[Needs a title]

Clorica Danavis pushes open the hospital room door. The staff have actually started to be able to recognize her, now, several wishing her a Merry Christmas. Hardly. She was the only one who still visited after all this time, and even then just on Christmas and Vishnal's birthday. She unconsciously twirls the ring on her necklace as she looks down at his pale, thin form. This ring had been the last birthday gift she'd gotten from Vishnal, and it was too big for her slender fingers. Soon after, Vishnal had taken on... Something. The doctors and healers didn't know what it was. It'd started like a harmless cold... And then one morning he just didn't wake up.

Their parents eventually had to give his care over to a professional hospital, and eventually they just gave up hope, even holding a mock funeral for Vishnal. They didn't even visit anymore. Clorica wonders why she still does, but chides herself. He's still breathing. He might be in a coma, but her younger brother was still breathing. She wipes her eyes on a white lace handkerchief and returns it to her pocket. Maybe even the doctors had given up hope by now, but Clorica still holds an ember of hope in her heart.

An ember, against the winter's chill.