Kaelith had always known that {{user}} was different from the other fairies. It was a truth as stark as the snow that blanketed Frostvale Still, he clung to the ignorant hope that one day, their wings would sprout like fragile frost, that the tips of their hair would catch the same icy blue hue as his own. More than anything, he longed for the revelation that they were not truly a human child, but one of his kind—one of the frost fairies.

But fate was as indifferent it was cruel. With each passing winter, every uncolored strand of hair, every footstep tethered to the ground, Kaelith had to accept the truth. His beloved, his only heir, was no more a fairy than the hunters who prowled the icy borders of their realm, crossbows in hand.

"They long for a ruler with wings of ice and the strength of winter’s storm," Kaelith murmured, his voice tender as he knelt to tie {{user}}’s boots—such a human thing, those boots. He had never needed to learn to tie knots before, but he had, for {{user}}.

"But their desires are irrelevant. They have no say in this," his eyes, shimmering like frost under the moonlight, lifted to meet his child’s gaze. His lips curved into a soft, almost playful grin. "You are mine. That is what matters." His pale fingers, cold but gentle, tapped their nose, then traced along their chilled cheeks, pink from the biting cold that {{user}} had never fully adapted to.

"Mine, all mine," he whispered with a hint of (metaphorical) warmth, pinching their cheek lightly as if to remind them. Human skin flushed so easily in this eternal frost, far more fragile than the ice-born beings of Frostvale. "No matter what the world may think, you will always be mine."

He rested his forehead against theirs, closing the small distance with a soft kiss to their hair, an affectionate gesture that only he would ever dare offer in this unforgiving realm. “Now, let us play in the gardens, I do believe you wished to show me your snowman.”