Vanilla Skin

Wrapped in her favorite cream sweater, Clara sat in the silver pool of light, feeling a profound stillness settle deep in her bones. She held a warm ceramic mug of hot milk with both hands. Outside the large window, a million stars glittered like diamonds over the silent, snow covered village, a breathtaking but cold expanse that only made the rustic room feel cozier. She wasn't lonely; she was simply alone, a rare and precious state. Her gaze drifted from the cosmos to the open journal before her, the fountain pen resting like a silent promise. Just knowing the pages were waiting to receive the overflow of her mind was enough. It was a moment of perfect, self-contained contentment, where she was entirely comfortable in her own Vanilla Skin.