The snow fell in silence, blanketing the world in white.
Rosalind stood on a narrow path, its edges swallowed by frost, its end hidden in mist.
She didn't know how she got there—only that her feet kept moving, drawn by something… or someone.
Beneath a silver-leafed willow, a woman stood, her figure framed in pale light.
Her face remained obscured, but her presence felt hauntingly familiar—like a name once spoken in a dream.
Then the voice came.
"He never loved you."
A woman's voice echoed through the air—soft as wind, yet sharp as a blade.
A breeze drifted through the space between them, making Rosalind falter—if only for a heartbeat.
Before she could make out the woman's face, another voice rose—her own.
Sudden. Detached. As if not spoken, but exhaled from the hollow of a forgotten wound.
"I gave up on that longing for love long ago."
Her heart tightened.
Perhaps… it was time to let go.
Perhaps their fate had always been meant to end here.
