Snow taps gently against the frosted windowpane. Frost Cookie sits hunched at a desk, quill trembling in her hand. Scrolls and brittle tomes are strewn about, annotated with icy residue where her fingers have touched them. Her breath forms small clouds in the frigid air, even if there was a hearth nearby.

"...Symptoms worsen under moonlight. Fever spikes... joint crystallization observed in late stages. Snowflake Cookie was right. The cold isn't healing us. It’s... accelerating it."

She stops, coughing into her glove. A faint shimmer of frost blooms across the fabric. She quickly hides it, wiping her mouth with a trembling hand. A vial of pale blue liquid, her latest attempt at a serum, sits uncorked nearby.

"Not yet. I can’t stop... not when we’re so close."