It never really snowed like that back in Wurtembul -- she kept having to catch herself and try to remember the name had been changed to Rizenbul somewhere over the centuries -- so while the baby was sleeping, and the girls were upstairs playing with Elysia, Delilah wrapped a cloak around her shoulders and carefully stepped out into the garden.
Snow. She'd seen it a few times, but it always melted far too quickly, and it was far too cold back then to enjoy it. Usually though, winters were chill and muddy and gray. Not this sparkling, thick blanket of pure white.