches as they shatter before his eyes, destroyed by the gun held before him. His mind reels, spinning, shakes of the cobwebs of dream and memory. The man awakes, gasping, his eyes spinning wildly, his heart falters, within his chest. He falls back towards the far wall of the room, memory, flooding back, to reclaim its place inside his skull. He screams once loudly, and falls, his heart failing, limbs thrashing, he stills at last, release sought, is found, his body cools, beneath the flickering light.