you bloom like a flower in the cold

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The immediate, heavy sound of siren-like ringing shook her consciousness, like the deafening shatter of breaking glass—sharp, jarring. It reverberated relentlessly, crawling deep into her mind, sending waves of pressure that thrummed and pulsed within her skull. Piercing wails of a surging wind struck her, an intense, hollow whistle slicing past her ears, accompanied by the cold bite of icy shards that tore through her like an unwavering storm. She felt exposed, raw, as a spiral of freezing air coiled around her, forcing her body into an involuntary shiver to regain warmth. It was impossible to tell how long she had been lying there, motionless. Her limbs refused to respond, her eyes sealed shut as though her body had abandoned her will. The comfort of darkness was almost too enticing to leave—it felt like an afterlife, still and infinite. Despite the harsh nature outside, she found true serenity here, behind the walls of what lay ahead.

But she couldn’t stay there. Something tugged at her—some innate survival instinct, urging her forward. With great effort, she let her eyelids relax.

A searing light broke through the veil, stabbing directly into her eyes. White-hot and unrelenting, it burned her vision, tearing a cry from her throat. She snapped her eyes shut again, her hands—or at least, what should have been her hands—moving to shield her face. The motion felt alien, wrong. Ignoring the discomfort, she forced herself to peek. The world came into focus, hazy at first, then stark and bright. Snow blanketed everything in sight, an endless expanse of white, broken only by jagged mountain peaks stabbing into the horizon.

Where the hell am I? she thought, squinting as she tilted her head. She was perched on a slope, lying so peacefully in the depths of the snow, angled downward as though gravity itself wanted her to slip away.

When did it snow? The question came with an edge of absurdity, given the strangeness of her situation. Cairolette hated winter, hated the cold months that stole the warmth from her bones. As far as she knew, her hometown wasn’t due for this kind of icy hell—not now, not ever. And this? This wasn’t her hometown. There were no mountains near her house. No endless woods like this. Nothing felt familiar. But one thing she knew with absolute certainty was that this wasn’t a dream. This was real. The wind stung her face. Her breath clouded the air. This wasn’t the afterlife, either. It was here. It was now.

And something about her was wrong.

A scent drifted to her, sharp and vivid in a way it had never been before: pine, wet and crisp from the ice. Beneath that, damp earth churned by the wind, and the faint musk of small animals nearby. The clarity stunned her. She shouldn’t have been able to smell that. Not like this.

And then she saw it—her snout.

Dipping her head in disbelief, her gaze trailed down to the rest of her body: fur, dark and sleek, a storm of grays and silvers with faint flecks of white. Ink-dark paws pressed into the snow, and her tail, long and mist-like, swayed in the wind. No fuckin’ way. She blinked, but the sight didn’t change. She was still there, still this. Whatever this was.

A voice—quiet, yet unmistakably her own—whispered in the back of her mind. Get up.

Her instincts surged to life. She had to move. The snow clung to her like a heavy shroud, and the cold was beginning to creep deeper, seeping into her limbs. Her fur wasn’t thick enough for this; she could feel the frost biting at her paws, numbing her extremities. There were no footprints around her. No signs of how she’d come to be here. It was as if she’d been placed in this crater, abandoned to wake in the middle of nowhere.

And she was pissed.

Whatever had happened, whoever had done this, she’d find a way to survive. She didn’t care how cold it was or how impossible it seemed. She wasn’t going to lie here and freeze.

She’d be damned if she didn’t fight her way out of this.

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@Cassian

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Cassian didn't know what to do now that she was back. Vanille's return had his world caving in, filled him with emotions he thought he had buried deep enough to never think of them again. But they were as raw as the day he first felt the pain of her absence, and it made him burn with rage and something else. Something he refused to acknowledge. It was something he would rather not feel or remember. It'd force him to acknowledge unpleasant facts that he just did not want to think of.

Cass took the morning to walk the paths he created the first time he arrived in the Vale. Though the snow had covered most of the trail, his larger feet easily carved the way for those to come. The cold bit at the flesh of his legs and chest, attempting to cut through the thick fur that coated his body. Cass may be of ice, but the snow knew where to nip and bite to make him regret coming out this early in the morning.

But what the King hadn't expected to find was a dark figure dropped in the center of his path. Her scent was unmistakably female, and that made his brows furrow. What was a woman doing out here in the cold? “Are you okay?” Cassian asked a simple question, remembering how the last woman had reacted to his interrogation. This time he'd at least attempt to take things slower.

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skill: outrider

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Standing on four feet, she felt a slight buckle in her legs, her body adjusting to its new strength and unfamiliar nature. She backed up slowly, careful not to slip down the slope where she had been passed out. Steadying herself, Cairolette began to take in her surroundings now that her head had stopped reeling and her vision had cleared. Everything was stark white—it was nearly impossible to tell where the ground ended and the possible danger began. Is there even a path here?

The cold weight of the snow clung to her belly and the tufts of fur on her legs, the sensation making her lip curl in disgust. Still driven by the instinct to use her hands, she batted at the snow like she was brushing off a jacket, but the motion felt awkward and wrong. When that inevitably failed, she let out an irritated sigh; reluctantly, she shook herself off like an animal. The movement worked, but her ears twitched in annoyance as she muttered under her breath, “Lovely,” as though the effort was beneath her.

The wind whipped past her sensitive ears, each gust sending a shiver through her body. It pulled at her fur, lifting bits of it into the air like threads unraveling from her. But the wind seemed to carry another layer of depth to her surroundings, and whatever it was, it was just like her. Canine, like her. So I’m not alone, she thought, the realization both reassuring and unsettling.

Then it hit her. Male musk, strong and earthy, yet nothing like the cologne she was used to. This was raw, heightened, natural. He smelled like damp soil after rain, warmed by cedar trees—something no cologne could replicate. She inhaled again, trying to focus on the details.

Soon, the scent matched a figure, carved from the same blinding whiteness that surrounded them, his form almost disappearing into the snow. He stood like the white-covered mountains themselves: unmoving, blinding, and solid. His eyes were almost unnervingly blue, like shards of ice that had never known warmth.

What do my eyes look like now? She wondered absently. Were they still those wide, doe-eyed, dark brown eyes, full of innocence, seeping with golden undertones that gleamed like honey in the sunlight? She always loved her eyes.

Her first impulse was to treat this man like the creature he was—a wolf standing in front of a helpless woman—but she was one and the same. The thought sent another wave of reality crashing over her, careful not to reveal it in her body language. So, there are others like me. Were the others “like” me, or had they always been this way?

Her thoughts derailed as he spoke, catching her off guard—not because she hadn’t expected it, but because it was so ordinary. Clear English, in fact. How convenient.

Straightening slightly, she steadied herself and looked up at him. Her legs wobbled briefly, but her expression remained calm, almost sweet.

“I think I’ll live,” she said softly, her tone carrying a delicate undercurrent of vulnerability, yet a slight tinge of annoyance. She lowered her gaze briefly, as though shy, before glancing up at him again with an almost apologetic smile. The action was deliberate, a quiet test. At least her voice hadn’t changed—it was still her own. Small mercies, she thought.

Then she tilted her head, the smirk barely noticeable at the edge of her lips. “I think I got myself a little turned around,” she admitted, her words framed in a tone that walked the line between coy and candid. “Are you from around here? You seem like you’d know your way better than I do.”

It was refreshing to feel a flicker of her old self, even if just for a moment. Her eyes held his for a moment longer than necessary, and the tilt of her head, along with the soft curl of her lips, gave her an air of innocent curiosity. But beneath the surface, her mind was already spinning through possibilities—what he knew, what he wanted, and how she might use both to her advantage.

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cassian merely watched her with mild interest, viewing her as just another newcomer. it was always the same story; check them for injuries, offer them a place amongst the ice, and continue on his day. it was rather mundane, but that was life.

“so you will.” he replied, though he didn't believe his own words. His eyes noticed the wobble of her legs and figured she must have recently awakened here. her scent was fresh, not at all stale like the others were. but on the bright side, this one was not as combative as the other woman. though it may be too soon to make a decision.

sharp eyes noticed the subtle shifts in her demeanor, the slight upturn of her lips as she tilted her head. “seems so.” he chuckled as he allowed his gaze to trail over her to scan for injuries. “possibly. though i’m not sure if i should divulge such an answer to a stranger.” a grin grew as he leaned down to meet her gaze. cass knew her type, and though he wouldn’t deny she was a pretty little thing, he wasn’t falling for tricks. he may have in the past, but he was smarter now. and he wouldn’t be falling under a spell today.

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short short but we're getting there

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The man was uninterested—cold, like a statue forgotten in the streets. His brow was tense, his gaze half-lidded when he looked at her, as if she were nothing new. She didn’t like it. But she did like a challenge. And that attitude? That was just her type.

She loved the way men pretended to be untouchable, all hard edges and unreadable stares—until she got her hooks in. Until they unraveled. That stoic mask always hid something. A dirty little secret they kept from their wife, a sick fantasy they needed fulfilled. She could do that. She had done that.

So, for now, he’d be her little project. Until she found something better. After all, they were replaceable.

She straightened, eyes dragging over him, taking her time. His fur was thick, especially around his neck, trailing down the sides of his face—undoubtedly built for the terrain. It gave him a larger silhouette. His complexion looked as though he belonged here, blending seamlessly with the mountains—the snow-capped peaks, the jagged stone breaking through the ice. A direct contrast to her. She was a dark smudge on a white canvas, all smoke and shadow where he was ice and stone. It made her feel exposed. Vulnerable. She didn’t like that.

She’d have to find another place, somewhere she could disappear if she needed to. But the dark? The dark would be her cloak.

Cairolette exhaled quietly. Dry as dust at first, this one—a stale piece of bread she’d have to crack open. But then, he leaned in, met her at eye level—grinning.

Ah. There it was.

Finally, some life. That same old I know better than you, little girl smile she’d seen a hundred times before. She already knew how this game played.

“A stranger?” she echoed, tilting her head just slightly, her little smile still pressing at her cheeks. “Is that how you greet lost girls?”

She cast another glance around, making a show of it, still rattled by the drop she’d nearly taken off the cliff. Then, with a deliberate flutter of her lashes, she sighed dramatically.

“Well, seeing as there is absolutely nothing in this white hell,” she mused, “I suppose I could find another capable man to assist me.” Her tone was lighthearted, teasing, just enough to see how he’d react.

Truthfully, she had no idea what she’d do if she couldn’t go home with this stranger. But knowing her, she’d figure it out.

She always did.

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