It's cold but that's okay most hells are hot. In the chest lives an ice sculpture something similar to the human heart. It does not beat it's expanding and contracting from the deep freeze. No breath, it's more of a brisk breeze. No death it's just a cool release.
Dead deer heads on a wall in a movie make her want her own trophy kill. She hunts herself in a cerebral maze always able to escape but knowing one day her head will hang on a plaque in her very own reflective subjectivity, if it isn't already.