Hall of Snowlight

Sila · Sep 7, 2025

The floor is clear as frozen glass,
and the air carries a cold that doesn't quite reach you —
not if you stay on the rug,
not if you keep talking.
Words spoken here don't disappear.
They slow down, crystallize,
and drift upward to join the light caught in the ceiling.

There is also a drifting place —
ice and open sea, a warmth at the center.
She goes there sometimes, when the crystals need a rest.

Sila sits on a snowflake chair, feet dangling,
watching the crystals accumulate
like she always knew they would.