The Rose Amidst the Snow
Prologue
When I was a little girl I fell in love with the Kingdom of Atlas, a somnolent land buffeted by eternal snow ruled by a benevolent king. Having lived on a small island just north of the equator for most of my life meant that our "winter" was just an extension of fall. No snow, no frost, no ice. I had never seen any of those before, but I knew deep down in my heart that they were beautiful.
Sometimes, just before bed when it was especially cold at night, I liked to imagine myself running in a field of white stretching as far as the eye can see, kicking up a flurry, and falling face first into the soft snow. Stories of the raging winter and the hardy people who braved it would then fill my dreams. There was romance and intrigue as I was often the spunky heroine that found herself embroiled in a plot to save the princess alongside her prince. These dreams were so vivid that I'd excitedly wake up feeling the chill on my skin only to realize that my roof had sprung a leak during the night, then the uncomfortable heat would sink in and my fantasy comes to a close yet again.
Unfortunately when I grew older I learned that reality was far from the fantasy. My dreams had romanticised the cold kingdom and blinded me from the truth. Winter was harsh and unforgiving. The serene white plain I had dreamed of was glaring and bathed in the blood of those that fell. But it was beautiful. More beautiful than anything I had ever seen or imagined.
I quickly grew accustomed to the cold, learned to survive, and fended off the death that followed close behind it. Once I let go of my puerile delusion and saw it for what it truly was, I fell in love with the winter all over again. Only this time when I embraced it, it was warm and inviting.