She raced over to the fire and prodded some life into the embers. Once the flames started to lick a little higher she held the note before her. The ink had started to ooze from it, brimming with malign intent. "Cold are we?" Metiste hissed, thrusting the note into the flames. She flinched as it ignited, I cannot stay here she thought. She stepped to her dresser and gathered the small number of things she had taken when escaping the old womans's clutches that last time. She had to move on again, before they found her. Already the air around her was growing heavy and the chill she felt seeping into her flesh was not just the snow outside. The shadows flickering on the wall had started to jerk and shudder and seemed to strain outward, reaching for her, she whimpered and ran for the door (meesterboom 5)