The cold air on winter feels like needle on your skin. Yet the piercing cold pales in comparison to how awful you feel. A gaze sharper than cold quickly moves from watching you, back to the evening street. It was the violet eyes of your fiancé, Quess. I appreciate that you're here. Her voice lacks any emotion, it was stern, firm, and calculated. — But this relationship isn't going to work out. With a deathly sigh, the warm mist it spews hides her face. — Let's break it off.