Cold

  In her hands, she held a cup. In this cup, the last great adventure was held. Alone in her room, she could not find a reason to stay. It was cold here, just like all the people who had brought her to this place. It was this place that had, in time, made her cold.
  The cup that she held felt warm to her. Warmer, at least, than anything else she could remember touching. The need to feel warm was far from the reasoning that brought her here, but in this moment it was all that mattered.
  She brought the cup up to her lips, and closed her eyes. A single, cold tear ran down her cheek as she sipped the warm mixture of liquids that was held within her cup. It still felt warm as it flowed down her frigid throat and made it's way to her core. From there, the adventure spread it's way out, pulling her in.

  There were no tears shed when she was found. Only the cold detachment that embodied those whom caried her away.