So I stand on the snow covered window-ledge, contemplating the drop into the drifts far below.
"That'll be some drop, my boy," the Wise Man says, sitting on the ledge beside me. "And that snow seems awfully cold."
"I don't care," I tell him. "I can't even feel the wind blow, can't feel the snow fall, can't feel what should be heat behind me. I can see it, sure, and I know it should be there, but I just, I jus-" I choke on my words as the Dark seems to loom towards me, its talons reaching out for me. I turn to look at the Wise Man, the fear of death and the fear of living raging inside me, looking for the answer. Longing for the right thing to do.
The Wise Man says nothing, simply points out at the sky. Beyond the heavily falling snowflakes, the Dark seems to grow, until there's no escape from it; even the white of the snow has vanished.
Then, in an instant, a shard of light pierces through, then another, and another. The Dark vanishes, bellowing with rage as the sun rises, lighting up the world, setting the ground ashimmer. My hair flaps about in the breeze, and I can feel it! The frozen air bites at my cheeks, and it is wonderful. I take in a breath of pure air, and all the smothering apathy I was once engulfed in vanishes. A snowflake falls into my empty palm, and I swear I have not seen anything as beautiful.
I turn to look at the Wise Man again, but he's gone. Instead, I hear an echo on the wind.
"It's always darkest before the dawn."
But it's getting nippy now; time to go back inside.