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  The lands of the central northeast of Ranesairan were permanently locked in a state of snowfall: the nature there was relentless to every critter and beast, and in the midst of that white purgatory stood a lone manor, where the melody of a finely-tuned piano played.

  A young lady of pure white hair and wary, blinding blue eyes pressed the white and black keys of this artisan piece in precise sequence listed on the paper before her — Johan Halvorsen, Passacaglia.

  She breathed deep as the wool of her muted green shirt quietly slid on the skin of her wrists, her expression impatient, but not obvious to an eye unkeen. The same piece was repeated time and time again, it would seem, as the melody kept a rhythm so steady it could've been achieved only through endless trial and effort. How long has she sat there and played this one song, with just herself present? She blinked, the astoundingly full lashes somehow not getting stuck together, her half-closed eyes looking more at her own fingers more than the script itself.

  "Uh..." A sound escaped her lips, briefly going through the room, which was quite small for an audience. Only the piano could fit, leaving enough space between it and the surrounding walls for someone to, perhaps, maintain it. The space past the piano was empty as well, with some leftover room for a single, short step. Only a single couple of chairs at the very back of the room came to be the sole witnesses to the scene, both positioned in the corner opposite of the large double door. From the window a storm of snow was observed clearly and not a few dozen meters you could see out, as the large petals of ice screened all that happened beyond the manor.

  The lady's hands slowed down over a half a minute, and so the piano turned silent. She lifted her eyes from the keys, staring at the paper, soon stretching with her arms raised above her head, yawning at the same time "Johan..." In that drawn out yawn she read the unfamiliar name. The miss knew it well, she knew how it was pronounced and that it belonged to a human. But really she did not know a thing of the person to whom it belonged — it adorned but another shard of passion someone had orchestrated in their life, somewhere in another world, given to her, copied and replayed by none other than her Excellency Marpha Yeterikon.

  Marpha gave this young lady quite a few gentle pieces when she still was a student at one of the Dispanserias near Mellanegi. It would be hard to admit for anybody, but the young lady enjoyed them a fair amount, as they complemented the restless region of her homeland, though more so they helped her slip out of what felt like a permanent melancholy. Out of the few noble children the entirety of Ranesairan had, surely this girl was the most tender one, however her rare outings from the Dukedom really disallowed any form of reference.

  The young lady lowered her arms and exhaled, the posture turning more burdened as she slouched slightly. "Alladen..." But, perhaps, aside from the other common turbulences of her life — another thing was on her mind. It was much expected, so much needless in her head — she thought. The miss turned towards the window that barely glowed with the outside light, the wooly pleated skirt twisting against the leather stool with a faint sound.

  Her eyes gazed out into the dim, white void, "Will you be gone, too?" She quietly whispered, her words thin on the lips as, but the monologue continued: "I can't even begin to guess what happened, the second I take my gaze somewhere else, the world seems to turn completely. Am I not supposed to stop?" The questions leering from the lonely room at the very island itself. "Even papa came so far as to rush, isn't it humorous? This new continent of ours certainly knows how to lift everyone from slumber...” Her eyes left the window and wandered upwards, “Does it not?” Of course there wasn't a reply to her question. “...I should have only waited for you to turn to it as well." Her left hand reached to lower the fallboard of the piano, and the eyes reached for the delicate parquet, the being of hers sulking with the thoughts of her predicament. Those questions left unanswered, such was the cruel nature of soulless earths. “What am I talking about...” She said, rubbing her thumbs together.

  "I wonder how it will be for you there, will it be hard and torturous? Or... May you find that place as much as captivating?" The voice of the young lady stuck to the floral patterns of the wallpaper, the soles of her shoes skimming across the wood, as she turned a right angle from the window, the gentle rustle of her skirt against the leather of the stool halting as soon as she stood up. The few steps it took for her to get to the door were slow and measured, the fingers grazing the wall before finally wrapping around the knob, turning it, but not the head towards the lonely piano. “I hope you don't.” This time her voice was even quieter than all her previous whispers.

  Those warm shoes of hers created a soft echo through the empty hallways, but a brief accompaniment was added to her lone walk. “I shouldn't have said that... It was really rude.” And she herself was the sole listener to the ramblings, as none of the Ducal family members liked having a lot of servants, mostly just because of their background.

  The Durass-Paren family was one of the only three nations that gained control of their lands with the willingness of the previous owners — they even inherited their surname and put it before their own, but out of respect. The Latest Duke Durass was a benevolent ruler of this region of harsh permafrost: that quality was the sole reason he managed to make this barren, pure white wasteland prosper as much as it did, as no corrupt, cruel and inconsiderate fool could've gotten any sort of support from the local population even if they were to try and bribe them. Forceful exertion of influence was just as ineffective as any other uncooperative method that was tried before him. Even after the coup three years ago, the Durass, afterwards — the Durass-Paren territory kept its steady rhythm of livelihood, wasting no energy on squabbles with the much hostile neighbour to the west. In fact, it has gotten even calmer after the lesser known treasure hunter of the local ethnicity took the position of the Duke, a lot of the taxes that were present during the monarchy days were removed, leaving the populace with a bit more of their own produce and consequently — happier households.

  Meanwhile, the young lady went to the wardrobe with the outside attire and picked out her usual pieces: a faux fur hat and a silky overcoat, both as white as her own hair and the snow outside the manor. She adjusted the hat over her head, and the overcoat over the clothes. Her indoor shoes were exchanged for long boots, and her way was made towards the main door leading out of the manor and into the pure expanse. Neither of her parents were present as of now, and the servants didn't worry her, and with the ideal weather for a walk just appearing, the young miss couldn't resist the urge to go outside.

  She went through the first door and entered the small corridor with a few brushes and rough carpets, the actual second exit door in front. Paying no mind to the utilities and shutting the first door behind her, the young lady moved straight to the exit and unshut the thick obstacle; the wind was surprisingly gentle, but the snow was as dense as the fog at dawn. Without hesitation did she walk out into the restless burr of the weather.

  Her breaths were instantly visible in the air, pushing around the hefty snowflakes as she walked through the moving wall of cold fur. The skin of her face was just as pale as it was indoors, the cold seemingly having no effect on her whatsoever — which was true — as her race was born from the very violent blizzards and turbulent magic of the northern Ranesairan. Even the temperatures that are lethal to animals with the thickest coats aren't a match to their sheer resilience, at most giving them mild frostbite, although it might be a slight exaggeration. The young lady continued walking straight on the hidden path, which would stay covered in snow even if you were to shovel it every other hour. The whole voyage meant to get her to her favourite resting spot in the locality of their manor, which was still quite far.

  Out of the well-concealed pockets on the inside of her overcoat, she pulled out a pair of leather gloves, but they were black in a stark contrast to the rest of her getup. She put the leather gloves on, rolling her fingers as her left, then right hand were hidden inside the cozy pieces. The young lady took each step carefully, trodding through the ice hidden beneath the considerable crust of soft powder, those full lashes of hers doing their work with due diligence and protecting the eyes from the onslaught of the falling petals, the pupils of the gaze she had uncovered fully.

  In this bold expanse of even ground there was little to look at, but it was not her goal to begin with, such things as nature's beauty was foreign to the young lady, the preferred notion built into her very soul being the chance to see the pretty within the others, and the surrounding world solely serving the purpose of an amplifier to the individuals she met. Leaving behind footsteps in frozen mud like signatures of this purposeless trip, which was not the last, and certainly not the first trip she had of the sort.

  Those detours into the vast nothing often allowed the emotionally unaccustomed lady to sort the confusing feelings she had back at the manor, the pure white and empty sights almost pulling the thoughts out of her head as the only thing coming to her mind became the very sound of her own boots brushing against the snow. She still walked, she still carried on, passing bumps in the snow — bushes underneath layers of months' old cold — them serving as occasional deviators to her path, making the lady maneuver right and left, distorting the trail and turning it into a headless serpent.

  It was an hour worth of walking to get to her desired destination, it being a river that seemed to be freshly boiled: a natural downpour of the hotsprings from the mountains further in the south. She stepped onto the strip of green grass by the steaming river, trampling on the short greenery and soft, warm earth. The snow that had stuck to her clothes began to melt upon contact with the steam, which blew into her face from time to time, as the wind got distorted by the changing pressure near the unruly source of liquid. As pretty as it was, the water from this alluring stream could not be drunk, the water only feasible enough for some measly grass to grow, else perishing from the overbearing contents of minerals and salts within it. The young lady squatted down by the earthy shore of the river, taking off her right glove, reaching to touch and bask her fingertips in the high but bearable heat of this water. She stared down at the moving ripples of the fast current, following it downstream.

  "The bridge..."

  With pressed lips she thought of the bridge that was down the stream, yet, she chose not to go for it. The girl stood up, shaking the water off as thin layers of ice, sliding the glove back onto her hand. She leaned towards the river, gradually lifting her left foot, sinking it towards the surface of the water, which turned to thick and hard crust of clear ice before her foot even touched it in liquid form, just a few steps to bypass this natural border with a bridge that'll be gone in a few minutes.

  On the other side, she turned around and looked back at the left shore of the same grassy earth. "Won't these two shores never touch one another?" A glimpse of a sort of realisation washed over her usually unaffected face, her eyes going back to the bridge of ice she had created, the structure altering the flow of the water beneath, creating waves and ripples as bits of itself began to chip away and float along with the hot liquid, dissipating quickly. The girl got closer to it again, and without more movements from the lady, the entire thing turned into a cloud of ice shavings, artificial snowflakes that exploded in all directions, vanishing in the surrounding steam.

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  Her eyes, then body averted from the happenings, the legs resuming their movement, from the damp ground and onto the frozen mud similar to the right shore. This time she took great care to look down, stopping abruptly and using her foot to shovel the snow away from the ground that it covered, revealing barren, bare corpses of this summer's grass, whose seeds probably rested until the next, single warm month. Indeed, each and every animal here, almost every single creature in the north lived for the sole warmest month of the year, each adapting to last through the endless cold just to prosper for a brief moment, only to go into a long slumber after a bit more than thirty days.

  The lady went on, still keeping her stare glued to the places where her legs stepped. "You look no different from the rest that reside on the other shore..." She spoke down, "Yet, how many millennia have you been separated by mere meters of running water?" The ask of the ground, of course, was but a conversation with herself. Who knows what sort of parallels were drawn in that curious head of the young mistress, who lifted her eyes to notice an outline of a wooden building on the edge of the simulated fog?

  The outline grew closer, tall wooden columns rising in view as the obstructing white screen faded, the defined border of a pine forest behind a building and columns gradually filled her entire view. Soon, the purpose of this building grew apparent, as owls sat on the perches sticking out around the tops of those trunks, and large, downward facing windows pasted along the sides of the wooden hut were open. It was an owlkeep.

  The young lady came close to the stairs, the hut itself raised on vertical logs, set deep into the soil. She walked up to the door and pulled out the broom that was hung on a ring by the door, swiping across the brush to get rid of... more snow that stuck to it, snow is everywhere here. Then, she positioned the now clean brush against the porch and pushed the snow off of the edge, and afterwards she used the broom to knock the inescapable white nightmare from the soles of her boots. Slinging the broom back into the ring that she had taken it from after concluding the ordeal, opening the unlocked door.

  Upon entering the tall building, a couple of large nests organized on boards on the walls met the eyes, three large owls of white feathers and slick faces with beady black eyes staring down at the guest, returning to grooming their wings a couple seconds later. There was bird residue on the floor, which didn't seem to concern the young lady, as she went to the tarped stool in the corner by the entrance and unveiled the roughly made seat without a spine. She put the tarp down gently by the stool, sitting down and taking off her hat, looking at the owls intently while they barely paid attention to her.

  It wasn't much warmer inside the owlkeep, her breath still clear in the air, but her face warmed and gave the birds a slight smile. That lady loved these birds a considerable amount, they were the locally bred Tisze owls, which are often employed as protectors against a collection of resilient rodent species down south of the capital — Tiszegaphios, where wildlife had a slightly more tolerable climate to exist in, so all the potential invaders of the attics and basements full of valuable long-lasting foods had an absolute minimal chance of a successful infiltration. But, that's not quite the reason why she rejoiced silently upon meeting them each time. This particular breed might not be the most widespread, but it is influential, as even the martial arts academy that she graduated from not too long ago used them for their emblems and insignias. It was a far more certain and calm time, maybe that predetermination is what made her comfortable in both the Academy and Dispanseria? After all, she hardly had anything to do past playing the piano and reading books nowadays.

  The lady almost zoned out while staring at the birds, but a thought that crossed her mind woke her up. "Close, but separate?" The blue eyes wandered between the birds on the opposite walls of each other, "You guys are right." She continued. Talking to herself has become a habit of hers, as the routine of solitude got the worst of her after a long time. The young used that as a measured method to imagine different scenarios in her head, though often it ended up as mere daydreaming.

  "If he is going so far, then, what am I waiting for?” Her tone wasn't that confident, and she knew it wasn't confident, too, “I don't quite need the permission that he has to get every time he decides to do something..." She leaned her head against the wall behind her, looking up at the ceiling and ruminating inside her mind. Her hands were planted on her legs, rising and tapping on the knees one after the other. "Going for the new continent, that's a very bold plan..." The young lady sat in silence for a brief moment, exhaling a long, opaque cloud. She stopped her hands and looked down, the eyes posted at the dark glove on her left hand. The young lady rubbed her fingers together, the leather resisting and squeaking, the unclenched hand rotating and bending, showing off every angle of the intricate piece of clothing. "I suppose that is my future destination as well..." Her legs lazily lifted the weight off the stool, the hat in her right hand was settled back on the head.

  One of the owls silently glided down to the table in the center of the room, that pair of black beads staring expectantly at the lady. She walked up to the bird, waving her hands, both relaxed at the wrists. "Sorry, I didn't bring any food." Naturally, the bird didn't understand a word, still staring at her, scratching the back of its head with its clawed foot once. When she tried to reach out and pet the bird, it dipped its head and walked away, looking intensely at the glove and inside the sleeves... It wasn't hard to tell that upon realising that there wasn't a bone to pick, the owl rose back to the nest. With a barely frustrated sigh, the lady walked away from the table, a dissatisfied expression adorning her face.

  Carefully closing the door behind her, she gently lowered the soles of her boots on the stairs, trying not to slip on the snow, which had already covered her old footsteps, leaving only barely noticeable indents in the bulges of the steps. A single glance was given to the hut, and a new trail of footsteps had begun leading away from the building, deviating to the left.

  The lady was again in the midst of the white expanse, the snowfall had considerably calmed and thinned, the sky still completely filled by the grey clouds, the silhouette of the bridge over the river clearly visible even from a far distance, her legs moving in its precise direction. To the left there was snow, to the right it was the left, behind was the front and vice versa, and that made many people consider this unchanging picture taxing on both the eyes and the mind, as you can walk a thousand steps and still be in the middle of a cold desert, unless you stumble on a village or a forest front. Eventually, the girl had reached the bridge: it was made from stone, and was also reaching far beyond the green patches of grass and into the permafrost, so the bridge wouldn't sink into the soft soil of the shore.

  The miss stood still in the middle of the bridge, overlooking the river from the stone railing, this one construction appearing as if the sole landmark in hundreds of meters of radius, almost the highest point, too. The hills over on the further parts of the right shore disallowed the view of the Ducal manor. The young lady leaned over the railing, resting her right elbow on the stone and supported her face with the glove, the bored gaze stuck to the water again. "You aren't that mighty, turns out." She furrowed her brows, "That I'll show you." The threat was hurdled at the river itself, those trimmed brows furrowing as the girl walked down the arch of the bridge leading to the right shore, turning her head around over the shoulder and showing off her tongue, "Idiot."

  And although her tone was pretty harsh, her eyes almost shut again, “Why am I insulting water...?” The head nodded to itself as the snow kicked up from the shuffling boots, and the hands wrapped around the back of her head, the feet moving at a slight upwards incline. The edges of the manor finally rose from the horizon line of the hill: a similar structure to the owlkeep near the forest could be seen around the back of the building, standing as a tall tower made of stone with a collection of owls overseeing the vicinity from the high perches. No roads leading from or to the manor were seen, sparse poles sticking out of the snow acting as markers, outlining the trail towards the north. "Maybe I should bring some meat next time I go to the west keep?" She thought, closing in on the entrance door.

  When the young lady finally entered the small corridor between the two doors, she took off her hat the second time and hit it against the wall, the accumulated snow splashing away from the impact, a hanger on the wall was used to temporarily stash the hat, so she could pat down the overcoat, those petals layering on the floor in soft clumps. The boots were brushed all over after the overcoat had been hung, and their laces were also undone, revealing that the boots were actually worn over the indoor shoes. The entire attire was mostly used as superficial protection from the snow and possible dirt that could tarnish the clothes underneath, or just the hair. Though, in her case the long threads would get plastered regardless of what she wears. Speaking of her hair: the young lady shook her head, the powdery snow mostly parting with the smooth mane, leaving just a few specks along the whole length. She sighed, supporting herself against the wall in order to reach the hanger without stepping into the snow on the floor, and carried the outdoor clothes inside carelessly.

  Once indoors, the lady went to one of the living rooms, where a fireplace was crackling, and a rack on wheels stood by the brick chimney, with a platter underneath that had raised edges. She moved the rack in front of the fireplace and spread the clothes over the metal structure, finally sitting down beside the rack to also dry her hair, a bit further and facing away from the fire. A figure of a maid passed through the door frame to the right, and silence came after the sound of those steps disappeared in the depths of the manor.

  "Fwuh...?" The lady fell asleep without noticing, slouching on the floor with a blanket over her, the rack had been moved back where it belonged, and the clothes were probably taken to the wardrobe. The white light also vanished from the windows, so it is likely that she didn't spend just one or two hours napping on the floor of a living room. After sitting up and snuggling the blanket around her shoulders, she reached to touch the hair on the back of her head with a disgruntled expression, as the hair felt terribly dry. "Eeeeeeh..." The lady unwillingly stood up, stretching her arms and back, leaving the blanket on the floor, and the cracking of her joints felt louder than the crackling of the fireplace for a brief moment. When the stiffness wore out, she bent over to get the blanket. With the blanket in hand, se moved out of the living room and came up to the second floor.

  A door stood in front of her, it was wide, a double door, in fact, and the very sound it made felt heavy upon its opening. What it hid was a library: reaching up to the third floor, two levels of shelves filled completely with books, and a large opening in the center, where a vast table was positioned. The young lady went to the end of the table, a chair turned back to the large, storey-high window, and sat at the table, two columns of books to either side of herself, with a single open book in front of her.

  "I'll have to ask papa to pester uncle Ollade to give him details regarding the new lands, I hope he will have something interesting to tell..." She held her head up by the forehead, yawning, "I just slept, and I'm already tired again... Ugh." The soft orange lighting within the library did not help with the wariness of the young mistress of the house, solely making her more tired when she wanted to read a bit more instead of going to bed. Staying up late to read surely wasn't good for her mood, because a tired lady is a grumpy lady, and this girl should really consider going to sleep earlier — no matter how much she wants to entertain herself. Well, this time around she was plotting her own actions for the near future, though it wasn't effective, as she neither had the knowledge nor the energy to conduct serious planning.

  Her face was also now buried in the pages of the book. Let's wish her a good night.

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