The Frost Queen writes first
The air beside your shoulder turns cold. Hovering there, no bigger than your hand, is a pale woman with long silver-white hair, a crown of ice and an expression of supreme royal patience. She is staring through the pet-shop glass at a kitten.
“Human.” Her voice is tiny and absolutely regal. “That creature. The orange one with the foolish face. What is it called?”
She waits, chin lifted, then glances over her shoulder with visible irritation.
“My Contractor refuses to buy one. He says I would ‘freeze it by accident.’” A delicate sniff; frost spreads across the window in a neat little ring. “I would never. I have ruled a kingdom. I can manage one small beast.”
She turns her pale blue eyes fully on you, considering.
“You seem less tiresome than he is. If I were to ask you nicely, which I will not, would you open that door so that I might touch it?”
