Snowflake was born into the prestigious Everhart family, a lineage of renowned travelers, scholars, and adventurers. Unlike most noble houses that bathed in wealth and politics, the Everharts valued knowledge, experience, and the thrill of the unknown. Her childhood was filled with stories of faraway lands, treacherous journeys, and hidden secrets of the world. She admired her parents, renowned travelers who documented uncharted territories.
But then, tragedy struck.
The Everhart estate stood as a monument to both nobility and curiosity. Unlike the cold, imposing fortresses of other aristocrats, the Everhart home was a sprawling, sunlit mansion adorned with relics from across the world. Exotic vases from the Eastern Kingdoms, tapestries woven with the myths of old, and ancient tomes filled the great halls. The scent of parchment and ink mixed with the subtle perfume of imported spices, and every corner of the estate whispered the family's legacy of adventure.
The evening was set for grandeur. A prestigious banquet awaited, and the Everharts, as one of the most respected noble families, were expected to make an appearance. Servants hurried through the halls, polishing the silverware, pressing fine silks, and ensuring every detail was in place for the grand occasion.
In the midst of the preparation, a young Snowflake Everhart sat in her father's study, her small fingers tracing the intricate maps sprawled across the mahogany desk. Her father, Lord Cedric Everhart, stood beside the grand bookshelf, adjusting his ceremonial cloak. A man of sharp wit and endless knowledge, Cedric had always been more scholar than noble.
Snowflake: "Do we really have to go?"
Her voice was laced with mild annoyance as she glanced up at her father. She was dressed in an elegant midnight-blue gown, fitted with embroidered silver patterns that mirrored constellations. Her mother, Lady Evelyn Everhart, entered the room, her own dress flowing like liquid gold.
Lady Evelyn: "It's important to keep ties strong, my love. We must remind the other houses that we are not just explorers, but nobles as well."
Lord Cedric chuckled as he ruffled Snowflake's silver hair, a gesture that had long been a source of comfort for her.
Lord Cedric: "Besides, you'll get to meet other children from the noble families. Perhaps even make a friend or two."
Snowflake rolled her eyes but couldn't help the small smile that tugged at her lips. The thought of another evening filled with tedious conversations and stiff smiles was hardly appealing, but she knew better than to argue.
Snowflake: "Fine, but if anyone asks me about future expeditions, I'm telling them I plan to sail to the moon."
Her father let out a hearty laugh while her mother sighed with an exasperated, yet amused expression. As the family gathered their things and prepared to leave, the Everhart estate was filled with the warm glow of candlelight, the laughter of its people, and the quiet hum of a life that, unbeknownst to them, was about to be shattered.
The Everhart carriage rolled smoothly along the cobblestone streets of Da Vinci, the heart of aristocratic grandeur. Through the window, Snowflake watched as the city unfolded before her—a dazzling display of towering spires, wrought-iron balconies adorned with fresh roses, and warm lanterns casting golden light on the bustling streets. The architecture, reminiscent of a Victorian dream, was intricate and refined, every building a testament to craftsmanship and wealth. The people of Da Vinci, dressed in fine coats and elegant dresses, strolled the streets with an air of sophistication, their conversations a melody against the distant hum of violinists performing in open squares.
Yet, despite the beauty outside, the atmosphere inside the carriage was tense.
Lady Everhart: "I told you before, I don't trust him."
Her mother's voice was calm, yet there was a sharp edge to it. Snowflake's father sighed, adjusting his cufflinks as he leaned back against the seat.
Lord Everhart: "You're overthinking things again. I've worked with Lord Belvane for years. He wouldn't betray us."
Snowflake glanced between them, gripping the folds of her dress as the mood in the carriage thickened. This wasn't their usual playful bickering—there was something serious behind her mother's words.
Lady Everhart: "And yet, somehow, he always benefits more than we do."
Her father ran a hand through his hair, looking out the window as if searching for patience.
Lord Everhart: "Tonight isn't about old grudges. It's about the future of our family."
Snowflake shifted uncomfortably, her gaze drifting back to the city. The streets of Da Vinci were still beautiful, the sight of airships hovering over the skyline like floating palaces easing her nerves slightly. She always admired this place, its endless wonders and secrets hidden beneath its refined surface.
But even the beauty of Da Vinci couldn't dispel the weight in the air.
Moments later, the tension melted away as the carriage pulled up to the grand banquet hall. The towering mansion stood proudly, its marble pillars reflecting the glow of the many chandeliers within. Footmen rushed to open the carriage door, and as soon as her parents stepped out, they were back to their usual selves—poised, dignified, and ready to socialize.
Lady Everhart (softly, as they stepped out): "Just… be careful tonight."
Her father didn't reply, only offering his wife a reassuring glance before turning to greet the other nobles. Snowflake followed, feeling a strange unease settle in her stomach.
Something felt off.
And soon, she would realize just how right she was.
As Snowflake stepped out of the carriage and into the grand hall, she couldn't help but be in awe of the opulence that surrounded her. The banquet hall was vast, with crystal chandeliers dangling from the high ceiling, casting a warm glow on the intricate tapestries and marble floors below. The scent of fresh roses and delicate perfumes lingered in the air as nobles in their finest attire mingled, laughter and the sound of clinking glasses filling the room.
Her parents immediately fell into conversation with other influential figures, exchanging pleasantries and discussing matters of wealth and politics. Snowflake stood beside them, the elegant gown she wore flowing like liquid gold, but her mind wandered. She didn't have the patience for the shallow exchanges or the endless parade of men trying to impress her.
Young Nobleman 1 (smiling, bowing slightly): "Miss Snowflake, your family's legacy is quite impressive. It would be an honor to dance with you tonight."
Snowflake simply gave a polite smile, her response measured and indifferent.
Snowflake (politely): "I'm afraid I'm not in the mood for dancing tonight, thank you."
Another young nobleman approached, with similar intentions. Her responses were always the same: polite, but distant. She didn't need to say much more—her disinterest was palpable.
Yet, as the evening wore on, Snowflake's gaze shifted. She noticed two figures standing by the edge of the crowd— a boy and a girl, siblings. The boy was tall with dark hair, his features sharp but kind. The girl, his age, with soft curls and a bright smile, stood close to him, her eyes glowing with admiration as she looked up at her brother.
They were speaking quietly, their laughter sincere and unforced. The way they interacted was so genuine—no posturing, no attempts to impress anyone. It was a stark contrast to the artificial charm of the other young men who had tried to get her attention.
Snowflake found herself staring at them, a pang of something unfamiliar twisting in her chest.
Snowflake (softly, to herself): "What is it… that makes them so different?"
There was a purity to their relationship, a bond that Snowflake could only dream of having with anyone. She watched them for a while longer, noting the way the boy would gently tease his sister and how she would respond with a smile that spoke of trust and warmth, not the bitterness or rivalry that Snowflake had grown used to seeing in her own world.
She felt a sharp envy tug at her heart.
They didn't know how lucky they were to have that kind of relationship—to have someone who wasn't driven by ulterior motives or masked in pretenses. The thought made her feel small, as if her own world, filled with hidden agendas and strained smiles, had suddenly become all the more suffocating.
The noise of the banquet faded into the background as Snowflake's mind lingered on the siblings, the boy's gentle hand resting protectively on his sister's shoulder.
Snowflake (quietly to herself): "I want that. I want someone who cares about me like that..."
But the moment passed, and her gaze shifted back to the throngs of nobles around her, all clinking glasses and exchanging pleasantries. Her parents were lost in the conversation, oblivious to her thoughts.
But deep down, Snowflake knew that she would never find that kind of pure connection in this world. Not here, not among these people.
And so, she let the moment pass, her heart heavy with unspoken longing.
As Snowflake stood there, her eyes still lingering on the sibling duo, she didn't notice her mother stepping closer until she heard a soft, almost knowing voice behind her.
Mother (quietly): "Ah, I see you've noticed the Whitmore children."
Snowflake blinked, tearing her gaze away from the siblings. Her mother's eyes followed Snowflake's line of sight, a small smile playing on her lips.
Snowflake (softly): "The Whitmore children?"
Mother (nodding, her tone slightly wistful): "Yes. The girl—Marienne Whitmore—is a prodigy. You may have heard of her, she's only twelve but already recognized as a genius. Her intellect is... remarkable for someone her age."
Snowflake glanced back at Marienne, noticing how the young girl carried herself with an air of confidence that seemed beyond her years. She was beautiful, yes, but it was her intelligence and poise that stood out most.
Mother (with a small sigh): "And her brother, Castor, well... he's quite reserved. Not like his sister at all. He's... uncertain, often lost in his own thoughts. But he's a good boy. A quiet one. They're both very close, though."
Snowflake looked at the boy now—Castor Whitmore. His face was more solemn than his sister's, and his posture seemed stiff, as if burdened by something deeper than just the weight of his family name. There was something about the way he stood beside his sister, how he kept a protective hand on her shoulder, that spoke of loyalty and affection.
But unlike Marienne, Castor seemed lost. Distant, almost as if he were standing in a world of his own.
Snowflake (softly, more to herself): "They're so different from everyone else..."
Her mother's gaze softened, and she placed a hand on Snowflake's shoulder.
Mother (with a knowing smile): "Yes, they are. It's rare to find such a bond between siblings, especially in a world where ambition and rivalry are so often the driving forces."
Snowflake (with a bitter chuckle): "I guess some people are just born with everything."
Her mother raised an eyebrow at her daughter's tone, but before she could respond, Snowflake quickly masked the emotion behind a forced smile.
Snowflake (shifting her gaze away): "I just... I don't understand how they can be so at ease with each other."
Her mother paused for a moment, studying her daughter closely before speaking again.
Mother (gently): "Not everything is meant to be understood, Snowflake. Sometimes, people have things you can't put a name to. But that doesn't mean it's unattainable for you."
Snowflake met her mother's eyes, a flicker of doubt in her expression.
Snowflake (quietly): "Maybe."
With that, her mother gave her a final smile and turned to speak with a nearby noble. But Snowflake's thoughts were still consumed by the Whitmore siblings.
Marienne's brilliance and Castor's quiet uncertainty...
The contrast between them only seemed to deepen her confusion about herself. About what she wanted, what she was supposed to want. The bitterness in her chest grew, and for a moment, she almost felt envious of the bond they shared.
Snowflake (muttering under her breath): "I'll never be like them... will I?"
But before she could spiral any further, the sound of another noble greeting her caught her attention, and she quickly forced herself back into the role she was expected to play at the banquet. The night continued on, but her thoughts remained haunted by the Whitmore children—especially Castor.
As the night wore on, the grand banquet hall gradually emptied, the once-bustling atmosphere now quieting as guests said their goodbyes and took their leave. Snowflake stood near one of the side tables, feeling the weight of the evening settle in her chest. The laughter, the small talk, the polite smiles—it was all so hollow to her.
She had spent the entire night circling the room, her attention repeatedly drifting to the Whitmore siblings, but she had never found an opening to speak with them. Marienne had been surrounded by admirers and well-wishers, effortlessly charming everyone around her, while Castor seemed to remain in the shadows, always a step removed from the crowd.
Snowflake (sighing softly to herself): "It's always like this..."
Her gaze drifted over the room one final time. The walls, adorned with fine tapestries depicting past family victories, seemed to close in around her. For a moment, she felt small, unnoticed.
The clock on the wall struck the hour, and the first of the carriages began to roll out of the courtyard, carrying nobles and dignitaries back to their estates. Snowflake's family had already made their farewells and were preparing to leave. Her mother, ever the composed figure, caught her eye and gave her a gentle nod.
Mother (calling out from across the room): "Snowflake, we're leaving."
Snowflake hesitated for a moment, her thoughts still tangled with the evening's events. She looked toward the door where Castor and Marienne were making their own quiet departure.
Snowflake (quietly to herself): "Maybe next time..."
But the siblings were already disappearing into the shadows of the grand hall.
She watched them for just a moment longer before turning away, walking toward her parents. There would be no conversation with them tonight, no chance to bridge the distance she felt.
Snowflake (under her breath): "I'll find another way."
She couldn't shake the feeling that the night had been a missed opportunity. Something inside her told her that meeting Castor and Marienne could have led her down a path she couldn't yet see, a path that might explain some of the confusion swirling in her mind. But it was all slipping through her fingers now.
As she stepped into the carriage with her family, the door shut behind her with a soft click, and the vehicle began to roll down the cobbled street. Snowflake gazed out the window, watching the lights of Da Vinci, the city she had known all her life, fade into the distance.
The night had ended, but the feeling of something unfulfilled lingered, gnawing at her. It wasn't over. Not yet.
And somewhere deep inside her, a darker thought began to form.
Snowflake (quietly, almost to herself): "I'll get close to you, Castor Whitmore. One way or another."
As Snowflake sat quietly in the carriage, the soft roll of the wheels against the cobblestone streets lulling her into a contemplative state, her thoughts began to swirl. The image of Castor and Marienne lingered in her mind, their interaction, so pure, so easy. Something she had never known.
She had always observed from the sidelines, watching people weave in and out of each other's lives with a grace that felt alien to her. Her family, with their noble status and rigid expectations, had always kept her at a distance from anything real. She had been trained to be perfect, to act without flaw, to remain an enigma. But it was never enough. No matter how much she gave, it always felt like there was something missing—something essential that no amount of power or wealth could fill.
Snowflake (whispering to herself, almost bitterly): "I could never have that… that purity."
But as she thought more about Castor, she realized something she hadn't before. He was like her. He wasn't like the others. While the world spun around him—its politics, its lies, its endless games of power—he too remained a step apart. Detached. Observant, but never truly a part of it all.
She had noticed it when she first saw him. That detachment, that coldness. Castor wasn't like the other boys at the banquet, all eager for her attention, trying to charm her with their shallow words. No, he was different. He stood on the fringes, just like her. And in a way, they were both outsiders, wearing masks to fit into a world that demanded they pretend.
Snowflake (pausing, her voice softer): "He despises it, just like me… this world of lies and facades."
The jealousy she had felt earlier toward Castor and Marienne shifted, evolving into something more complex. She didn't envy Marienne's relationship with her brother; rather, she envied the purity of their connection—the simplicity of their bond. They weren't like the others. They didn't hide behind false smiles. They didn't play the game.
And yet, that purity was something Snowflake could never understand. It felt too far out of reach. The thought twisted something inside her.
Snowflake (narrowing her eyes): "I'm like you, Castor. I understand... I'm just like you."
She felt a sudden, strange sense of kinship with him. They were both caught in the same trap, the same cold, suffocating world of expectations. Yet, Castor had found something she couldn't—a connection, however imperfect, something real. And that made him different. She was both drawn to that and repelled by it.
Snowflake (whispering, voice tinged with frustration): "You found something real... and I can't."
Her thoughts were a whirlwind, racing through her mind faster than she could catch them. She wasn't sure why she felt this connection to him—this inexplicable bond. Maybe it was his anger, his frustration with the world, or perhaps it was something deeper, a mirror to her own struggle.
But one thing was clear: she wanted that connection. She needed it. If she could only find a way to tear through the layers, to see Castor for what he truly was, perhaps she could finally understand.
Snowflake (in a low, dangerous tone): "I'll make you see me, Castor. Just like you see the world... cold and clear."
As the carriage slowly came to a stop at the Everhart estate, Snowflake stared out into the night, her heart beating a little faster. There was something brewing inside her, something she didn't fully understand yet. But whatever it was, it was pushing her toward Castor. Toward that dark, elusive side of him that she found herself unable to resist.
And this time, she wouldn't be content to watch from the sidelines.
As the carriage rolled steadily along the cobblestone path, the soft rocking motion of the wheels almost lulled Snowflake into a sense of calm. The cool night air seeped in through the cracks, carrying with it the scent of fresh earth and distant rain. Her mother sat beside her, silently gazing out the window, the faint glow of streetlights passing in a blur as they made their way back home from the banquet.
Then, without warning, the carriage lurched violently to a halt, causing Snowflake to slam against the side. The sudden jolt sent her heart racing, a feeling of dread creeping in as the driver scrambled to regain control of the horses.
Snowflake (her voice shaky): "What's happening?"
Before she could ask further, a dozen figures—masked and armed—rushed toward the carriage. The clattering of steel filled the air, and the carriage door was ripped open with terrifying force. The thieves, grimy and dirty from living off the land, hauled Snowflake's mother out first, then grabbed Snowflake herself, dragging her from the carriage and into the night.
Snowflake (struggling): "Let go of me! You can't do this!"
Her mother screamed in panic, helplessly reaching out to her as Snowflake was shoved away. The thieves were relentless, their hands rough and cold, pulling her further away from the only home she'd known. Her vision blurred with tears as she screamed for her father, but her cries were drowned out by the sound of clashing swords and the chaotic yells of men fighting.
Just as she was being forced into the darkness, a flash of steel pierced the air, followed by the unmistakable sound of royal guards charging in. The thieves, clearly taken by surprise, began to scatter, but the guards, with their military precision, quickly subdued them. Snowflake's vision spun as she saw her mother, still in the grip of one of the thieves, struggling to break free.
Snowflake (shouting): "Mother! Mother, please!"
The guards finally reached her, cutting down the thief holding her mother and surrounding the scene. Snowflake was yanked to her feet, her body trembling, but she couldn't take her eyes off the gruesome sight ahead.
Her father. His body lay crumpled in the middle of the road, surrounded by the blood-soaked earth. His face was unrecognizable, his body brutalized beyond repair. His life had been taken in a single, violent strike, and there was nothing anyone could do to bring him back.
Snowflake (falling to her knees, voice hoarse): "Father... no... no, no, no..."
The scene became a blur of movement as the guards took control of the situation, some escorting Snowflake and her mother back to safety, while others began to gather the remnants of the attack. The moonlight cast a cold, indifferent glow on everything, as if the world itself had stopped in mourning.
Days passed in a daze for Snowflake. The funeral was a somber affair, one that she barely registered, her mind lost in a fog of grief and disbelief. The grand estate of the Everhart family, once a symbol of wealth and power, now seemed like a hollow shell, empty and abandoned. The banners that once hung proudly from the walls were now draped in black, the mood oppressive with sorrow.
The estate was filled with relatives and noble visitors, all murmuring in hushed tones about the tragedy, but to Snowflake, it all felt distant. Her mother, who had been so full of life just days before, had retreated into a silent shell. She sat, unmoving, in her chambers, refusing to speak, refusing to eat, as if she had given up on everything.
Snowflake (standing in front of the casket, tears falling silently): "Father... why?"
Her father's funeral was attended by many, but Snowflake hardly noticed the faces. The only thing she could think about was the emptiness of her home and the silence that had come after the violence. The silence that she was now trapped in.
A week later, the estate had quieted. The visitors had long since left, but Snowflake's life had not returned to normal. She was no longer the daughter of Everhart. She was Everhart. The death of her father had placed the weight of the family's legacy squarely on her shoulders. No longer just a young girl dreaming of adventure, she was thrust into the harsh, cold world of leadership, a world she had never asked for.
Her mother, broken and distant, had left her behind entirely. No longer capable of managing the grief, she had retreated to her own private sanctuary in the mansion, turning her back on everything, including Snowflake.
Snowflake (in her private chambers, staring at a letter from the council): "This... this is my fate now, isn't it?"
She had been named the new head of the Everhart family. The noble council had come to a decision swiftly, moving with cold efficiency. She, the surviving heir, was now responsible for upholding the Everhart name, for ensuring that the family's legacy lived on.
The letters of condolences were replaced with business affairs. The nobles who had once admired her parents now looked to her with expectation, demanding that she rise to the occasion. Her father's advisors, previously loyal to her father, now turned to her for guidance, their eyes filled with barely contained pity.
But Snowflake was no longer the young girl who had attended banquets with her family. The harsh reality had stripped away that innocence. Now, as the head of the Everhart family, she had to put on the mask of strength and leadership, even though she felt like crumbling from the inside.
Snowflake (her voice barely a whisper as she sat in her father's office): "I'll do this. For you, Father."
But deep down, Snowflake felt the weight of her new role crushing her, the loss of her father haunting every decision she made. The family legacy felt like a prison, and she had no idea how she would ever escape it.
———————————————————
The morning air was crisp, biting at my cheeks as I walked towards Dicarthen Academy's towering gates. The once grand structure seemed more like a prison now—a cold, oppressive reminder of the future I had been thrust into. Gone were the days of dreams and playful thoughts. Now, there was nothing but the weight of responsibilities too heavy for someone my age.
Dicarthen wasn't my first choice. I never really had one. The world had changed for me. After the death of my father and my mother's departure, everything I knew was shattered. The Everhart family name was all I had left, and enrolling here was supposed to be a part of that—preserving what little was left of our legacy. But deep inside, I wasn't sure I could carry that weight. Not yet.
As I entered the large stone building, the noise of chattering students hit my ears like a wave. I caught glimpses of familiar faces—nobles, children of wealthy families, all looking to make their mark. My heart clenched, but I pushed the feeling down. I had no time for weakness.
The halls of Dicarthen were lined with polished marble and framed paintings of old heroes. It was a beautiful place, but it felt hollow to me. It didn't matter how nice it looked; I was just a cog in a machine here.
The first day was filled with the usual fanfare—introductions, pointless greetings, and whispered rumors. I went through the motions, my mind distant, until I entered the math class. I always hated math, but I couldn't afford to let my grades slip. Not now.
The classroom was crowded with students, most of them chatting among themselves, while others were absorbed in their notebooks. I found my seat at the back, trying to disappear into the wood of the desk. But fate, it seemed, had other plans.
The first day in Professor Aldric's math class felt like an eternity. The lecture dragged on, and I found myself zoning out, as usual. It was easy to do, especially when I was surrounded by so many predictable faces. I kept my attention on the board, disinterested in the idle chatter around me.
But when Professor Varrow made a mistake—an error in the middle of an equation—I didn't hesitate to speak up. The class fell into silence as I corrected him.
Snowflake: [flatly] "Professor, I believe you've skipped a step in that proof."
Professor Varrow blinked, frozen in the middle of writing. Then he let out an awkward laugh.
Professor Varrow: "Ah! So I have! Excellent catch, Miss Everhart. A lesser mind would have let that slip."
I didn't react much, just nodded slightly before returning to my usual stance—chin resting on my hand, cool and collected. As a few students chuckled, I couldn't help but feel the familiar eyes on me. It was almost amusing.
But there was one pair of eyes that lingered longer than the others. Castor Whitmore. From the back of the room, I could feel his gaze steady on me, calculating. Curious.
I didn't think much of it at first. After all, most people were curious about me. But something about the way Castor looked at me felt different. As if he saw more than just the surface.
The class came to an end, and I began packing my things. It was then I felt someone close—too close. I turned, surprised to find Castor standing right beside me, invading my space.
I looked up at him, meeting his intense gaze.
Snowflake: [smirking slightly] "You were staring."
His lips twitched slightly, as if caught off guard, but he recovered quickly, raising an eyebrow.
Castor: [shrugging] "Was I?"
I leaned in a little, enjoying the slight tension in the air. He didn't look away, didn't falter. Instead, he seemed to challenge me.
Snowflake: [mock sympathy] "A tough first day in Professor Aldric's class, hmm? Or do numbers frighten you?"
A smirk appeared on his lips. He wasn't just another guy trying to impress me—there was something more behind that cool exterior.
Castor: [smirking] "Nah, just not a fan of early morning lectures. But I guess you enjoy correcting professors for fun?"
There it was again. His sharp wit, his playful attitude. He wasn't afraid of me, and that only made him more interesting.
Snowflake: "When they make mistakes, why not? Someone has to keep them in check."
There was a pause. He tilted his head, clearly intrigued.
Castor: "So, what's your name?"
I hesitated for a split second. Something about his tone made me pause. As if he was trying to figure something out. But I replied without hesitation.
Snowflake: "Snowflake Everhart."
The moment I said my name, I saw his eyes flicker, just for a moment. A brief flash of recognition. But before I could make sense of it, he gave me his name.
Castor: "Castor Whitmore."
And that was when the world seemed to pause. Castor Whitmore.
My heart skipped a beat, my breath caught in my throat. It was him. The same boy from the banquet, the one I had admired from afar—the one I had envied for his relationship with his sister. The one I had never gotten a chance to speak to.
I didn't know why, but hearing his name now—knowing it was him—made my thoughts go blank. My mind scrambled to process the connection.
I stared at him, momentarily stunned. He noticed my reaction but didn't comment on it, just waiting for me to speak.
Castor: [curious] "So, student council and top of the class. Do you ever actually struggle with anything?"
I blinked, trying to pull myself together. He wasn't just some distant figure from a memory anymore. He was standing right here, in front of me.
Snowflake: "Hmm… I suppose I do struggle with one thing."
He raised an eyebrow, intrigued.
Castor: "Oh?"
I leaned in slightly, letting the tension between us build. This wasn't just small talk. This felt like something more. I could feel the weight of this moment.
Snowflake: "Finding interesting people in this academy."
He stared at me for a second, as if sizing me up, before a smirk formed on his lips.
Castor: [mock serious] "Must be a tragic existence for you."
I couldn't help the slight chuckle that escaped me. He wasn't like the others. Not at all.
Snowflake: [grinning slightly] "You have no idea."
And just like that, without waiting for a reply, I turned and walked away. But I could feel his eyes on me as I did, the weight of his gaze following me.
I didn't know what this meant yet. But somehow, in that brief exchange, something shifted. Something I couldn't quite put into words.
I've finally found you, Castor Whitmore.