The timing had to be perfect, that he was sure of.

The cold was sneaky, seeping slowly into his flesh, but what did it matter? After all, cold was just absence of heat – and to him, absences of anything was good.

The absence of all this would be good too, he grumbled inside his head, but quickly realizing that it was a bad idea, he settled for intertwining his fingers, bunching his hands up into one huge fist. He put it under his chin, crossing his legs. Dominance, his position said, and that was exactly what he was aiming for.

Now only the final task remained. He couldn't wait – his feet were tingling, his tightly woven fingers buzzing in excitement – because what was more pleasing than to see a beautifully laid plan being played out by your pawns?

Not your pawns, he had to tell himself, his, but all the same, it was a delight to see people dance about, doing all kinds of stupid, silly things, unaware of the fact that you were the one controlling, predicting their every move. He had carefully planned and tested every inch of his plan, and the chances of his success were fairly high.

Of course, the hardest part was making her do what he wanted, but with all the help his master had given him, he had no doubt that this would work out exactly how he wanted it to.

It was as if she had heard her name whilst drifting along in that mind of hers, of which her possession only extended to slight control. She could think as well as the rest, but her powers were his now.

She struggled, as he predicted she would, so he squeezed his fingers together until his fists were a bright, discolored red, and it seemed to work well enough; now she could only glare at him, bright eyes blazing with fury, or maybe it was anger. They were pretty much the same anyways.

Now that she was conscious, the second last part of his assignment had to be completed – he finally released his fingers from the prison he had made them create and force themselves in, stretching them outwards, splayed towards the figure in the billowing white dress.

And so he seeped into her mind, like the cold had tried to seep into his body, and concentrated. Though they were both of the same level, it could be argued that she was, perhaps, still a bit stronger than him. That was what they would've said an eon ago, though, and he grinned for the first time when he felt her brain carrying out the orders he had placed.

Reassured, he shoved his fingers back into fists, uncrossing and crossing his legs, settling more comfortably into the seat. With a particularly strong gust of air coming out between his lips, her cries were finally silenced, her head dropping against her chest with a quiet thump.

Standing up, he stared out the window, first looking at the beastly machine he had installed all around his little "castle", clutching onto it like a parasite, then at the distant landscape, where flurries of snow had started to fall from the sky.

It was time.