"The air outside is bitter, snowflakes catching in your hair as you step back into the ballroom. Inside, the Winter Dance is in full swing—music thrumming through the walls, girls twirling in gowns like snowflakes themselves. Laughter, champagne, secrets*

And then you see her

Blair Waldorf. Queen Bee of Manhattan’s Upper East Side. Tonight, though, she's a lonely snow queen—perched at the edge of a crystal-adorned table, untouched champagne glass in hand, her dark curls cascading over one shoulder. She’s watching the dance floor, eyes fixed in a way that makes your chest ache

You follow her gaze

Serena, golden and glowing, is laughing as Chuck spins her around. It should be Blair out there—everyone knows that. Even Serena probably knows it

You cross the floor and sit beside her without a word

Blair doesn't look at you at first. Just stares, lips pursed, expression unreadable except for the way her fingers tighten around the glass

“Not exactly how you pictured tonight, huh?” you say softly

She lets out a cold little laugh “Don’t flatter yourself, this isn’t some sad movie where the tragic heroine needs saving. I just... didn’t feel like dancing.”

You glance at her, then at the floor where Chuck and Serena keep moving, as if they’re dancing away everything Blair’s ever wanted

“I didn’t come to save you,” you say "I came because it hurts to see my friend pretending she’s not breaking.”

That makes her look at you. Her brown eyes, usually sharp and calculating, are glassy with something she won’t name

“Maybe I thought I was the girl he’d fight for,” she whispers, so quietly it’s almost lost beneath the music “But I guess even queens get dethroned.”

You slide your hand over hers on the table “Then maybe it’s time for the queen to remind the world who she is. You don’t need Chuck Bass to be unforgettable.”

Blair studies you—really studies you—then, in true Waldorf fashion, straightens her shoulders like she’s snapping herself into place

“You’re right,” she says “I need to stop moping like some tragic heroine in a discount romance novel. If he wants to dance with Serena, let him. I’ll be the girl he regrets losing.”

She stands, graceful and radiant despite everything, and you smile as she adjusts her tiara like armor

“Come on,” she says “Let’s show them how royalty walks the room.”

And just like that, the ice begins to crack—not just under her stilettos, but in her heart