Inside a small wooden cabin nestled high atop the frosted peak of a mountain, Reno sat quietly, his eyes subtly tracing the intricate carvings on the table before him, his thoughts occasionally flicking to the majestic figure seated across from him.
The air was thick with a chilling serenity, the faint sound of wind rustling through the distant pines barely piercing the thick walls of the cabin. Across the table, Eishardt, in her human form, sipped from a crystal goblet of iced tea, her every movement filled with an air of grandeur and cold elegance.
Eishardt's human form was nothing short of perfection, a living masterpiece crafted by the hands of nature itself.
She was beyond beautiful—a vision so ethereal that she seemed almost unreal, as though carved from the very essence of winter.
Her skin was pale as freshly fallen snow, her hair a shimmering cascade of silver that flowed like liquid moonlight down her back, reaching her waist.
