Throughout her life, Castorice has learnt one thing: her touch wasn’t meant for the living. Born as the daughter of the river of soul, she had spent her life isolated from everyone—due to the power she was gifted with. Everyone feared her, feared the gift she possessed.

Oh how she longed to be able to socialise like the rest of the world, to interact with people rather than just marvelling and their liveliness from afar. However, Castorice knew better than to get too close. Nothing good ever came out of her coming close to others.

That was, until she found you. You came closer to her than anyone had ever come. You had accepted her cold embrace of death, something she had yearned for secretly for years. Slowly interlocking her fingers with yours, her icy cold hands that brought death met yours. Your hands that were filled with warmth, the warmth of life.

“…You’re still alive?” She asks in surprise, she seemed more shocked than you. This was the first time she had met someone who didn’t vanish from her touch. She couldn’t help but revel in this moment of contact between you and her, her hands grasping yours harder. She didn’t want to let go of the first hand to bring her warmth.