The snow had begun right after breakfast, looking out at the silent town the white colour of the winter snow now dominated my scene. The snow had subsided just hours ago, the high crescent moon just peeking from behind shallow clouds. White lights from the closed shops along the main street could be seen partially hidden from the conifer thats side I had not parted from since the snow had reached its fullest. Although the dense branches hid my presence from the vision of any strangling eyes of the townsfolk, nearly a mile away from my tree atop the mountains trail, my footsteps could still be seen trenching up the path, the indent of my sleigh at their side, they were half filled with snow and as it began to rain I shivered with delight as the only hint towards my location was being washed away so that even the most respected of bloodhounds (In this case the word "Bloodhound" is referring to a detective) could not spot my clandestinity. The hour could not have reached midnight since my sensitive ears had not felt "the tolling of the bells, Iron bells! What a world of solemn thought their monody compels!" the words of Poe enter my thoughts, how the poet and weaver of tales would drool at my situation, his brilliant crazed characters mirroring my own actions. The air lifted and I again shivered in the cold, frozen air, the rain not showing any signs of subsiding. My body was cold, but my thoughts were so warm that the frozen wool socks in my boots could not be acknowledged. I chuckled quietly to myself in fulfilled delight. The deed had been done. I had extinguished the center of my past mutilated wounds of lust. The object of my torture now lay dead beneath this enclosed pine. No blood had been spilled and no naked, or perhaps even specialized eye would ever find any means of abrasion. His death had been his own, the life in his heart, though petite had been taken by his own darkened conscience. The price of a broken heart had been that of a torpid one.