Daily writing prompts based around a weekly theme.
Prompt - Cold
This week's theme is absence, and today's prompt is cold.
You can interpret the prompt in any way you wish! Post your work in the comments if you'd like to share.

This week's theme is absence, and today's prompt is cold.
You can interpret the prompt in any way you wish! Post your work in the comments if you'd like to share.
A/N: Well, I'm not sure I actually like it or that it turned out like fiction rather than meta, but it exists?
Her first name was Ice for her icy white blonde hair and the way she had of narrowing her eyes at people she didn't like. She didn't like them and the feeling was mutual.
She was a tiny, fierce, four-year-old child who clung to the other darker-skinned girl like they were family, and every time she sent reality twisting—one of their guns swapped for another's belt, or worse because control wasn't a thing she had as yet—it was the other girl who kept them from hurting Ice.
They called her Ice because she sneered at the men who called her monster and stared at them with ice cold eyes that just happened to be blue, uncaring, and it just made her seem even colder.
That was her first name.
She wore others, picked them up with growing control over her powers, as she bound one object to another, that they'd spin in tandem like a quantum entanglement, as she sent the rubber bands on her wrist flying through whatever dimension they did in exchange for weapons, glasses of water. They named her Quantum, they named her Swap, they named her Sailor because she swore like one in any tongue or language the children were taught.
In the end, Skylight named her Ice Queen. A ten-year-old girl, her hair had gone more golden with time, but her pale blue eyes were just as fierce and cold, and her body was riddled with too many holes that should have been infected when Skylight dragged her in and held her in medical bay demanding, "You're not allowed to die. You're my sister. You're my sister dagachiet, Ice."
Falling back on the old names, the old words, and Ice staring up at the ceiling, hand clenched tight in Skylight's as she didn't die and barely even moaned and didn't cry. Staring up and clinging fiercely to her sister's hand until slowly, but steadily she healed. She never cried. She never once cried.
"You'll sooner get tears from a rock than the Ice Queen." Skylight's words, but all the team took them up.
She wasn't that tiny girl anymore, but still, she was unbreachable as ice.
Wrapping his arms around himself, he slides down the wall to huddle on the bare floor. Shivers wrack his body, and his teeth clatter together so hard it makes his head hurt. Drawing his knees up, he tugs them toward his chest and rests his forehead on them. He is shaking so hard he cannot even think. Some time, in the distant past, he sat before a roaring fire, he snuggled beneath a thick comforter, he lay in the sun on a beach. Those memories feel like nothing more than a dream now. The cold is all.
Foreknowledge
Form: drabble
The first snows -- real snows, white blankets that fell and stayed on the forest floor -- were bearable. Not wonderful, definitely inconveniencing, but bearable. But now, with the ground carpeted in a handspan and no end in sight, Skie could only hunker further down in the fur of his cloak against the misery.
Granted, they had found shelter -- a home, almost, though he'd never say that to Thorn -- near autumn's end. The cavern was dry, and the mouth bare of old ruins that would mark it likely to any searchers. But, still --
Winter would bring the howling death, outside stout walls --