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Windswept

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Gone are the cogs that kept the big house in working order. It should be strange to learn the secrets of the house, but Sue finds that she takes to it easy. There’s comfort in cinching the belt of old pants tight around her waist and braving the eddies of snow to chop at old logs. Once she has an armful and muscles that burn, Sue trudges back in for warm kisses on her frosted skin. Just as Sue is windswept, Maud is wordswept — hair all askew and ink-stained. But she is warm, and warm around Sue.

"Your fingers," Maud coos, squeezing them with hers.

"You’ll fix me right quick, though, won’tcha?" Sue worms her fingers against Maud’s neck, making her squirm. It’s wonderful, oddly enough.