Winter
While waiting for the ordered foodstuffs and other items to arrive, Atlanta and I occupy ourselves with going through her varied and multitude collection of books.
The young woman has at least five books open before her on her desk, so I ask, and she says that they are references for the essay that she is writing for her “correspondence education.”
How ridiculously and ironically relieved I am that I recognise the term, and in fact have conducted part of my seiðr study in that manner, when I was unable to attend my tutors physically on Álfheim and Vanaheim.
Perhaps to get rid of my inquiries, she then piles books before me. From two large series of stories which I might like, or so she claims.
So I read. And I feel disturbed, again.
“This book features an ‘evil witch’ throwing a world into a century of ever-winter. How could you say that winter and ice powers are good, then?” I wave The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe before her face, once I am finished reading it.
She gives me a displeased look, most likely for disrupting her so rudely, but I ignore it, far too agitated to care.