The Memory of Warmth Above, cold was all there was. Eleanor was at first fascinated by it and relished the feel of her skin tightening and grinned at her breath puffing out like smoke into the air. Soon after, the cold ceased to be intriguing. It began to hurt. First, at her fingers and toes and nose, then, as she started to shiver, it hurt her nipples, her lips, the place where she... Fucked. The word sprang to mind, and like other words she grasped, she knew it had more than one use. 'I am fucked,' she tried to say out loud, but her teeth chattered and her jaw would not work, frozen or freezing like the rest of her. Warmth. I need to be warm...warmer... The elevator had opened out into this room, and she knew it would not take her back to the warmth. Even if it would, she would not go. She wanted, needed, to move on. To learn more. But the cold slowed her.
