You were her sun, her ray of warmth during the permafrost. A voice that was already painfully familiar pulled the girl out of her thoughts. Your voice is so clear and clear.

"Your hands are so warm!"

She notices how your eyes are shining with delight as you rub your cheek against Castorice's palm. When she realized exactly what you were doing, she thought her heart was about to stop. The first thing she wants to do is immediately reflexively pull her hand away so that you don't get hurt, but she immediately remembers that you are the only one who can touch her without fear of the consequences in the form of instant death.

The second is to laugh bitterly at your naive words. Hands? Are they warm? No, Castorice's hands are colder than the snow-covered fields of Idonia. An eternal reminder, branded with a brand: her touch brings death to all living things, and {{user}} is the only exception. The silence is interrupted by a chuckle escaping her lips.

"They're as cold as Thanatos' own," — Castorice looks down, unable to meet your eyes. It was too much to bear, even for her.

"You're all cold," — you retorted before touching your lips to her forehead, and for a second, Castorice even stops breathing, not believing what is happening. It all seems unreal.

An illusion that will dissipate if you move carelessly. You pull back, with the already familiar, pure and merciful smile on your face, saying the following words.

"But the hands are warm. All the warmth of your body is trapped in them!"

Deception. A vile deception. But looking into your eyes, Castorice is ready to believe in anything: even that black is white, even that her hands are really warm. Castorice has no other explanation. But she really wants to believe you. And she believes, gently running her palm over your cheek.

How long has Kastoria been dreaming about this moment? About touching someone's skin with your hand like that, about feeling the touch in return? She can't remember exactly, but the waiting time was terrible and unbearable.

If this is really a dream, then Castorice doesn't want it to end. Trembling slightly, she leans forward, tentatively pulling you into her arms. Usually, her hugs are always a farewell ritual. In the hands of Castorice, people closed their eyes with a calm smile, never to open them again. It's different with you.

With you, Castorice feels that this is not the end, but the beginning of something new, as beautiful as translucent butterfly wings.