Alfred gazed quietly at Arabella's face, frozen within the ice. Beyond the translucent layers, her expression remained serene—as if time itself had stopped.
Her long lashes were perfectly in place, her lips still curved in a faint, peaceful smile. She was as beautiful as the day she had last drawn breath. And yet, beneath the crystalline prison, her skin had lost all warmth, and the blue magic protecting her was slowly fading with time.
Alfred's calloused hand traced the surface of the ice. The bitter cold stung his fingertips, but he didn't flinch.
In truth, he welcomed it.
That cold—this long solitude, this endless time spent without her—it had become an inseparable part of him, shaking the very foundation of his existence.
He could still see her clearly in his mind—the days of their youth, the time they spent together.
"Alfred! Hurry up! Why are you always so slow?"
