mycursedface (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
mycursedface) wrote2010-02-12 09:31 pm
mycursedface) wrote2010-02-12 09:31 pm
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Medusa has never liked Milliways winters. Cold, snow, ice, cold. With living snakes combining with her mind, she feels herself growing slower, duller; with metal feathers growing out of her skin, it's only her preternatural healing that stops her from getting frostbite every time she goes outside.
It is morning, high mid-morning, with the sun streaming through the window. The very, very shut window - even Medusa's objections to lack of fresh air falter in the face of cold. The Gorgon herself is perched on a chair in front of the glass, staring out across the white landscape as her snakes absorb as much sunlight as possible.
(she is not alone, either; sprawled out in her lap and overcome with the bliss of constant petting is one Master Shreddie. Sun and scritches, nothing better in the whole multiverse)
It is morning, high mid-morning, with the sun streaming through the window. The very, very shut window - even Medusa's objections to lack of fresh air falter in the face of cold. The Gorgon herself is perched on a chair in front of the glass, staring out across the white landscape as her snakes absorb as much sunlight as possible.
(she is not alone, either; sprawled out in her lap and overcome with the bliss of constant petting is one Master Shreddie. Sun and scritches, nothing better in the whole multiverse)
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