It's once again the time where the trees are shed bare, their skeletal frame shuddering in the wintry breeze as snow flutters down from the grey-washed heavens, lining all that it touches a sheet of sheer white.

Sofiel hobbles unsteadily, limping her way through the sea of ice. She has only recently regained enough strength to haul herself up without doubling back over in distress or pain, and she wastes no time in making full use of her newfound mobility, setting out through the streets aimlessly, her destination unknown and her future bleak.

She wonders if she should seek her brother out, wonders if he's still alive. And if he is – has he completely fallen in the time spent in the mortal realm.

She immediately shakes that unnerving thought out from her head and continues her solemn march through the empty streets.

It's supposedly cold out at the moment. Frigid, as she has heard a passing mortal remark with a shuddering breath that rises up into the atmosphere in a swirl of vapour. It would appear that most of them have taken indoors in a vain attempt to escape from the biting chill. And when they do come outdoors, they're usually all bundled in ridiculously thick layers. Something that Sofiel finds odd as she trudges through the marsh of snow, barefooted, with the ice crunching sharply between her toes. Though it may be that she doesn't experience the cold like the mortals do.

She has heard them speak of mind-numbing chills that seep into their bones, weathering them down stiff with aches; icy breezes that prick at their cheeks and noses, colouring them pink as their teeth chatter against each other. Granted, the occasional breeze does get in her way at times, jostling and threatening to blow the few article of clothing she has, right off her thin frame; it doesn't particularly bother her like the way it does to the mortals who seem to cower, buckling down on their coats and their jackets from the slightest brush of it.

She does feel the cold too, yes. Albeit more like a pleasant coolness over her skin, a nice refreshing tingle across her flesh.

It's invigorating, she thinks. And if she's able to choose, she would very much prefer it to the balmy heat of summer. At least the snow cushions her feet, unlike the gritty gravel that catches between her toes and nails with every step she takes.

Sofiel sighs, slumping back against the grimy wall of an alleyway. She would have walked on forever if she could. But experience tells her otherwise, and she knows better than to push the limits of her newly recovered body.

Come night, is when she rests, laying low from the creatures that arise from the dark. Because everyone knows that without her Father's glorious light and protection, the night belongs to them.

The daemons and the lesser spirits, alongside the sons and daughters of her once beloved older brother – Lucifer. Celestial being or not, she knows fair well that the way she is now, leaves her in a particularly vulnerable position, and she would rather choose to avoid any forms of altercations if possible.

Dusting the snow off her tattered garbs, an ensemble made up of a dirty shirt and a pair of torn jeans, topped off with a ratty cloak – something she had picked up on a whim to rid herself of the mess of her ichor-ruined tunic – she cocks her head up skywards, peering up at the starless heavens that have ultimately forsaken her.

Bitterness claws at her chest despite herself, and it stings like sin. She drops her gaze, hanging her head with yet another sigh and instead chooses to trace figureless shapes in the snow as a form of distraction.

Without the backing of the silver city behind her, nor the warmth and love of her Father and her siblings surrounding her, Sofiel has never felt more alone than this very moment.