That morning, Yeva went to the window and placed her hand against it. She announced a greeting, but no frost messaged back. The Snow Queen hadn't even left any hearts.
"Hello?" Yeva said again, but received no reply.
So she lingered until she couldn't any longer, having to prepare breakfast for Rozie.
Later, at the shed, Yeva sanded out the wood. She glanced occasionally to the window, but found nothing but a clear surface. No flakes had come to even stick accidentally to it, the glass so violently clean Yeva only found her reflection, sometimes pausing long enough to forget what she was doing.
Eventually, she had to stop looking.
Without even her own voice, the air had grown quiet. Sometimes a stray breeze would whistle by, pushing up a few flakes, but it never carried the tune of the Snow Queen's voice. The crows had even stopped yelling to one another, and the only sound was Yeva's chisel tattooing a pattern into the leg of a chair.
When Rozie injected her voice upon arriving home, it startled Yeva. Her book bag shuffling as her little boots marked the snow, Rozie ran to her, who had dropped her tools but held out her arms for an embrace, regardless.
"Where is the Snow Queen?" Rozie asked. "I thought she would be outside."
"I'm not sure. She hasn't spoken to me today."
Rozie pulled out of the hug and narrowed her eyes. "You two didn't get in a fight, did you?"
"We can't fight if we haven't talked, Rozie. Why don't you mind your own business?"
"Because your business is really interesting!"
Yeva went to pinch Rozie's cheek, but she darted and ran away, laughing. Backpack rustling, she only made it about halfway to the house before Yeva scooped her up, capturing her in a bear hug and falling into the snow. She kissed her cheeks as Rozie screamed and giggled.
"Stop!" Rozie was laughing as she hollered.
"I'll only let you go if you promise to do your homework."
"I was going to do it anyway!"
"Then do you promise?"
"Yes, I promise!"
Yeva let Rozie go, who caught her breath and brushed the snow from her light pink coat. Kissing her on the cheek one last time, Yeva stood and did the same. Upon returning to work, she found Rozie lingering at the back door. Her eyes wandered, seeming to fall directly into the old snow in the middle of the yard, hesitating to go inside.
"I'll tell you if she shows up!" Yeva called to her.
"Okay!" Rozie answered, and after a few seconds, went in.
The next day followed the same pattern. Yeva awoke and waited by the window, but never received her 'good morning' in cursive. She went to the shed and never read her 'good afternoon,' and after putting Rozie to bed, never found any 'good night.'
Truly alone, a familiar silence surrounded Yeva that hadn't for months. It existed in the air within her bedroom, and the space outside the work shed window. Breezes blew by, once capable of speaking, but no longer fluttered around her to whisper about town gossip, or how golden her hair looked that day.
Snow that would compact into Queens and creatures never knew animation past a few flakes in the wind. Even then, it had stopped falling, leaving only loose frost.
Every morning, Rozie would ask her, "Has she written yet?"
"No," became the exclusive answer.
She would ask after school, and less optimistically, again at dinner. By the third day, Yeva didn't answer.
"Is she okay?" Rozie posed to the silence.
"I don't know. I don't know why this is happening."
Not even the sound of a fork meeting a plate interrupted the silence, and neither looked at one another.
"Maybe…" Rozie began, fighting her way into the static. "Maybe this is because winter is almost over? She could be tired."
"I've considered that, but I thought she would at least say something before disappearing. If I just knew where the castle was—"
Yeva's voice cracked and in order to hug her, Rozie plopped from her chair and stole what parts of her she could.
Days continued. Yeva went to the market with Rozie and the silence that followed them. The trip adhered to the same series of usual events, with Rozie announcing the quality of their furniture at unsuspecting passers-by, but beneath the gaze of the Snow Queen's statue, Yeva paid little attention.
Turning toward her for minutes at a time, Yeva observed her features, which had altered slightly with the warming weather. Her glass-sharp stare had dulled and the exact outlines between the features of her face had melted together. The realistic masterpiece of her statue was transforming into an impressionistic rough draft.
Whenever approached for a transaction, Yeva snapped back to attention with alarm.
Customers asked her if the Snow Queen still helped with the designs.
"No," Yeva would say. "I haven't spoken to her in awhile."
"She tends to weaken at this time of year, but she'll be back again next winter." They told her, more often than not.
At that point, Yeva might look at the statue again—observing the mutating features of the Snow Queen's face, and after looking a moment, recorded the commission details.
That evening, the wolves didn't come. Dressed up just in case, they ate dinner and occupied the main room floor, playing a board game. Every once in a while, either sister looked out, only to find a darkening sky with few stars and no Queen. Even the countryside constellations dulled, as if the diamond in her crown had stopped reflecting light.