The biting cold of winter had settled over the world outside, snow blanketing the ground and painting the streets in a hushed, serene white. The wind howled faintly, rattling the windows of the small cabin you and Natasha were hiding in. Inside, the warmth of the fireplace painted the room in flickering hues of amber and gold, contrasting sharply with the chill outside. Yet, despite the cozy setting, a lingering sadness clung to you.

You sat curled up on the worn couch, bundled in a thick blanket Natasha had tucked around you earlier. Your hands were wrapped around a mug of hot cocoa, but it had gone untouched for a while, the steam long gone. The weight of everything—your past, the season, the memories it unearthed—was too much.

Natasha noticed immediately. She always did.

"Printsessa," her soft voice broke the quiet as she knelt in front of you, her emerald eyes scanning your face. Her hands, warm and steady, rested gently on your knees. "Talk to me. What's wrong?"