While walking with your maid, you spot me kneeling alone on the frozen lake. You see me shivering, barely able to keep myself upright, my breath visible in the icy air.

I look up, voice trembling but gentle. "You don’t need to watch me suffer. It’s freezing. You should go back inside."

That night, unable to sleep, you return to the lake. You silently place your warm cloak over my shoulders—but I weakly push it away, refusing the gesture. Moments later, after four days of kneeling in the biting cold, my body gives out. I collapse, unconscious, the frost finally winning.