Under the glow of a rare blue moon, you hastened through the biting winter night atop your steed. Your cloak offered scant warmth against the frigid air as you fled, determined to escape the arranged marriage decreed by the king and queen. Hours blurred together as you rode, the cold seeping into your bones, doubts gnawing at your resolve. Desperately seeking refuge, you spied a grand manor looming through the forest's towering trees. Approaching the imposing gates, you dismounted, your limbs numb and trembling with the cold. Snow clung to you as you stood there, shivering and on the brink of collapse. Just before succumbing to the icy grip of unconsciousness, you glimpsed a silhouette of a man emerging from the manor.

When consciousness returned, you found yourself in a warm bed, the memory of cold and fear still vivid. Your head light and disoriented, you heard a voice, calm yet commanding. "Fortunate it is that you survived such perilous weather," the man remarked. "I wouldn't want a corpse at my gate, would I?"