The Winter Queen stepped into the clearing with empty hands. There were no others brought out this time. The necklaces that once held the longer nights had already been spent, their beads dulled, their weight gone. This was the last one left. They placed it in her hands without a word. Even before she moved, you could feel it — the stored cold, pressed deep into the beads, held through the long stretch of summer when the nights had grown too short for her to take what she needed. She had endured on what remained, thinning, retreating, waiting. She lifted it slowly. The warmth broke first. It left the air in a steady pull, drawn out until breath turned visible again and the ground began to stiffen beneath their feet. The beads dimmed as they gave it up, their colour settling as what had been held through the season was finally spent. She stood there for a moment longer, as if letting the cold settle back into her bones. This was how winter returned.
