Sofiel startles awake to the violent shaking of her shoulders and the frantic tapping of her cheeks that nearly borders on hurting one evening.

She grimaces, groaning at the shrill sound of her name piercing through the air like a siren, and would have gotten away with ignoring it if it weren't for the persistent assault on her body forcing her eyes to open – her bleary vision to focus onto the figure looming over her.

"Sofiel!"

"Abigail...?" she rasps, trying to squint past the fog of sleep that is still bogging down heavily over her as it seems.

Granted, she doesn't need sleep as much as the next celestial being does, but in the days of her fall from heaven, it has been more of a means to an end – a way to kill time while she awaits her fate.

A way to forget.

Though, of course, like everything else, it comes with its downsides too. In which case – the disorientation that comes upon awakening.

It takes Sofiel three hard blinks and a good rub of her eyes to realise that the 'fog of sleep' isn't so much as something metaphorical as she had initially thought to be, but an actual corporeal fog.

A snow fog.

When it finally hits her, it is then does she realise that she's buried to the chin, blanketed under a thick, thick layer of snow that is also falling over them in swirls of white petals. All around, the wind howls, a plaintive cry in the distance, and as it brushes them by quite brusquely, Abigail shivers, buckling down on her bright orange parka with a wince.

"What are you doing out in a weather like this?" Sofiel frowns deeply, perturbed.

The hands over hers are noticeably lacking in its usual warmth, almost shaking from the cold, and it's most alarming. Because heaven knows how fragile the mortals are. They freeze and they burn; they can perish from the heat, they sure as heck can perish from the cold too.

"It's not safe for you to be outside."

"I can say the same to you too!"

She glances up at the mortal's face, trying to get a better read on her, but it doesn't help when she's bundled all the way up to her nose, her maroon muffler flapping wildly behind her in the wind, hiding away everything but her vivid blue eyes that are flashing bright with indignation and worry.

"I told you there was a storm coming, and I also told you to seek shelter at the homeless centre now, didn't I?"

"Yes, but – "

I'm divinity and the cold doesn't affect me like it does to you.

Not that Sofiel can say that out loud.

Abigail lets out a resounding groan of exasperation.

"Here I was, hoping that you would actually heed my advice for once." With a grunt and a heave, and some effort, she manages to haul Sofiel up to her feet. "But of course, you never listen." Frantically, she pats the remaining stubborn snow off of Sofiel and props the fallen angel up against her leaner frame, securing an arm around her waist. "You never do."

"Where are we going?" Sofiel asks, raising her voice to speak over the roar of the wind while they begin their slow trudge through the heavy snowfall.

"Where do you think?" The mortal tugs her close, steadies her when she stumbles and nearly loses her footing over a bump that she can't see through the blur of white and grey pelting all around them. As far as Sofiel's eyes can see, it's a complete white-out, and it's almost a marvel that Abigail knows where they're going. "Some place warm, obviously. Before the storm gets any worse."

"I don't think it can get any more worse than this."

Abigail barks a laugh, and despite the poor visibility, Sofiel still manages to catch the tail end of a wry smile as her maroon muffler unravels around her slightly.

"Oh, you have no idea."