There is a brief fountain of ice-black blood, freezing everything it touches, in the second before the wound ices over. The hand still attached to the sword turns to clear ice; a new one grows in its place, also made of lifeless glassy ice at first, but darkening slowly into the same colour as the rest of Winter.
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timeasmymeasure
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Date: 2014-06-25 07:21 pm (UTC)He giggles the whole time.