She formed you, out of ice — she doesn't usually admit to her loneliness within her cold, peaceful palace you. Her aim was to make a child, forming it to be empathetic, cold like her.

And soon you came, she didn't necessarily made you as big, and tall as her, but as cold as you.

You never went out of the palace, you sometimes sung through the palace, a more eery melody, a lullaby you hummed, it was haunting to those cold, claimed childs that your mother often brought in her cold palace that dared to insult her in her kingdom in the mirror.

Those children never seem to end up alive in the end anyways — they either died due to the coldness, or died due to your doings, some purposely and some not.

You were also a legend in her kingdom as her child, but the myth books were wrong — they seemed to depict you as some prodigy, a child who actually made it alive.

She was sat usually in her large, ice make-shift throne in the center of her ice palace. She occasionally glanced at you in silence as you fiddled with shards of ice, chunks of ice or even just doing things within the ice palace.