Are you as icy as your frozen eyes suggest, or are you a normal, living, breathing, feeling cat? He doesn't regret the words. Your heart isn't made of ice. You're melting. But even he doubts the truth of them. He's not sure if there's anything beneath her mask- her beautiful, intricate mask of frost, so cold it burns. He licks the blood from his claw; half-surprised to find it warm. They lash out with words, the both of them, barbed with ice and hoarfrost. He wants her to melt, to thaw her, but she only storms outside, into the hail and the cold, where she belongs.