This is Jezebel in Hell

The snow sets on branches and you know it is winter. The cold, it bites into your skin and the frost feels familiar as it settles a thin layer of ice over your world and you know it is winter. Everything is colored in a uniform shade of white. It's death. When the air turns crisp and yet unforgiving, you know it is winter. But when you are Tremere. It is always winter.

And I have always hated the cold.

Maybe it is time to turn up the heat.