On a cold winter night, snow had just begun to fall — soft, white flakes drifting from the sky like silent whispers. A man lay on the frozen ground, wasted and still. His eyes, half-lidded and dull, held no spark, no fire — just the hollow weight of someone who had lost the will to live.
There was no one around. No voices. No footsteps.
Only him… and the vast, open sky above, scattered with stars that shimmered like distant dreams.
Then the snow began to fall in earnest — flake by flake, gentle and calm. The cold wrapped around him like a quiet shroud, and still, he didn't move. Not even to shiver.
The night was beautiful.And he was alone in it.
Huff… huff…His breath came out in misty bursts, vanishing into the cold air around him. Each inhale stung his lungs, each exhale a struggle. His body trembled slightly, but not from fear — from exhaustion.
His eyes, heavy with sleep, tried to close. But then… a light.A flickering glow in the distance.
A lamp.
A small tavern stood in the snow, warm light spilling from its windows. He blinked. Was it real?
"Huff… huff…""A bar… out here, on a winter night?"
A small bell clinked softly as he pushed the door open. Inside, it was quiet — too quiet. A single man stood behind the counter, drying a glass. Mid-forties, maybe older, with a thick moustache and a worn-out look in his eyes.
No customers. Just the two of them.
The man trudged forward and took a seat at the bar. The bartender glanced up and gave a nod.
"Hello there, young man. What can I get you?"
He barely lifted his gaze."One glass… of the cheapest wine you've got."
"Alright," the bartender replied without judgment.
He poured a small amount into a cloudy glass and slid it over."Here you go."
The man reached for it slowly, fingers numb. He held it for a moment but didn't drink — just stared into the dark red liquid, his reflection rippling with each shaky breath.
The bartender studied him, then spoke softly."You look tired."
The man didn't answer.
"Oh— I didn't mean to offend," the bartender added quickly."It's just… your eyes. They look like someone who's lost everything."
The man finally lifted the glass.And drank.
Then he let out a dry chuckle."Heh… says the man who looks just as tired."
His voice was calm, with the ghost of a smirk.
The bartender grinned."Hoho… you're not wrong. I am tired. But your eyes—they carry a weight heavier than mine. So… want to talk it out?"
The man didn't respond right away. He simply stared at the bottle now, eyes unmoving.
Then:"One more glass."
"Okay..." the bartender said, refilling the drink.
"How about this," he added with a grin, "I'll give you that second glass, and a place to sleep. Just a sheet by the fire — nothing fancy. In exchange, you tell me your story. No customers in the winter, only you. So... entertain an old man for a while."He placed the bottle on the counter beside him."I'll even throw in the rest of the wine. Deal?"
The man raised the glass, took another drink, and exhaled.
"Huff... you assume I have nowhere to sleep just because I look tired?"
He looked up for the first time, eyes sharp despite their weariness.
Then a faint smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth.
"Deal. But this story of mine..." he said, voice calm and level, "It's quite unique."He leaned back slightly.
"Prepare to be amazed.""And try not to wet your pants — 'cause it's really fucked up."
"Huff…""Huff…"
The tavern fell silent again, save for the soft crackle of firewood and the gentle fall of snow outside.