One Minute Writer Friday Fiction Prompt: Fire

She wrapped the quilt around her tighter and sipped her tea.  Her chair was pulled up as close to the stove as she could get without setting herself on fire.  Still cold to her very bones.  Her jaw hurt from teeth chattering so hard that it shook the chair.  The cat had climbed up curious and with a startled cry, landed on the hearth and stared at her in alarm.

She knew she smelled of the dark and not a pleasant smell of moonlight, but of things that can’t be mentioned.  She wished she had never been caught out in it but nothing to do about that now.  The thing was done, the rune carved, now all she could do was wait and hope that the living warmth of the flames would wake up her chilled blood and let her hang on to this life because outside was something else, some place else, and even though she went by choice – she never wanted to be close to that again.