January had seemed to last for months. Every day seemed the same, as the clouds hung over the town like it was being smothered with a massive pillow and the snow kept falling. The entrance of her house, no matter how much snow she shovelled off, was always blocked by the next day; as it seemed it was always going to snow more, it was an exercise in futility.

She wasn’t used to being alone; when she was a girl, the house was always full of screaming children, ranting old men, and tired women who thought that she was always eager to clean up. So much of her time was spent outside, hiding in the snow. I would have loved this when I was a kid, she thought.

The fire was waning, the sun had already set, and by the dim candlelight, she could barely see her work, though if she quit sewing now, she’d never have her work ready in time. As she worried, her needle pierced flesh instead of fabric, driving her to a rather sudden conclusion. “Argh!”, she yelled, throwing the shirt to the floor. “Of course! Every stupid thing has to go wrong! ”

Quickly, she pulled her cloak on, storming out of her house and into the snow, running not towards the rest of town but to the forest surrounding it, an imposing being even in winter, when the naked branches still seemed to block out any and all light.

She must have been wandering for hours when she collapsed in a clearing surrounded by rocks. “It’s never going to stop! Why did I do this in the first place- oh, I’m doomed!”, she thought. And as the snow kept falling, she fell asleep.

“Wake up, girl. Please!” She heard someone- something that sounded like a young man. She was still in the snow, which by now covered her like a blanket, yet she was so warm. She opened her eyes- nothing but black-brown branches, untrodden snow, and a deathly pale hand touching her face.

She forced herself into a sitting position, yawning. What looked like a man with ice-blue eyes and white hair, despite his apparent youth, was sitting next to her. His clothes were richly decorated and light in both colour and weight, his only concession to the weather being a dark blue jacket with brass buttons. “Are you alright, girl?”, he said. “I don’t know- I could be dying, but I don’t feel a thing. What are you, and can I go home?”, she asked. “I shall not tell you my true name, but I am the one who gave you more snow. And yes, I will take you back.”, he replied. “You’re the one who did it? I- why, you nearly froze me, along with the entire village! Why would-” “I thought you wanted it.”

And the snow stopped falling.

The man walked her home in what seemed to be an unnaturally short span of time. When she opened the door, it was to a burning fire, a fully-stocked pantry, and all the clothes she had made or altered finished. “Is this a better gift?”