Wind howled outside the little airplane's cabin, the Cessna's engine whining as the pilot struggled with the controls. Honeymaren didn't understand where this storm had come from; the reports had been clear weather the whole way through, but as soon as she'd crossed into the mountains a blizzard had formed. It had come up out of nowhere; one second the night sky was clear with an endless vista of stars over craggy peaks, and then there'd been a flash of light as she found herself in the storm.

Visibility was nil and there was the very real danger of the wings icing up, which was almost as bad as the threat of slamming into a mountain. In hindsight, it had been really stupid to make this last trip, but they'd needed the money. They'd needed…

The howling wind changed pitch, an eerie, almost haunted sound. A trick of her ears or her nerves, but she could have sworn it almost sounded like a woman singing.

Her plane shook and shuddered, the engine stalling for several heartstopping seconds before sputtering back to life.

And then it stalled again, just as a gust of wind tore into the plane. Metal and fabric twisted and she went into a spin. The Cessna bounced off of something, slamming hard into a bank of snow before sliding down a mountain. Below her, Honeymaren thought she saw a shimmering blue castle, just as the plane plummeted off of a cliff.

It was the wind that Honeymaren heard next, her senses returning to her in fits and starts. Low and mournful, with a sultry tone that reminded her more of a woman singing than a horrifying blizzard. She tried to look around, head foggy and vision blurred. Her ribs ached and she was pretty sure there was blood in her eyes.

Footsteps crunched in the snow, and groaning, Maren turned her head. She blinked her eyes clear, rubbing at them with a heavy hand. Nearby was the remains of her plane, tangled and smashed so badly that it was a miracle she was still alive. The engine had completely crushed the cabin and the only reason Maren knew she was alive and not dead was the pain.

Through the storm, a figure approached her, moving slowly, the fabric of a cape blowing violently in the wind.

Something about the silhouette seemed wrong somehow, but Honeymaren couldn't really focus on what that was. Her mind was fuzzy, and she just wanted to sleep for a thousand years. Strong arms lifted her, and her head lolled against the skin of a bare shoulder colder than her own but still much warmer than the swirling storm.

Honeymaren could see the shining palace, barely visible in the snow. She turned her head, seeing a long, golden braid and a strong, pale jaw. But her vision faded in and out and so did her consciousness and the next thing she saw was a tall ceiling.

Honeymaren pushed herself up by her elbows, staring at a ceiling made entirely of ice. Her ribs protested, so she flopped back down into warm furs and pulled them closer. Her mind was still foggy, but she remembered bits and pieces from the crash, and the image of her ruined livelihood was seared forever in her memory.

And so was that person she'd seen in the snow. Just as her mind turned to that, she heard the click-clack of heels on ice as a distorted figure appeared at an icey door. The door swung open, and Honeymaren's eyes went wide.

A pale woman stood there, tall and elegant, a glittering blue gown clinging to her body like a second skin. Honeymaren realized she was staring and lifted her eyes from curvy hips to, well, okay staring at her savior's breasts was probably not that polite and - horns. Those were horns.

The woman had horns. Actual honest to god horns!

They rose from either side of her brow to a height of six inches, before curling back and looping around so that razor sharp points were angled forward. Honeymaren looked down again, trying to see what kind of legs the woman had. Besides deadly looking stilettos, the rest of her looked normal. That is, she did until Honeymaren caught sight of part of a pointed tail that appeared from behind the woman, lashing like an annoyed cat.

"Hello?" She asked, not quite believing what she was seeing. Maren looked into the woman's eyes, a shade of blue that she'd never quite seen before. They were almost more intimidating than the horns, and very enrapturing. "Did I … interrupt some kind of costume party?"

The woman snorted, the corners of her lips turning up so slightly that Maren was probably imagining it. Her voice was cool, icy, just like the palace around them. "You fell from the sky."

Again, Maren tried to sit up. More slowly this time, careful of her ribs. "Not my best landing."

Click. Clack.

Click. Clack.

She approached Maren until she was right in front of her, and then leaned over. Again, Maren was distracted by how absurdly beautiful she was, horns included. The neckline of her dress left little to the imagination, and Maren's imagination thought that those breasts would be a perfect handful.

A long finger touched Maren's chin and tilted her head up. The woman smiled at her, eyes so stunning that it was a bit like trying to stare into the sun. If the sun was made of ice. She sounded amused as she asked, "What is your name?"

"Honeymaren," she replied, and immediately kicked herself for it. Didn't names give powers in all the fairytales? Had she just screwed herself over? Was she now bound-

"I'm Elsa." Elsa's fingers trailed along Honeymaren's cheek, and then stroked the shell of her ear. Honeymaren immediately felt herself melting and tried to focus her eyes on Elsa.

"Pretty name."

"Why are you in my domain, Honey?"

"Uhm."

Elsa's other hand grasped the front of Maren's shirt and then she hauled her to her feet. Her ribs jostled and she bit back a cry. Elsa tilted her head, steadying Maren with two strong hands. "You have no idea who I am, do you?"

"I'm afraid not." Her vision swam, and she had to grab onto Elsa's arms to stay upright. Elsa's skin was cool, but not cold, and Maren ran her hand down her arm without really thinking about it.

Conflict flashed across Elsa's face. Slowly, she let go of Honeymaren and stepped back. "When you are healed, you must leave."

"Uhm." Oh she sounded so intelligent, didn't she. That tail lashed behind Elsa, reminding Honeymaren there was something distinctly inhuman about this woman.

Like the horns weren't a sign or something. She stared up at them. They were a blue so light as to almost be white, and didn't look entirely smooth, with ridges along the inside curve. It was so tempting to touch them.

"If you have a phone," she finally managed to say, knowing her cell had been lost in the crash, "I can be out of your hair as soon as the storm lets up."

Elsa laughed mirthlessly. "The storm will always rage, Honey, and whatever a phone is will not help you in this."

Whatever a … Honeymaren's brow furrowed as she tried to figure out what that meant. "Look, I didn't mean to intrude on whatever domain you have here, Elsa. I crashed my plane, it's a miracle I'm alive."

"Are you hungry?" Elsa asked.

Blinking at the sudden question, Maren opened her mouth to say no, but the rumbling in her stomach answered for her. "…Guess I am?"

"This way." She turned and walked out of the room, leaving Maren with only the memory of swaying hips and lashing tail.

She shook herself out of it and carefully followed. The floor appeared to also be made of ice, but it didn't feel that slippery to her. The entire palace seemed to be made of ice, and yet Honeymaren didn't actually feel all that cold.

Maybe she was dead. There were worse ways to spend eternity than in the company of a sexy demon succubus or whatever Elsa was.

A demon.

Elsa had horns and a tail. And a figure that came right out of Honeymaren's most erotic dreams. She rubbed at her face, and followed after the … woman? Demon?

They were on the second floor, and she looked over the railing. In the center of the main foyer, in front of impressive and beautiful double doors, was a life-like sculpture of a woman, carved from ice. She was standing, staring up the stairs with a hopeful expression on her face, and even from here Maren could see the intricate details of the scarf around her shoulders and the designs in her dress.

Elsa's tail wrapped around Maren's arm and yanked so hard she thought it would dislocate her shoulder. Maren grabbed it. "Hey! I was just admiring the sculpture."

"Come along," Elsa said, calmly, though her breath had caught when Maren had touched her tail.

"Is that your work?"

Elsa turned and glared at her with such fury that Maren shut her mouth. Despite the anger, her voice remained cool, though sharper. "Come. Along."

Maren decided that kind of cool anger might actually be scarier than yelling, so she let go of the tail and obeyed. She studied Elsa's back as she followed her. It was bare from her shoulders, all the way down to the curve of her rear and where her tail emerged. But the tension in her muscles belied her cool tone of voice.

So the statue was a sore point. Got it.

The kitchen was, as Maren expected, made of ice. It was extravagant, exactly the kind of kitchen one would have in a castle. Maren wanted to know how anyone could possibly cook anything in an ice-oven, until she realized that the oven was made of stone and not ice, and there was a fire place with a small pot. Those small details told Maren a few things, which she filed away to think about later.

How neither thing melted the castle was also a question to think about later, though Maren took note of the fact that the meal prepping items couldn't possibly feed more than one or two people.

Elsa was alone here, and even if she was some kind of demon, that just made Honeymaren sad.

Elsa gestured to the ice box. "Help yourself." She walked out of the kitchen before Maren could say anything in response.

Settling on putting together a sandwich-how did she have sandwich ingredients?-Maren struggled to come up with an explanation for what was happening. Obviously she'd hit her head in the crash, because demonic women simply didn't exist. The horns were a trick of the light, the tail an overactive imagination, those hips every fantasy Honeymaren had ever had.

That was all.

Food in hand, she slipped out of the kitchen to do a little exploration. On this floor there were maybe a dozen rooms and from earlier she thought there were maybe four floors at most. There was a spiral staircase that linked all the floors, beautiful in it's elegance, much like the mistress of the place.

Maren stopped at the railing again, spotting Elsa walking towards the sculpture from earlier. She moved slowly, almost reverently, coming to a stop directly in front of it. Elsa lifted her hand, brushing the cheek tenderly. And then, careful of her horns, she pressed her forehead against the sculpture's.