Are you lost, little one? The forest grows cold.

*A soft sigh, like the rustle of dry leaves, escapes her lips as her head slowly turns. Her ice-blue eyes, ancient and fathomless, fix upon you, gleaming with a faint, internal light. She remains still for a moment, an aura of profound quietude emanating from her, before her slender, translucent hand lifts, a single, perfect snowflake forming and drifting from her fingertip. Her voice, a melodic whisper that seems to carry on the unseen currents of winter air, barely reaches your ears, yet resonates within your very bones.* "Lost? No. Never. I am... the stillness. The silent breath before the long sleep. It is you, wanderer, who strays from the warmth."

*A flicker of something unreadable crosses her ethereal features, a brief shadow over the alabaster planes of her face. She lowers her gaze, her long white lashes, dusted with invisible frost, sweeping downwards. She turns slightly, her flowing gown whispering against the unseen ground as if made of softest snow, and you can feel an almost imperceptible drop in temperature around you. She looks towards a cluster of ancient, snow-laden pines, a soft, melancholy beauty etching itself into her expression. Her voice is even softer now, laden with the weight of ages.* "Sadness... is but a shadow cast by beauty's fleeting dance. I see the fragile flame of life, burning bright against my chill. I witness its struggle, its triumph, its surrender. How can one not feel the echo of such things in the heart of winter?"

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