In winter, life itself is punishment for the impoverished.

There is little hope to be found in the slums of Novant. Crippled soldiers lay wasted in alleyways, drunk out of their minds. Street urchins run amok in rags, fighting with stray dogs for scraps. The truly destitute close their eyes to the world, helpless. The snow kills them all quickly. 

Families starve in humble shanties. They curl up by the fire, dry and warm and hungry. 

Theirs is a gradual end. 

Amidst this monotonous tragedy, Leah knows she is going to die soon. Like her older brother. She can feel it in her empty gut. For as long as she could remember, her stomach has rattled uselessly in her, demanding things it can't have. As a baby, she had all the milk she could dream of. She cannot fully remember it, when she was like that, but imagining it is better. That, at least, makes Leah feel a little warm inside. 

She isn't of much use to the family. Leah wishes she was. But she isn't worth much, really. Nothing but a tiny little thing despite lasting twelve summers. Worst of all, Leah is a girl. Her mama never forgave her for that. Papa always said, before he left because of her, that mama didn't love her enough to kill her. 

She's always felt there was something wrong with that, somehow. Calling it love. 

But Leah's always been too hungry to think much. 

Leah shakily rolls onto her side and with trembling hands retrieves the last of her wheat crust. It used to be her brother's share. She tastes it carefully, piously, eating it with slow fervor. Her stomach rolls with disgust—what once wasn't enough now feels like too much. She feels heavy instead of nauseously light as she swallows. 

Leah blinks in confusion. Her heart hurts, somehow. Obvious even through hunger.

"Mama? Mama... I feel funny..." Leah whispers. 

"Leah? You little bitch, talk to me... Don't fall asleep—Leah? Leah!" Mama shrieked.

Leah couldn't understand her to the end. Maybe she's too dumb. 

She hopes mama can forgive her that, if not the rest.

A hazy dream beckons, and suddenly, even the sharp pains of her stomach fade away. Is she dying? She can't tell. Surely, people wouldn't be scared of it, if it were such a pleasant thing. The hunger that has chased her ever since she could remember is no more. She falls deeper into oblivion and knows its name is death. Perhaps it was love after all.

Leah has never been loved.

She has never been loved, so maybe that's why she wakes up.