Lawson The Penguin Updated | Jayme

She’d seen doctors. Specialists. A man who claimed to read auras and suggested she was “emotionally allergic to summer.” Nothing worked. So Jayme simply adapted. She wore snow boots in July, slept with a small fan pointed at her feet (the heat they generated was, paradoxically, unbearable to the rest of her), and avoided carpeted areas.

Jayme stopped. The penguin stopped. It turned its head, fixed her with a bright, bead-like eye, and then looked pointedly down at her boots. A single, crystalline drop of water slid from her heel onto the pavement. jayme lawson the penguin

The only thing not perfectly ordinary about Jayme Lawson was her feet. She’d seen doctors

Inside was not a derelict warehouse. It was a cathedral of ice. Frozen waterfalls cascaded from the ceiling. The floor was polished mirror-smooth. And in the center of it all, rising from a throne of crystalline frost, was a man made entirely of frozen starlight. So Jayme simply adapted

“Jayme Lawson,” the man whispered, his voice the crackle of a glacier. “The last of the Winter Souls. You have been dormant long enough.”