The biting cold of the winter morning made him curl up even tighter beneath the sheets. Still drowsy, he tried to fall back asleep, but something caught his attention. With heavy eyes, he focused on the large window in front of him.

“Is it snowing?”

Suddenly, his eyelids flew open, and with a jolt, he leapt toward the window.

—Why is it snowing in the middle of August?

With his hands pressed against the icy glass, the young man—around 17 or 18 years old—stared in astonishment at the scene before him. A vast garden, blanketed by a thick layer of snow, and beyond it, a forest whose trees stood tall and majestic under the weight of winter.

The morning chill seeped through every corner of the house as he stood there, mouth agape at the unexpected snowfall. He couldn’t take his eyes off the bright, white landscape, as if pulled from a fairytale. Snowflakes drifted slowly, dancing through the air before settling gently on the ground, adding another layer to the already thick blanket of snow.

His fascination turned to unease as a troubling thought crossed his mind.

“Where am I?”

He looked around, and panic began to set in. This wasn’t his room. Desperate, he tried to remember how he’d gotten there, but his mind was clouded—full of confusion and fear.

Still in his pajamas, he opened the window and extended a hand outside, hoping maybe it was all just a dream. But as the ice bit into his skin, reality struck him hard. He looked up at the sky, searching for answers, but all he saw was an endless gray expanse, from which snow continued to fall without pause.

He turned and scanned the room from the balcony. What met his eyes wasn’t the small, tidy bedroom he was used to, but a luxurious chamber from another era. In the center, a massive canopy bed, surrounded by heavy curtains embroidered in gold. A grand chandelier hung from the ceiling, and the finely carved wooden furniture was upholstered in velvet. The walls were adorned with golden moldings and intricate details, while a white rug with golden floral patterns covered the floor.

The soft lighting and abundance of golden details created an opulent, majestic atmosphere.

Hypnotized by the room’s grandeur, he stepped inside slowly, taking in every beautiful detail, until his gaze landed on a large full-length mirror standing in a far corner.

In the mirror, a tall and slender figure was reflected, dressed in a white nightgown. Their skin was pale, their long black hair straight as night, and their eyes… eyes so light blue they looked like crystal-clear water. Their appearance was so androgynous that it was difficult to tell if they were male or female.

A shiver ran down his spine. He stepped back, and the reflection mimicked him. He raised a hand and watched in horror as the stranger in the mirror did the same.

The air grew heavy. His breathing quickened. He rushed toward the mirror and fell to his knees in front of it, running his fingers over the skin of his face, as if touching it could confirm he was still himself. But… was he?

That reflection stared back at him with the same disbelief. He ran his hands through his hair, feeling the softness of the dark strands slipping through his fingers. His eyes, though familiar, felt foreign. As if they belonged to someone else.

He jerked away from the mirror, stumbling back until his spine met the cold wall. His mind buzzed with unanswered questions.

A creak shattered the silence. He whipped his head around. The large wooden door, which had remained closed until that moment, was now ajar. Beyond the threshold stretched a long, dimly lit hallway. Golden chandeliers cast flickering shadows on the walls, and old portraits seemed to watch him with unsettling intensity.

He swallowed hard. Something inside him told him to stay in the room. But curiosity, mingled with fear, pushed him forward.

With cautious steps, he crossed the doorway.

The hallway stretched out in sepulchral silence, permeated with the faint scent of melted wax. His bare feet felt the chill of the marble floor—an icy contact that anchored him to reality.

At a junction, a grand marble staircase appeared, adorned with a majestic red carpet. Below, a vast hall extended to an enormous door that seemed to be the exit.

Urgency seized him, and without a second thought, he rushed toward the door, not caring who might hear him. With all his strength, he pulled the handle, desperate to open it. The freezing air hit him full-on as the door swung wide open. But he didn’t stop. He ran out—without a coat, without shoes—ignoring the cold that pierced to the bone.

Suddenly, behind him, a female voice shattered the morning stillness.

—Young Cleoh! Young Cleoh, please, stop!

He turned for just a moment. A young woman in a maid’s uniform was running after him, holding a blanket in her hands.

“Cleoh?” he thought, his heart pounding wildly.

But he didn’t stop. Those words only fueled his desperation. He didn’t know who this Cleoh person was or why they were calling him that—and he had no intention of finding out.

He ran without stopping, the icy wind slicing his face, his lungs burning with each breath. The path to the exit seemed endless; he’d come far, but there was still a long way to go. Finally, his body gave out. His legs grew heavy, his vision blurred, and, with no strength left to take another step, he collapsed face-first into the snow, losing consciousness instantly.

Like every morning, Anne woke up early and prepared to carry out her duties as a maid of the ducal household. She washed carefully and tied her long golden hair into a neat bun. Standing before the mirror, she put on her uniform: a dark blue dress that reached her ankles, lightly flared, paired with a white apron with delicate ruffles, almost as long as the dress, which adorned her figure with simplicity and elegance.

She approached the bed and, from underneath it, pulled out a pair of perfectly clean, polished black shoes. After slipping them on, she returned to the mirror to inspect herself one last time.

“Perfect,” she murmured.

Once satisfied with her neat and tidy appearance—so characteristic of the maids of the Duchy of Elisian—she prepared to leave her small room. However, before closing the door, she glanced up at the window above her bed. Snow was falling steadily, covering the landscape in a white blanket.

“It’s going to be a cold day,” she thought.

“I must hurry before the lords wake up,” she told herself, stepping briskly into the hallway.

As she moved swiftly through the mansion’s corridors, lost in thought, Anne sensed a presence around her. Instinctively, she turned her head—but saw no one.

Despite the brief unease, she decided not to dwell on it and continued with her duties. Upon reaching the dining room, she headed straight for the fireplace. Her task that morning was to warm the room and set the table before the ducal family came down for breakfast. With agile movements, she grabbed some firewood stacked beside the hearth and began to light the fire.

Just as she managed to ignite the flames, a sudden icy gust burst into the room, extinguishing the fire instantly. Startled, Anne stood up quickly and turned toward the door. That’s when she realized her mistake—she had left it open.

The relentless wind was pouring in through the open doorway, lifting the edges of the tablecloth and making the curtains dance. She frowned and clicked her tongue in frustration. How could I be so careless?

As she hurried to close the door, Evine’s voice—her closest friend and fellow maid—echoed clearly in her mind, as if still resonating through the ducal hallways.

“Before you light the fireplace, make sure the door is closed. That way, the room will warm up faster, okay?”

“Yes…”

“Mmm? And what's with the long face?”

“It’s just… do you really have to leave?”

She remembered with pain the moment Evine had told her. They had been in the pantry, folding tablecloths and laughing softly, when Anne, her voice trembling, blurted out the question that had been gnawing at her heart for days.

Evine looked at her with a sweet, almost nostalgic smile.

“Oh? So that’s what it was?” she said with a tender laugh. “You know it was inevitable, Anne. I’m getting married in two days. It’s time for me to take care of my own household and start a family with my husband. To do that… I have to leave this job.”

“But… I’m scared.”

Evine tilted her head, surprised by her friend’s honesty.

“Scared? Of what, Anne?”

“I’ve never dealt directly with young Master Cleoh. What if I make a mistake and get punished?”

Silence filled the room for a moment, but then Evine let out a soft laugh—so infectious that it even eased Anne’s tense shoulders.

“What are you talking about? Young Master Cleoh is calm and kind. Even if you made a mistake, he’d understand. You have nothing to be afraid of.”

Evine stepped closer and placed a warm hand on her shoulder. It was a simple gesture, but full of affection and trust.

“Besides, thanks to me leaving, you’ll finally get out of the laundry room. They’ll assign you to the dining hall and noble chambers. Now you’ll be able to send enough money to your family so they can live well. It’s a step up, don’t you see? So… cheer up a bit, Anne!”

The scene faded from her mind like the smoke from a candle. Anne returned to the present with a deep sigh.

“What’s with this sudden wind?” she thought, glancing out toward the dining room entrance. Her eyes fell on the main door, located to the right of the room—it was completely wide open.

“Huh?!” she exclaimed, startled.

She didn’t clearly see the person who had left, but she did manage to spot a peculiar head of black hair whipping in the wind.

Anne rushed to the entrance and, peering outside, confirmed her fears. It was, without a doubt, young Master Cleoh. But she couldn’t understand why he had run out of the mansion in such a state.

Before her mind could fully grasp what was happening, Anne acted. She ran to the parlor, grabbed one of the blankets that covered the sofas, and, without a second thought, dashed after him, shouting desperately for him to stop.

Just when she thought her cries had finally reached the young master’s ears, her heart dropped as she saw him collapse into the snow.

“No, no, no…! Young Master Cleoh!!” Anne rushed to his side, knelt beside him, and, as best she could, turned him over. His slender arms were numb from the cold, and he was gasping for air, but she had to lift him.

However, she didn’t have the strength to do so. With what little breath she had left, she screamed desperately:

“Please, someone! I need help! Young Master Cleoh isn't responding! Guards!”

No matter how loudly she cried, there was no answer. The absence of any response sank her deeper into anguish, until finally, she broke down in tears. With trembling hands, she wrapped the blanket carefully around the young man and held him tightly in a desperate attempt to shield him from the freezing wind and biting cold that lashed the grounds.

“Is anyone there?” a voice called out, suddenly breaking the silence like a distant echo.

She quickly lifted her head and looked in all directions until, in the distance, she saw the silhouettes of two guards patrolling the courtyard on that frigid morning.

“Here, please, over here!” she shouted, raising her arms and waving them frantically to draw their attention.

The guards rushed over. When they arrived, they found the young maid kneeling in the snow, clinging desperately to a figure wrapped in a blanket.

“Anne?” one of them asked, visibly surprised. “What are you doing outside the mansion in this weather?”

Anne remained silent. She couldn’t find the words—not even for herself. Confusion clouded her mind, and no matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t fully understand what was happening.

Seeing her so bewildered, one of the guards knelt beside her, trying to make sense of the situation. Then his eyes landed on the face of the young man wrapped in the blanket—and something about that image chilled him to the bone.

“Young Master Cleoh…?” he murmured, his voice cracking, his face frozen in shock. He turned slowly to the maid, searching her eyes for an explanation, but the questions flooded his mind faster than he could form them into words.

Driven by urgency and without a moment’s hesitation, he gently took the young man from Anne’s arms and sprinted toward the mansion, carrying him as carefully as the moment allowed. The second guard, seeing the maid’s condition, took off his coat and draped it over her shoulders. Then he helped her to her feet gently and accompanied her back to the mansion’s main entrance, shielding her from the icy wind that still whipped through the snow-covered gardens.

—Amaryllis! Amaryllis!

—Yes, ma’am? —replied a young maid with reddish hair and green eyes, hastily appearing at the doorway upon hearing her name.

—Where is Anne?

—Pardon?

—I asked you about Anne Marie! She was supposed to prepare the dining room, but there’s no sign of her—and on top of that, the fireplace is still unlit. Where the hell is that girl?!

Amaryllis hesitated for a few seconds before responding, fully aware of the rising impatience in every word from the head maid.

—I don’t know, ma’am. I haven’t seen Anne Marie at all this morning.

The woman’s brow furrowed severely as she crossed her arms, her stern gaze brimming with exasperation.

—Unacceptable, she muttered through clenched teeth. Go find her right now. Tell her to come here immediately.

Amaryllis nodded quickly and walked away down the hall, feeling the cold of the massive house seeping through her thin clothes. Her steps echoed against the polished marble floor, the sound fading along the tall, solemn corridors.

The head maid, visibly irritated, adjusted her glasses on the bridge of her nose and turned her gaze toward the rest of the maids, who stood tense and expectant, fearing they’d be the next target of her commands.

—What are you all standing around for? Back to work!

—Y-yes, ma’am! —they replied in unison, scattering at once like a startled swarm.

—Cordiel.

—Yes? —replied a short young woman, spinning around at the sound of her name, clearly startled.

—Go and prepare the dining room. Now.

—Yes, ma’am, she said, giving a hurried curtsy before heading to her task.

---

After checking every corner of the mansion and finding no trace of Anne, Amaryllis turned a hallway corner toward the main entrance, when she spotted a figure approaching quickly from the foyer. Her eyes widened as she realized it wasn’t Anne approaching, but a guard, his face distraught, carrying a body wrapped in a blanket.

—What in the—?! —she gasped, bringing both hands to her mouth as she recognized the dark hair of young Cleoh.

—Move! I need space! —the guard barked without slowing down, his voice ragged from exertion.

Amaryllis stepped aside, still paralyzed by confusion, as the guard rushed through the gallery toward the mansion’s infirmary wing. Behind him, the second guard appeared, walking beside Anne—still trembling, wrapped in a coat that wasn’t hers.

—Anne?!

Murmurs quickly spread. Servants, maids, and footmen peeked out from corners, their faces pale. Some whispered the young lord’s name. Others stared at Anne—her cheeks red from the cold, her hands empty and stiff.

The head maid burst out of the dining room like a gust of wind.

—What’s going on?! —she demanded, marching firmly toward the commotion. What is all this noise?

Amaryllis could barely speak. She just raised a trembling finger, pointing in the direction the guards had gone.

The woman spun on her heels and, upon seeing the blanket, the unconscious young man, and Anne half-collapsed against the guard’s shoulder, her expression changed. Her usual severity was replaced by a mixture of alarm and something that could almost be... fear.

—Take him to the east wing infirmary. Now! —she ordered in a firm but tense voice. Then she turned her eyes to Anne.

—And you… as soon as you can speak, I want an explanation. Clear. Complete.

Anne nodded weakly before allowing the guard to lead her away.

---

The flickering oil lamp cast trembling shadows across the walls of the infirmary as chaos settled over the room. One of the younger maids rushed to heat water on the head maid’s orders, while Anne, now wrapped in a dry blanket that barely eased the chill in her bones, approached uncertainly the bed where Cleoh lay unconscious.

His lips, tinged with a bluish hue, stood in stark contrast to the ghostly pallor of his face. A faint shiver ran through his soaked body, and although the guard had laid him down with great care, the wet nightgown clung to his skin like a frozen shroud. Anne swallowed hard, the knot in her throat tightening.

Without daring to hesitate further, she knelt beside him.

—I’m sorry… —she murmured in a broken voice, more to herself than to him.

Her numb, trembling fingers struggled to unbutton the soaked garment. The heavy, waterlogged fabric fell to the floor with a dull thud, revealing the young man’s exhausted body. His skin was marked by cold, bluish at the extremities, and his breathing was barely a whisper that barely lifted his chest.

—We need dry blankets and clean clothes—now! —the head maid ordered, turning toward the door just as another maid entered, carrying a steaming bucket and carefully folded garments.

—Here, this is the warmest I could find, the girl said, placing a thick linen shirt and cotton pants on a nearby chair.

Anne nodded silently. She leaned over the young man and, with a warm towel, began drying his body gently. She avoided looking more than necessary, though a flush rose unavoidably to her cheeks. Despite her discretion, the intimacy of the moment overwhelmed her. Still, there was no room for modesty—Cleoh’s life hung by a thread.

Once dry, she dressed him in the clean clothes and wrapped him in a thick woolen blanket that still held the warmth of the fire. She exhaled a breath she didn’t realize she’d been holding and remained seated at his side, watching the fragile rhythm of his breathing.

Just then, the door swung open urgently. A middle-aged man stepped inside, his cloak dusted with snow from the blizzard, a leather bag slung over his shoulder, and a determined look behind fogged glasses.

—Where is he? —he asked in a deep voice, not slowing his pace.

—Here, doctor, replied the head maid, placing a hand on Anne’s shoulder to signal her to move aside.

The doctor approached immediately. He dropped his bag onto the nearby table and began pulling out vials, bandages, and a stethoscope with mechanical precision. He bent over the boy, lifted the blanket, and gently felt his torso, monitoring his breathing rhythm.

—How long was he exposed to the cold? Does anyone know?

—About ten minutes, Anne replied tensely. But he ran out barefoot… and in a nightgown.

The doctor nodded, not lifting his gaze, focused entirely on the diagnosis.

—Then we’re lucky hypothermia hasn’t reached critical levels. We’ll need to keep him warm and monitor him through the night. Did he fully lose consciousness?

—Yes, Anne murmured. I couldn’t wake him.

—Good. The main goal now is to stabilize his temperature and observe for any spasms or breathing issues. As he spoke, the doctor raised his hand in a subtle motion.

A delicate layer of amber light, warm and enveloping, began to glow from his palm and surrounded the young man’s body with a soft radiance, like sunlight wrapping around his skin. Anne and the other maids held their breath as Cleoh’s skin slowly began regaining a hint of color.

—This will keep his temperature stable until he wakes up, the doctor explained, eyes still fixed on the boy. Now let him rest. I’ll prepare a tonic to strengthen his breathing.

Anne stepped back slowly and leaned against the nearest wall. Her hands, stiff from the tension, were visibly trembling.

—There’s no need to worry, the doctor murmured, noticing her state without looking directly at her. He’ll be all right.

Those simple words struck Anne like a stone. She lowered her head, finally overcome by emotion. Silent tears ran down her cheeks—warm and salty—slipping between her clasped fingers.

Her first day as a housemaid in that mansion had turned into a nightmare…