Perhaps this icy, snow-covered land would be her final resting place.
——
The palace room was as warm as spring. On a flower stand in the corner, a single proud winter plum blossom stood in a celadon vase.
On the large bed, a young woman with a deathly pale face lay. Her black hair spread over the pillows, accentuating the cadaverous pallor of her delicate face.
Soft white fingers wrung out a hot towel, gently wiping away the slight frost on the girl's face. The motion was so tender and light, as if the person in front of her was even more delicate than a porcelain doll.
Then, holding the girl's hand, she applied ointment carefully onto a pus-filled wound on the back of the hand. Afraid of causing the slightest pain, she carefully bandaged the wound with gauze.
The beautiful eyes watched the sleeping girl tenderly. Fingers softly traced the girl's features, as if trying to recall something from this face.
A long sigh was released after some time.
"You are...my pride."
——
