Val sat alone inside her room. The window was cracked open, quite literally, A large crack in the glass let in a nipping draft. Val laid down in her bed, looking at the roof. Her blanket was itchy. Plenty of holes had formed in it. Her pillow was hard. The few feathers that remained in it poked through and would prick her face as she slept. She would use her scarf to help her sleep. She always wore her scarf. When was the last time she hadn’t? Before her father passed, she thought, though she could barely remember a time like that--could barely believe a time like that. It had always been cold. That’s how it seemed.

Val got out of her bed and went into the kitchen. As she walked, she looked into her mother’s room. She sat at the bedside with her hand gently placed on the covers. She’d done this every day for a while. Val would go out to the shops, Val would prepare food, Val would clean--she gave up on that last one. Cleaning was a fruitless effort. More frequently Val’s mother started to have these… episodes? Val didn’t know exactly what they were, she was no doctor. She had considered calling one, but that would cost her more money than she could afford. Her mother didn’t work, and neither did she, but she was considering it.