"Dorian!"
Somewhere in the heart of a freezing snowstorm, Rosalind ran—but she couldn't tell where she was, or how she had come to be there.
The only thing she knew—was that she had to find Dorian.
But in that swirling blizzard, her voice seemed to vanish into the wind. The sky above was blanketed with thick gray clouds, and the snow fell so heavily that it obscured all sense of direction.
Before her, there was nothing but whiteness—a cold, endless maze with no way out. Rosalind stumbled through the storm, her cloak whipped by the wind, her tangled hair clinging to her face.
Even though her legs trembled, she kept moving.
She kept calling his name...
"Dorian! Where are you…?"
No answer came—only the howling of the wind.
The ground beneath her feet turned slick. A creeping dread rose in her chest like icy water flooding her lungs. Amid the boundless stretch of white, a dark streak cut through the snow—a trail of blood, stark and unbroken, leading somewhere into the distance.
