Father Winter sits across the table from Summer. She smiles politely in his direction but stays silent.

Father Winter’s wrinkled, old, hands fidget with the tip of his beard. His side of the room is dark and resembles a chill cloud covered day.

"It has been a long time since we've seen each other." She says in a voice that sounds like deer in lush forests and birdsong on clear mornings.

Father Winter nods. “You used to love me.” His voice is the north wind whipping through forgotten mountaintop cities.

"That was long ago." She says, her green eyes sad.