The crunch of the snow beneath Willow's feet had a comforting feeling. It was safe in a way, a sense of home. She had been walking through the snow for what seemed like years, yet it was only a couple of minutes. Mother hadn't wanted her to leave the castle gates, yet Willow seemed to convince her, stating that she wouldn't go beyond the Lamppost. She let out a deep breath, the hot air freezing on as soon as it met the cold air. It was certainly getting frosty lately, and even though winter was her favorite time of year, she had not once witnessed in all her sixteen years of life, the moments of spring or summer. Maybe that was the reason why it was her favorite; she had not witnessed or lived any other time of year. It seemed that all her life, all she had known was the coldness of winter. Willow rubbed her hands together, trying to create warmth between them. She stood still, nearing the lamppost, and sighed, letting her back hit the steel metal of the lamp. She let her legs crumple beneath her, allowing herself to fall to the ground.

Willow was what people would say, a spitting image of her mother, a striking love-heart shaped face. But it was the eyes and hair that showed how different they were. While both of their eyes were blue, her mother's were icy silver, while hers were more like the deepest richest sea cerulean. Her mother's eyes were cold, while Willows were warm. And her hair was deep dark chocolate brown. She began to draw, and the constant rhythm soothed Willow. She began to draw every detail she saw. She loved drawing; it was her escape from the reality she hated so much. She loved the feel of the rough paper beneath her fingers, and the sound of the pencil scraping against it. Willow had around three other books like this, all of them complete and showed the different stages in drawing. Her sketch books were like journals, she drew what she saw every day, things that affected her, or made her feel a specific things. Sometime she would find something that could represent it, like an acorn or a flower petal, but then again, flower petals were rare, Willow had only found two in her entire life, and both were stuck inside her book. Also, if Willow wasn't too lazy to do so, she would write small words describing the picture, what she felt that day, or what she was thinking about when she drew. Of course, sometimes they were lyrics from old Narnian lullabies.

It was nice to get out of the prison she was confined in. She loved her Mother dearly, she was all Willow had. But sometimes, she was slightly overbearing and erratic. It seemed that for years all she knew was her mother's castle; it was never considered Willows. No, the castle was simply a place that she lived in with her mother. Out here, sitting beneath the lamppost was where her real home was. Willow raked her slender fingers through her hair, a nervous habit she picked up from somewhere. She wasn't really sure who she learnt it from, definitely not her Mother, as Mother was never nervous. No, she was always confident, something Willow seemed to be lacking in. Maybe she picked it up from Tumnus, but again, that was highly unlikely.

Mr. Tumnus was the finest faun Willow ever met, but then again Willow hardly met fauns, they nasty creatures according to her Mother, and that they should know their place. But Tumnus was her only friend, no-one else knew about her. Mother made sure of that. In fact, if Willow had not wanted to explore one day, than she would have never met Tumnus, and for that, she would always be thankful, for if she had not explored deeper into the forest, she would not have met the one person who actually cared enough for her. Tumnus was the only father figure Willow had, and if her Mother had figured out that when she would leave the castle, that she was in fact going to Tumnus' House instead, her Mother would surely do something about it. It was why she was so careful, a fact that her Mother did not pick up on.

It seemed too soon, but night had already approached. Her eyes widened once she realized that she had been here the whole day, her mother must have noticed her absence. As soon as she had wrapped her cloak around her body. The snow had covered up the old footsteps of hers so her mother would not know any different. She heard the crunch of the snow beneath her feet, and made her way towards her Mother's castle, high at the top of the land, between the two mountains.

"Willow, where have you been?" Her mother asked calmly; though her eyes showing that she was furious and upset. Willow whimpered slightly and sighed, before looking at her Mother evenly. Her mother was a beautiful lady, so to speak. Her long, blond hair was twisted into a tight bun, and the ice-cold crown was perched on her head perfectly. Her mouth was in a thin line, as she narrowed her icy blue eyes at Willow. The throne room was covered in frosty azure, the only warmth coming from the lanterns that hung on the wall. It looked like a winter garden, with statues scattered everywhere methodically. Almost at once, Willow let her eyes meet the floor, her head tilted down. She gulped, hoping that her mother would not see any look of remorse or guilt in her eyes. Because if she had any, then she would be in trouble, after all, Mother made sure that Willow never knew what she did when she worked. It took Willow sixteen years to convince her mother to let her step outside the safety of the castle, and even then, she was only allowed to go so far as the lamppost.

"I've been drawing the woods Mother, see?" Willow replied, lifting her sketch book to show her Mother what she had done. She was glad that she had been able to draw nightfall arrived. Her Mother seemed hesitant, as if she didn't believe Willow, but nodded her head, before walking through the ice palace, sitting on the grand throne. She turned her head to Maugrim, who diffidently bowed his head respectively at Willow. Maugrim was the captain of the Secret Police, and never really like Willow. He was a grey wolf, with fangs that could sink into your throat before you could even scream. Mother was talking to Maugrim, and Willow knew that her Mother had dismissed her. She walked softly past all the statues, keeping her eyes firmly placed on the floor, not bearing to see the petrified faces of all those who had been turned to stone due to her Mother's staff.

Walking towards her chambers, she slipped out of her hunting dress, and into more comfortable nightdress. She slipped into the covers of her bed, letting her eyes slip over her chambers. The bed was queen-sized, four-posters, and everything in the room was either a snow white, or an ice blue. The room was cold, and the only thing keeping Willow warm was the red-leather bound book that her fingers were flicking through, and the small candle that she held in the darkness, as she read about all the tales that had been of Narnia before her mother had invaded a hundred years ago. "Years ago, there once was a boy called Diggory and a girl named Polly," She whispered to herself, as her eyes devoured every word she read.