The frost bites deep into the stone. It bites into your skin. You are cold. You are so cold.

The cellar is dark. The dark is thick. It has weight. It presses against your eyes. You are Margaret. You are old. Your joints ache. The ache is a fire. It burns slow. It burns bright.

You hold the bottle. The glass is thick. It is heavy. It hums. A low hum. A deep hum. The hum vibrates in your teeth. It vibrates in your bones. You do not drop it. Your hands are steady. They are strong. They have been strong for a long time. They have held many things. They have held bread. They have held knives. They have held this bottle. The bottle is yours. It is the only thing that is truly yours. The rest is dust. The rest is memory. The rest is decay.

You remember the day you bought it. It was winter. The snow was high. The shop was small. The shopkeeper was old. He had no teeth. He smiled. He gave you the bottle. He said, "It is old. It is true." You paid with silver. The silver was cold. You wrapped the bottle in cloth. You carried it home. You hid it. You hid it here. In the dark. In the cellar.

The cellar is your world. The world above is noise. The world above is light. The light hurts. The noise hurts. You are not meant for the light. You are meant for the dark. The dark is kind. The dark does not judge. The dark does not ask. The dark just is.

You sit on the floor. The floor is stone. The stone is cold. You lean against the wall. The wall is rough. It scrapes your back. You do not move. You stay still. Stillness is power. Stillness is peace. You breathe in. You breathe out. The air is stale. The air is sweet. It smells of damp earth. It smells of old wine. It smells of life.

You look at the bottle. The bottle looks back. It has no eyes. But it sees. It sees everything. It sees your face. Your face is old. Your face is lined. The lines are deep. They are like rivers. They flow with time. Time is the enemy. Time is the thief. Time takes your hair. Time takes your strength. Time takes your name. But it cannot take the bottle. The bottle is eternal. The bottle is stone. The bottle is truth.

You think of Thomas. Thomas is dead. Thomas is gone. Thomas was your friend. Thomas was your anchor. He was young. He was bright. He laughed often. His laugh was a bell. It rang clear. It rang true. He loved the cellar. He loved the dark. He came down often. He brought candles. He brought books. He read to you. His voice was soft. His voice was warm. He told you stories. Stories of the old world. Stories of kings and queens. Stories of magic and myth. You listened. You believed. For a moment, the dark was not dark. It was a stage. You were the star. He was the light.

But Thomas changed. Thomas grew tired. Thomas looked at the bottle with fear. He said, "Margaret, it is wrong. It is bad. It is not natural." You shook your head. You said, "It is mine. I earned it. I suffered for it. It is my right." He frowned. He left. He did not come back. He died. He died young. He died in the light. The light took him. The light consumed him. You were sorry. You were angry. You were alone.

The bottle hums louder. The hum is angry. The hum is loud. It shakes the dust from the ceiling. The dust falls. It lands on your shoulders. It is gray. It is soft. It is death. You brush it away. You do not care. The dust is nothing. The bottle is everything.

You stand up. Your legs are stiff. They crack. They pop. They protest. You ignore them. You walk to the shelf. The shelf is wood. The wood is rotting. It crumbles under your touch. You pick up a key. The key is iron. It is cold. It is sharp. You take the key to the door. The door is heavy. The door is locked. The lock is rusted. You put the key in the lock. You turn it. The lock resists. You push. You push hard. Your muscles burn. Your heart beats fast. You are not weak. You are not done. You are not finished. You are still here. You are still fighting.

The door opens. The light floods in. The light is white. The light is blinding. It sears your eyes. You squint. You step out. You are in the hallway. The hallway is long. The hallway is empty. The walls are bare. The floor is wood. The wood is old. It creaks. It groans. It sings. You walk. You walk fast. Your feet are bare. The floor is cold. You do not feel it. You feel only the bottle. The bottle is warm. The bottle is alive.

You reach the stairs. The stairs are steep. The stairs are narrow. You climb. You climb fast. Your breath is ragged. Your chest heaves. You are gasping. You are burning. You are rising. You are ascending. You are leaving the earth. You are leaving the past. You are leaving the pain.

You reach the top. You reach the door. The door is open. The night air rushes in. The air is cold. The air is sharp. It cuts your face. You step out. You are in the courtyard. The courtyard is square. The courtyard is paved. The stones are gray. The stones are wet. The moon is high. The moon is full. The moon is white. The moon is bright. It shines on you. It shines on the bottle.

You look up. You look at the sky. The sky is vast. The sky is deep. The stars are out. The stars are many. They blink. They twinkle. They watch. They judge. You do not care. You hold the bottle tight. You raise the bottle. You raise it high. You raise it to the moon. You raise it to the stars. You raise it to the world.

You shout. You shout loud. Your voice is raw. Your voice is broken. It tears at your throat. It tears at your soul. You shout, "I am free! I am free!" The words echo. The words bounce off the walls. The words fly into the dark. The words vanish. They are gone. They are dust. They are nothing.

The bottle cracks. The crack is small. The crack is thin. It is like a vein. It is like a tear. It grows. It grows fast. It splits. The glass shatters. The liquid spills. The liquid is dark. The liquid is red. It flows. It runs. It soaks into the stone. It soaks into the earth. It soaks into you.

You look at your hands. Your hands are red. Your hands are stained. The stain is deep. The stain is permanent. You cannot wash it off. You cannot scrub it away. It is part of you. It is part of your skin. It is part of your blood.

You fall. You fall to your knees. The stone is hard. The stone is cold. You fall to the ground. You lie down. You lie still. You breathe. You breathe in. You breathe out. The air is sweet. The air is stale. You smell the wine. You smell the earth. You smell the death.

You close your eyes. The dark returns. The dark is kind. The dark is soft. The dark is home. You are home. You are safe. You are free. The bottle is gone. The weight is gone. The hum is gone. The silence is deep. The silence is loud. The silence is true.

You remember Thomas. You remember his laugh. You remember his voice. You remember his fear. You understand now. You understand the fear. The bottle was not yours. The bottle was a cage. The bottle was a chain. The bottle was a lie. You held it tight. You held it too tight. You broke it. You broke yourself. You broke the world.

But it does not matter. The breaking is done. The pain is done. The fight is done. You are still. You are still. You are still.

The moon moves. The moon rises. The night deepens. The cold bites. The cold takes you. The cold is your friend. The cold is your lover. The cold is your end.

You are Margaret. You are old. You are free. The frost bites deep. It bites into your heart. It bites into your soul. It bites into your bones. You do not feel it. You do not care. You are gone. You are dust. You are nothing. You are everything.

The stone is cold. The stone is wet. The stone is still. The wind blows. The wind howls. The wind sings. The wind weeps. The wind remembers. The wind forgets. The world turns. The world spins. The world lives. You are dead. You are gone. You are free.

The dark is thick. The dark is deep. The dark is true. You are in the dark. You are in the light. You are in the middle. You are in the end. You are in the beginning. You are in the space between. You are in the breath. You are in the silence. You are in the hum. You are in the crack. You are in the shatter. You are in the stain. You are in the blood. You are in the earth. You are in the stone. You are in the frost. You are in the ice. You are in the fire. You are in the water. You are in the air. You are in the void. You are in the all.

You are Margaret. You are old. You are free. The bottle is broken. The weight is lifted. The chain is cut. The cage is open. The door is wide. The path is clear. The road is long. The road is dark. The road is true. You walk. You walk. You walk. You do not stop. You do not turn. You do not look back. You do not feel. You do not think. You do not speak. You do not exist. You are. You are. You are.

The frost bites. The frost bites. The frost bites.