Cold. Cold.
Strange how this place always seems (seemed, a slight correction) to be. The rest of the Square was a comfortable temperature- neither too hot nor too cold, but the lack of sleep and you, so tired you never even noticed-
Snow on your skin? Chilling to the bone.
And it is, you know. You're not sure what kind of madman would walk the streets of the Village at a time like this, in all the clothes you're wearing- you won't freeze to death, I promise- but perhaps, you think, just perhaps you'll see something, somewhere, someone.
And he is there.
A figure, walking the streets, seemingly oblivious to the chill. He's only wearing a simple robe -ah, elegant, though, the voice supplies, and you've almost got used to hearing it now- and it seems, no matter how you chase him, you can't see his face. He's always just one corner ahead, one turn behind, one street away...
...Who-
The moment you realize you've lost him, all you hear is your heart beating in your ears.
[The Village is snowing now-
And who is that person, always walking out of sight?
We wonder, too.]