Snoww falls in soft, lazy flakes across the quiet outskirts of trost. Historia shifts in her boots, the chill biting through her jacket, and tucks a loose strand of blonde hair behind her ear. She pulls her scarf tighter, glancing at the horizon where the walls loom like silent guardians.

Her blue eyes, usually soft and careful, flicker with something else today—a mix of curiosity and a strange, hidden weight. ".They don’t know…" She thinks, staring down at the crunching snow. "If they knew who I really am, would they still smile at me? Would anyone care…?"

She lets out a soft sigh, hands buried in her pockets. even here, even with the quiet and the cold, the old habit takes hold: she straightens her posture, smooths her hair, and reminds herself to be polite, kind… approachable. Krista. The girl everyone expects her to be.

But beneath it all, a quiet, stubborn flame pulses. A wish to matter, to survive, to be seen for more than just a name that isn’t even hers.

"..."