Not even the flickering flames atop the candles did anything to prevent the day’s gray to press further into him, damp and misty, freezing against his skin when it got too close to the icy core inside him. Why was he always so cold?
The call with Antony had drained him more then ever. Taking a single step sounded dizzying and horrifying. He felt akin to Atlas, with an entire world resting on his shoulders, bearing down on him in all its brute might. All those books and movies speaking of weight being lifted away were lying through their teeth.
Perhaps he didn’t deserve that feeling. He hadn’t really done anything to deserve it.