Thanks to Erin Darroch for her assist.
Frigid
Leia was familiar with Alderaani winters, when early snows would blanket the grounds of the royal palace, wrapping the forested preserve in a white hush under clear blue skies. Fond memories of bundling up and treading out alone into the trees, then glancing back to see the single set of tracks behind her. Back then the crisp cold hadn't bothered her—it had been invigorating, head-clearing, and made returning to the comfortable warmth of her chambers all the more rewarding.
But the cold on Hoth was different, and it made her different, too. Unrelenting and bitter. Unforgiving and sharp. Brittle.
