"She turned to the sunlight and shook her yellow head, and whispered to her neighbor: "Winter is dead." - A.A . Milne, When We Were Very Young
Prologue
The night was frigid and inky black, and Sophie woke on the frozen surface of Jack's pond.
Her clothes were clinging wet and cold; her head swam and her body ached. She tried to sit up, but it hurt. Everything hurt.
It was freezing, but calm, save for the whispered gusts of wind that ruffled the tattered edges of her nightgown and sent silt swirling across the ice. The cold seeped into her, cutting through her skin and settling deep within her bones. Overhead there were branches and beyond them the sky, black and full of stars. And beyond the stars, the moon. It hung low in the sky and seemed to grow larger and brighter and more beautiful with each passing moment. It shone down on her like a spotlight. A beacon.
Sophie stared for a long moment, then closed her green eyes tightly. She was suddenly taken by the overwhelming feeling that something was wrong. She tried her hardest to remember the events that had brought her here, but could only summon hazy, muddled memories: cold hands on burning skin. Unimaginable pain and a flash of pale white. A sudden weight against her chest. Soft, sugar-sweet words whispered in a language she couldn't understand. She shook her head, trying and failing to make sense of the images that flashed before her mind's eye.
She didn't know why she was here, but she knew instinctively that it would be unwise to stay much longer. She needed to get home.
Without giving herself time to really think about it, she pressed her palms flat against the ice and pushed herself up into a sitting position. The pain came, but it wasn't nearly as severe as before. Letting out a soft sigh of relief, she squared her shoulders and began the arduous process of getting to her feet.
Her legs were unsteady. Sophie spread her feet wide and held her arms out horizontally. She wobbled for a moment before finding her balance. The ghost of a smile tugged at the corners of her mouth as she tucked a strand of long golden hair behind her ear. Standing up, she could see the tips of the white-capped mountains that cradled the sleepy town of Burgess on all sides. She shifted her gaze to the frozen bank, where the pond ended and the forest began. There, just through those trees, was the way home.
She shifted her weight to take a step towards solid ground and there was a crack, a deep, resonant pop, like an enormous bottle of champagne being uncorked. Sophie froze, her heart thudding in her throat. Against her will, she glanced down, and what she saw terrified her.
Because under a thin layer of glassy ice was nothing but cold bottomless black, broken up only by the cracks and splinters crisscrossing beneath the soles of her boots.