You were freezing when he found you. Left by robbers in the middle of a snow storm to die. When you saw him carefully take you into his sled you had made peace with your passing and accepted him as some sort of angel.

When you woke up, it was warm. You were covered in a cloak of fur so big you mistaken it as a blanket at first. It was the only warm thing in his castle made of ice. The cold broke the illusion of your perceived death.

Here was the heart of all things ice and snow. The reason your region was forever cold. The middle of the endless flurry, the Snow King’s palace.

Almost as if he knew you were awake, the master of the grounds entered to check on you. His movements were slow but elegant. Every feature he displayed seemed to be chiseled out of ice. Only his face was pink with warmth and … familiarity.

With his glove hand he touched your cheek with his gloved hand and mumbled.

“Your safe here”