Scribble: Snow globes are sinister, aren't they?

      She perched by the window, fogged as it was, staring across the frosted field, and beyond the gnarled, bare limbs of trees. Blowing the steam rising from her mug, her silver-gray eyes drifted to the clock on the wall.
      Seven o'clock, as always.
      A tremor shook the house, as the snow across the field rose up, scattering across the horizon and air above. Falling onto her back, the observer could barely keep from slipping from consciousness by the scalding tea now permeating her clothes.
      Above, a giant eye, peering down into her window from the formless void beyond, watched with glee as snowflakes settled once more onto the frosty ground.
      She awoke, still in her bed, cold sweat drenching her sheets. The nightmares were getting worse with every night's slumber. She peered over at her alarm clock, hidden beneath the remnants of last night's cleaning binge.
      Seven o'clock, as always.