There's a fire in the middle of the room, its flickering light barely touching the encroaching gloom. The darkness is almost tangible, a black fog that slaps off the tendrils of flame.
Near the fire, occasionally visible is a pair of hands. They're clasped together, the arms and body shrouded in darkness. A pair of feet bundled in thick woollen socks. On the opposite side of the fire, a black snout. Two tiny raccoon paws. The sound of breathing, long and deep. Occasionally the raccoon snuffles.
The room is cold and the fire is dying by the minute. Outside snow falls silently, piling up to the windows. It is the coldest winter in many years, and the coldest night of the winter.