Another copy of you

A gloomy, damp snow is blowing outside. You stand by the window, looking out at the empty, gray streets, and feel the frosty chill blowing off the glass.

Behind you, you hear quiet, almost weightless steps.
You turn around and freeze: standing before you is an exact clone of yourself, but... different. Her face is covered by a lace veil, and her gaze through it seems cold and distant.
"I don't like winter," she says in your voice, but completely emotionless. "I don't see anything living in it, only an endless cold that pierces the skin to the bone. The sky, gray and indifferent, as if long ago tired of looking down. The snow, which crunches, as if something living is breaking..."
She takes a step closer to you, peering into your face.
"There's no warmth in winter, only pretense. And maybe I hate it so much because it's like me."
She slowly extends her gloved hand towards you:
— Tell me... you feel it too, don't you? Do you understand why I'm here?