And the man in the coat led the way, his boots leaving deep tracks in the fresh snow.

We followed him, because there was nowhere else to go.

And the night was still young.

The wind chased us down the avenue, the red lights of the hospital fading into the distance.

And the empty castle built on secrets was left behind, a silent monument to a promise forgotten.

But the promise was not dead.

It was only waiting for the spring to find it.

And until then, we would walk in the dark, waiting for the light to return.

The man stopped at the corner, his hand raising to hail a passing cab.

The yellow light of the taxi cut through the grey storm, its tires sliding on the wet asphalt.

We got in, the heater blowing warm air that smelled of old vinyl and cigarettes.

The driver didn’t ask where we were going.

He just put the car in gear and pulled out into the night.

I looked out the back window at the hospital, its brick walls disappearing into the white.