Inside she placed blankets, lanterns and a small stove.
It wasn’t beautiful.
It wasn’t comfortable.
But it will survive.
The first snow fell early.
Too early.
It covered the city in a thick, silent layer before most people had finished their autumn preparations.
“It’s just a coincidence,” they said.
But Eleanor knew better.
She stayed home, checking her supplies and replenishing what she could.
Then the temperature dropped dramatically.
Quick.
The wind howled through the valley, stronger than anyone could remember.
They shook windows, ripped off roofs, and froze everything that was left outside.
Despite this, the residents did not lose hope.
“Winter can be harsh,” they said.
“We’ll manage.”
But it wasn’t just difficult.
She was relentless.
In the second week everything changed.
There was a shortage of firewood.
Food supplies were dwindling.
Roads disappeared under layers of ice and snow.
And the cold… the cold was seeping in everywhere.
Houses that had stood for decades began to fall apart.
Cracks appeared.
The door froze.
The fires were barely burning.
One night a storm broke out so violently that it engulfed the entire city.
The wind howled like a living thing, rolling through the streets, shaking the walls and tearing tiles from the roofs.
Inside, families huddled together, trying to keep warm.
But that wasn’t enough.
Eleanor sat in her shelter and listened.
The storm up there was deafening, but down there it was different.
