Icarus had never felt so much fear in his life. His body moved on its own, and he found himself choking back a scream as he furiously dug through the snow,  searching for something. Anything. For a small glimmer of light, anything would have sufficed.

She was alive. She had to be alive. She could not die just like that. Not like this.

    "Giselle!" he screamed, his voice louder than it had ever been. "Giselle, where are you?"

His fingers dug into the snow until they broke through, revealing a patch of ice stained red with blood, surrounding the remains of a broken branch splattered with crimson. A cry tore itself from Icarus' throat as he sank down to his knees. He dug faster.

With shaky hands, he uncovered the bruised, battered face of William, his eyes closed shut, unbreathing, one side of his head caved in. 

Upon seeing William's face, it was as if a huge relief had overcome him, and he was horrified at himself for feeling that way. The blood was not Giselle's. She was probably still in there somewhere, but the blood was not hers.

He continued digging. Even though vampires were unaffected by the cold, prolonged exposure to such low temperatures could lead to stiffness, and at that moment, Icarus had long lost the feeling in his hands, nor could he move them either.

       "Giselle! Answer me, I beg you!"

There was no answer. Icarus had not expected one, but he certainly hoped for one.

At last, after what felt like hours, his hands brushed against fabrics, grey and fluffy, like the coat that Giselle wore. He'd found her. A soft, relieved cry escaped his throat as he frantically cleared the rest of the snow, revealing Giselle's pale, bluing face.

     "Oh, Giselle," he murmured under his breath as he pulled her limp body into his arms. "Oh, poor Giselle."

Her skin was deathly pale, like that of a corpse, her chest barely stirring, but her heart was still beating, albeit weakly. She was still alive.

     "Giselle, wake up," he called out, pressing his palm against her cheek.

She needed warmth, desperately, and he knew that. He took off his cloak, wrapping it around her, hoping that it would provide a semblance of warmth for her. But it was nowhere near enough.

His instincts told him to hold her close against him, but he knew that there would be no use. Maybe a couple of hundred years ago, when his blood was still warm, when his heart was still beating, it could have helped. But not now. His blood lay congealed in his veins, and his heart unmoving.

     "Giselle," he said, almost exasperatedly. It was cold, too cold, and he knew that if she stayed here for even an hour longer, she would not make it.

A thunderbolt ripped through the pitch-black sky, briefly illuminating the Earth. He could see her closed eyes, her bluish lips, and her matted black hair.

         Icarus did not plan to wait any longer. He hoisted her up in his arms, then he made his way back to the horse. Once they were both safely mounted on the horse, Icarus turned around one last time,  looking at William's battered corpse, lying in a pool of blood that seemed to seep into the pale snow, creating patterns reminiscent of flowers blooming in spring.

A wave of guilt rushed through him, but he knew, from the amount of blood that he had lost, that William was already long gone. Even if he tried to save him, it would end up fruitless, and he might even lose Giselle in the process.

Icarus shut his eyes, quietly gritting his teeth. He tugged on the reins, kicking the sides of the horse. He had made his choice in the end, but it was not one that he made willingly. Icarus hated himself for that, for leaving William's corpse out in the snow, and even more, he hated himself for being grateful that it was William who was crushed by that broken branch, not Giselle.

He tightened his hold on her and made the race back to the palace.

        Dismounting the horse with Giselle in his arms, he burst through the main hall, and he was instantly bombarded with a wave of warmth, and he could feel the snow that had clung to his hair and clothing rapidly melting.

      "Edith! Edith!" he called out. "Edith, come here, quick!"

Icarus could feel his knees weakening, his hands still shaking from the shock of what had just unfolded. In his arms, Giselle remained limp, her lips still a ghastly shade of bluish-white.

     "Edith!" he shouted, this time with even more desperation and a tinge of anger.

It was in the dead of the night, and Missus Harris had likely retreated to her chambers, but Icarus did not care about that. He could not even think of anything at that moment other than Giselle's well-being.

      "Yes, Your Grace?" Missus Harris said as she hurriedly ran down the stairs, still in her nightgown and bonnet. "Oh, heavens! What happened here?"

     "I don't have time to explain," Icarus cut her off. "Light up the fireplace in my bedroom, and prepare lots of hot water. And get Aldous. Aldous will know what to do."

Missus Harris did not react as fast as Icarus had wanted her to, and she stood stoically at the bottom of the stairs, her eyes narrowed as she stared at Giselle's limp form in Icarus' arms.

     "But Lord Brouchard isn't here," she eventually said. "He left for Bath earlier this night."

     "Aldous isn't here?" Icarus repeated, almost as if he could not believe his ears. "Never mind. Go and prepare the bedroom now."

Icarus tightened his hold on Giselle, then moved to ascend the flight of stairs, before an unfamiliar voice stopped him.

     "Your Grace, I believe that it is best if I take care of her."

He frowned as he turned around, only to see a tall, lean man dressed in a shirt and breeches making his way out of the dark corridor. His hair was a pale golden blond, his eyes a striking black, and he had features that would normally be considered attractive, but there was something in his air that made it appear unnerving.

      "Who are you?" Icarus demanded.

      "I am Jasper Arvell, Giselle's cousin. Missus Harris hired me as a stable hand only two days ago."

'Jasper' looked down upon Giselle, brushing some of her hair away from her face. "I can tell that she needs medical attention immediately. I will take over from here, Your Grace."

Icarus took a step back, so that he could no longer touch her. "You? What can you do?"

      "Jasper is Giselle's cousin, Your Grace," Missus Harris hurriedly interjected. "And he is still... human. He will know what to do."

'Jasper' cleared his throat. "Precisely. Giselle is my cousin. I will not let her die just like that."

Even though he did not like the prospect of leaving Giselle in 'Jasper's' care, he knew that she would be worse off in his own care. If 'Jasper' could save her, then so be it.

     "Very well, then," he relented.

      When Giselle awoke, it felt as if she had been asleep for an eternity. Her entire body felt sore, her limbs stiff, and her throat scratchy. A weak moan escaped her lips as she forced herself to sit up, and at that moment, she realised that the bed she lay on was soaked by her own sweat.

It was almost boiling in that room, and her head was spinning like a top.

     "Giselle," a voice said, one that she had not expected to hear. It was a voice that she had almost left her memory, a remnant of the world that she forgot she was a part of.

She turned around. "Atticus." She frowned as she looked at him, trying to wrap her mind around why he was here, in the Palace of Daínn. What on Earth was going on?

     "You were stuck under an avalanche two days ago," he informed her. "Icarus thought that you'd die."

     "Yes, I remember about that," she said, narrowing her eyes. "But why are you here? Did Willoughby send you here?"

Atticus let out a low chuckle. "You're taking too long. You've been here for months, and you've barely yielded any results. One would either think that you're simply incompetent, or pretend to be."

Giselle swallowed thickly. "There isn't much to say. I've told you everything I know."

     "Then, it's the former," he smirked cruelly. "From now on, I shall also live under this roof, as your cousin, Jasper Arvell. And you, Giselle, shall do whatever I want you to do, no questions asked."

He sat on the bed beside Giselle, then placed his hand against her cheek. "Do you understand, sweet Giselle?"

She glared at him, slapping his hand away. "Don't touch me. I was doing fine before you were here. I don't need you to tell me what to do."

Atticus pulled away from her, his hand now red and sore. He gritted his teeth, as if he wanted to snap at her, hit her even, but he ultimately decided against it.
             
       "I see how it is. It must be nice, serving that vampire. Tell me, Giselle, is he kind to you? Is he lenient? Does he give you the freedom to do whatever you want, and say whatever you want to say? Because right now, I see that you are becoming more and more insolent.

      Remember, Giselle, no matter how well he treats you, you are Willoughby's servant. Willoughby is your master. It appears to me that you have forgotten your true origins."

Giselle's hands were balled up into fists, and she looked up at him, her eyes tinged with red. "And what if I don't want to do this anymore?"

     "Well," Atticus chuckled. "There is only one way out of this."

     "What is it?"

He smirked. "Death."

A tear finally slid down her cheek, and she glared at Atticus with unbridled rage, one that she had not felt in months. "Leave."

     "What did you just say?"

     "I said leave. Now."

Atticus lifted a brow. "Watch your tone. Do you even realise who you are talking to?"

      "I do not care. You may have power over me, but here, you are powerless. And you cannot kill me. Your beloved master still needs me, and remember, I am a better assassin than you will ever be."

Atticus left, leaving Giselle alone in that bedroom. She laid back against the bed, feeling the tears prickling in the corners of her eyes. She wiped them quickly with the palms of her hands, then sighed deeply, staring up at the ceiling.

    "I'll never be free, will I? I've been too happy... Far too happy.."

That night, Giselle cried herself to sleep, but her tears were not those of sadness, but borne of rage and hatred.

     The second time she awoke, it was not because of how warm it was, but because of how cold it was. It was as if the temperature in the room had dropped, and a cool sensation brushed against her cheeks, so cold yet so gentle at the same time.

She jolted awake, only to see Icarus looming over her, his dark red eyes wide with shock as he looked down at her. He pulled his hand away.

     "Your Grace," she murmured softly.

She tried to sit up, but before she could even move, she heard Icarus' reprimanding voice, "Don't move. You're still unwell."

     "But I feel much better now-"

     "That doesn't matter. Just lay down."

She reluctantly laid down, and watched as Icarus lifted up the blanket and brought it up until her chin, enveloping her in a warmth that suffocated her.

       "Your Grace, it's hot," she protested, pushing the blanket away.

      "Please, stay still for now. Try to rest," he told her.

      "But it's too hot-"

     "Giselle!" he snapped. "Just stay put. Do you want to get even sicker?"

Her eyes widened. He had never snapped at her before, and she quietly sank down the bed, not daring to say a word. 

For a moment, neither of them spoke; both seemed lost in their thoughts. It was Icarus who broke the silence.

     "Do you feel better now?" he eventually said.

     "Yes, Your Grace.."

He nodded. "That is good. Now that you're awake, you should eat. Is there anything in particular that you'd prefer?"

    "I'm not that hungry yet," she said.

    "But you haven't eaten in days. You must eat, even if it's just a little bit."

Giselle was silent for a moment. Indeed, she was not hungry, but she did not feel like arguing with Icarus at that moment.

     "Some porridge would be nice," she said simply.

      "Just porridge?"

      "Yes."

Icarus frowned. "I'll tell them to throw in some crumpets for you."

He went to the doorway to inform the maid, then came back to her, retaking his seat on the side of the bed.

     "You did not have to do this," Giselle murmured as she stared up at the frescoed ceiling. "Where did you stay for the last two nights as I slept in your bed?"

Icarus' eyes widened, and he quickly looked away. "In the library," he stammered.

Giselle chuckled softly. "I could've stayed in my room. You hurt your poor back for nothing, Your Grace."

     "I can't let you stay down there, ill and unconscious, while hordes of the Damned Ones roam free. Besides, it is hardly comfortable."

She smiled weakly. "Thank you, Your Grace. Oh, and I wanted to ask, where is William? Is he alright?"

Icarus froze. "William is dead, Giselle."

       "What?" she blurted. "What do you mean.. dead?"

       "He was crushed by a tree branch during the avalanche. He was already dead when I got there."

Silence. Giselle closed her eyes, remembering the look on William's face as they headed, no, attempted to head back to the village. He was so afraid, so desperate, so terrified. And the scream that he let out as the snow crashed down upon them...

     "Oh," she let out a shaky breath. "He's dead?"

She wanted to cry, but she had no tears left. She was already drained, already so tired, and she could only lay there, her expression blank.

      "Forgive me," Icarus said softly. "I should not have left you. If I had been with you, maybe things could have been different."

       "Maybe," she said wistfully. "Maybe not."

       "What do you mean?"

       "It doesn't really matter," she mumbled. "It is in the past, you can't change it now, can you?"

        "It matters. William did not have to die. And you, you almost died. You almost froze to death."

        "But I didn't-"

Icarus scoffed. "How can you say that, when I was the one who dug you out of the snow? You were unconscious, Giselle. You were freezing cold, and you were barely breathing."

He paused, clenching his eyes shut. "When I came across William's body, covered in blood, I was terrified. I was terrified that it was you. But when I saw his face, when I realised that it wasn't you, I was so relieved. I was so glad that it was not your blood. I was so glad that it wasn't you who was lying dead in the snow. I was glad that William was the one who died, not you."

      "Your Grace-"

      "You can't even handle the cold. You hate the cold. And I found you buried in snow. So many times since I first found you, I have begged you to wake up, but all you do is sleep. I thought I was about to lose you."

Giselle inhaled sharply, and without thinking, she reached out, pressing her hand against his cheek. It felt warm against his cold skin.

          "But you didn't lose me," she said softly. "I am still alive."

Icarus closed his eyes, his hand trembling as he held onto Giselle's. "You're still here. You're still warm."

His behaviour confused her. Icarus was normally so cold, so guarded, and now that his walls were finally let down, she did not know what to do. Icarus was like a dam, just waiting to explode, and now she was on the verge of being swept away.

But she could not lie to herself. Even though she had been scared for a while now, the fear had subsided, and in its place was something else. Something stronger, more powerful. Something that she had never quite felt before.

But before she could do anything more, he ripped her hand away and briskly stood up, leaving her words hanging in mid-air. He was facing her, but his eyes were not meeting hers.

       "Your Grace.."

       "Rest well, Giselle. The maid will return with your meal soon."

And with that, he was gone.