She remembered writing them there, an effort to keep her from losing her mind. It would have been easy to do, in the silence, and endless white of the snow. How she hated that place! She wished so badly that she could leave, but she knew she never could.
She had tried to escape once. She went to the warmest and noisiest place she could find. Somehow, she had been drawn back to her icy palace, once more. He dried to draw pictures of the words in the snow. She was amused at this child-like game he played. She scorned him, and yet adored him at the same time.
He wanted to leave her, she could tell. She told him, that once he could draw a picture of the word eternity, she would let him leave. He would be his own master, then and go anywhere he pleased. He puzzled over it, trying again and again. He slaved over it, day after day, but he did not know what eternity looked like. And he never would.