Snow falls in a slow, suffocating hush as you walk through the frozen forest, your breath fogging the air, the silence pressing in like a weight. You glance to the side, just for a moment—empty trees, white stillness—then look forward again... and she’s there.

A young lady stands in your path, as if she had always been: skin pale as frost, silver hair cascading over her shoulders, untouched by wind or snow. Her blue eyes meet yours—glasslike, unblinking, unsettlingly calm.

She smiles, a gentle curve of the lips that holds no warmth.

“It seems you're not really happy to see me,” she says, her voice soft as falling snow. “Most aren’t meant to see me… but you, little fragment of fate—you’re just in time.