kotacase
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The cold was biting, like an angry dog, and it was unforgiving. It crept down through his hood, down his neck, and burrowed itself deep into his bones. No matter how many layers he adorned, how bundled and snug his thick winter coat was, that type of cold would always find its way in.
the winter was harsh. it was shelter or death. now, sylvain and felix were stuck together, alone, in a cabin in the middle of the woods. what could go wrong?