Mónika-Elma Art
And Again
The chilly wind stuck to her like honey and seeped into her bones like dye—she wasn’t made for this cold, no she was not.
Despite the layers of clothing she had on, the cold just bit right through her; it takes a few tries to light her cigarette because her fingers are frozen, and she curses lightly under her breath, sending out a puff of cold air into the freezing atmosphere.
Finally, after what seems like an eternity, she manages to light one; the bright amber tip being seen from quite a distance away in the blue background.