Time passed quietly.
Days turned into weeks.
Weeks blurred into months.
Winters came and went, though in this land the cold never truly left.
And just like that—
Three years were gone.
Celestine was now thirteen.
She had grown taller, her frame more refined.
The childish softness she once carried had slowly faded, replaced by something sharper.
Her features had settled into a kind of quiet beauty that didn't need effort.
Silver hair that caught light like frost.
Eyes that held a calm depth most adults didn't have.
Even the boys her age couldn't help but notice her.
They tried not to stare.
Some whispered.
Some looked away quickly when she glanced in their direction.
There was admiration there.
But also fear.
Fear of her.
Fear of her mother.
The two of them were still… different.
Isolated.
Untouched by the normal warmth the other families shared.
By now, Snow had fully integrated herself into this life.
