Mar 8
And from that sliver of earth, pushing up with impossible determination, was a single stem. Slender, pale green, topped with a drooping, bell-shaped flower of pure white. Its petals were edged with the faintest tracing of green, and a single drop of melted snow clung to its tip like a tear of joy.
The ground was thawing.
A slow, incredulous laugh escaped him. It was a small sound, barely audible over the wind, but it was real. And then, he smiled.
Hugo's never seen Varian smile before.
(roughly the middle of the story maybe)
+process
