meta | climate change
▌░░ { ♛ } —— Angrboda had heard stories of the the kind of how, reflected by the wealth of window and steel to be had far and wide ( & high ), that new Babylon called NEW YORK was scorched by the sun, uncharacteristically hot for a relatively northern seated province bobbing just off a coast. She'd first arrived smack dab in the middle of winter, just after windows blown down from the upper reaches of Canada had laid down five feet of snow across the city. Needless to say, she hadn't been impressed, already accustomed to chill and then some, and certainly more fearsome than the paltry squall the ground the metropolis to a faltering pace for a day and a half.
Then spring had arrived. And after it, summer. New York summer, with it's true to rumor eighty be damned degrees, could go fuck itself. Rightly. Angrboda could always be found, compacted tight as possible within her skin and spread out before an air conditioner turned full blast as the fiery depths of Muspelheim materialized outside her front door.
