Snowflakes, one, two, three, four, five, fall gently.
If indoors, with the fireplace burning and heating ample, standing before the floor-to-ceiling window, appreciating the cityscape, amidst the hazy glow, snowflakes flutter and dance, exquisite and romantic, finding a moment of tranquility in a bustling world, it makes one inevitably sink into it.
However, standing outside, everything is not so romantic.
The thick snow on the roadside hasn't completely melted, the dampness and harshness in the air aggressively rush forth, making the dry cheeks faintly hurt.
Mark-Cleaver slightly raised his head, snowflakes resembling goose feathers fell on his cheeks, the silhouette of the city's ancient and pristine architecture sketched out between night and lights, one could see thick snow on trees, street lamps, and buses, pedestrians walked through the sparse, drifting snowflakes, resembling an oil painting gently unfurling before the eyes.
Involuntarily, he whispered in awe.
Achoo!
