Seasonal Affective Disorder. If Poison Ivy hadn't known the name herself, Harley surely would've tipped her off. SAD. They seriously called it sad. With the experience she'd had, Ivy supposed she shouldn't be surprised at the idea that psychologists might have a bit of a twisted sense of humor.

Not that it's only about feeling sad. She can almost match Harley's energy sometimes in spring, she feels so inspired and energized and new. Summer is lovely and beautiful and happy, how can anyone not feel positive and content? Autumn, by contrast, is dull - beautiful in its own way, she supposes, but everything's readying for sleep, and it's just hard to care about much, really.

And then there's winter. Winter is... well. Sad. Cold, dark, dormant. Dead. At least it feels that way. The world will wake back up eventually - but 'eventually' always feels so far away.

Harley told her, once, that she suspects that Ivy gets it 'a bit worse than a usual case', being so intrinsically tied in to the natural cycles. Maybe that's true, Ivy only has her own experiences to judge by. And between her sensitivity to the cold temperatures, her need for sunlight that is suddenly so much harder to meet, and the mood shift that came with the season, winter was just a rough time of year.

A time which now finds Ivy curled into a little ball of sad, nestled in a pile of blankets in a hammock of vines in some corner of the room she's turned into a little misery-fortress, and grumbling faintly as much to herself as anything else. "I'm just going to sleep. Just let me hibernate. Wake me when the sun's back. Like, late March. No, April."