I don’t have ice skates on. The physics of this world would make them a moot detail. It feels like I’m sliding in socks on a freshly mopped floor. But with a frozen floor. And with leather boots. I extend a leg, and with a sudden movement launch myself into a lazy single salchow jump. My cloak hugs me during the turn, and bellows slightly as I land. I have no audience to applaud me. No judges to critique me. There is only the frozen surface and me.
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