The not-really-all-that-faithful-but-whatever English translation of de iarnă pentru mai lung, because, well, the chances of speakers of Romanian around here? Don't make me laugh.
winter for a while longer
Ele sunt un fel, dar eu nu sunt.
The look on Mal's face might have been funny, had Polly not known why this was really not a good thing, not at all.
She moaned. "Remind me, Ozzer, why did I think it was such a great idea to join the army, again? I must have forgotten, on account of what I remember not being worth this."
Polly frowned, or rather, tried very hard to frown, but she was sort of half-frozen, and any actual movement on the part of her muscles was more or less negligible. "You never actually told me why you did, Mal."
Mal sighed and shifted, and Polly was expecting an explanation of the ever-mysterious backstory of Maladicta et cetera et cetera whatever-her-last-name-was, but it never came. A frigid arm wrapped around her shoulders. "'m sorry, Pol."
"It's okay." No, it wasn't, they both knew that.
They sat there in silence for a while, and whether it's hours or minutes that pass, Polly can't tell. "You should do it now," she said quietly. "Before you lose control."
Maladicta nodded, looking like she was trying to convince herself. "I love you," she whispered, breath warm on Polly's neck, chapped lips ghosting over bare skin.
She cradled the girl's body, tears flowing freely, and told her about her past. It would be winter for a while longer, after all.