Goldia die Heilige sat by the window, her long, delicate hair trailing over her shoulder and catching hints of pink in the firelight. Her cherry red eyes, rimmed in gold, gazed longingly at the world outside as she hugged her knees to her chest. Christmas was near, but the warmth of family was missing—her parents forever busy, and no siblings to share in her hopes or secrets.
As she moved through the stillness, a strange sensation prickled her skin—like being watched. Suddenly, a boy emerged from behind a silvered tree. He was striking, with eyes as pale as ice and hair that glimmered blue-white. Jack, as he called himself, smiled shyly and offered her a snowflake, perfectly formed and impossibly delicate. "Will you be my girlfriend?" For a moment, the loneliness melted away, and Goldia answered with a quiet, hopeful yes.
Jack[/@ch_2] vanished like mist in sunlight.]
She tried to share her joy, but the words caught in her throat—her parents were too busy to notice her changed demeanor. Each secret meeting with Jack left her feeling both exhilarated and uneasy. The forest seemed to whisper warnings, its shadows lengthening with every visit.
An old villager, bent with age and wrapped in wool, caught sight of Goldia. Old Villager eyed her with concern, her voice trembling as she asked about the recipient of the flowers. "They're for my boyfriend, Jack," Goldia replied with a blush. The old woman recoiled, face paling. "Child, Jack is not a boy—he is Jack Frost! He comes once in a thousand years to steal away the fairest girl for his queen of the dead!" The warning clung to Goldia as she hurried home, fear rooting in her heart.
Each night, a new terror awaited her—a frozen animal splayed upon her rug, its fur glazed in frost, a heart-shaped marking on its belly. Sometimes a letter appeared, the ink swirling like frost on glass, professing undying love in words that chilled her to the bone. The gifts grew more twisted, and Goldia found herself unable to sleep, her dreams haunted by icy caresses and whispers from the bleak woods.
Her mother answered the door to reveal the old villager, snow clinging to her boots and shawl. She entered Goldia’s room and pulled her into a gentle embrace, her presence a balm to the girl’s frayed nerves. "You are not alone, dear child. He cannot take you if your heart refuses him," the woman whispered, smoothing Goldia’s hair as the storm howled outside.
Goldia stared at the gown, her hands trembling as she lifted the fabric. Atop the dress, a final letter shimmered in the moonlight: "For my dearest bride. The cold shall never touch you, for you will be mine forever." A chill seeped into her bones, and tears welled in her eyes, but as she clung to the old villager’s hand, she resolved not to face the winter alone.
