He stood up, the legs of the stool screeching against the floor like a winter gale. He didn't finish the drink. Instead, he buttoned his coat, the first spark of heat returning to his chest.
"Let’s go," he said. "Before the freeze sets in for good." Cold as Ice
"The ice is safer," Elias muttered, his breath hitching. "Nothing hurts when it's frozen." He stood up, the legs of the stool
Elias looked at his reflection in the rye. He saw a man who had become a statue to avoid the sting of the wind. He realized then that being "cold as ice" wasn't a defense—it was a slow way to disappear. He stood up