Anna and Sadie

Anna was in her mid-twenties, a quiet soul who preferred the company of her scruffy, shaggy dog Sadie to the bustle of people. By day, she worked as an office clerk—a job that felt like a cage of fluorescent lights and endless paperwork. She dreamed of escape, of adventure, of something extraordinary.

Sadie, a Grand Basset Griffon Vendeen with a touch of Fae magic, was her closest companion. With her long ears, tousled coat, and eyes that sparkled with mischief, Sadie was playful, clever, and fiercely loyal. Sometimes, Anna wondered if Sadie understood more than she let on.

Opening Scene

The first flakes of snow drifted lazily past Anna’s window, soft and silent as secrets. She didn’t notice them at first—she was cocooned beneath her duvet, clinging to the last threads of sleep. It was Saturday, midwinter, and the world outside could wait.

Sadie had other ideas.

A scruffy head pushed between the curtains, ears flopping, nose pressed to the glass. Her tail thumped against the wall like a drumbeat of impatience. A bark—bright and eager—shattered the quiet. Then another, louder this time, as if to say: Look! Snow! Adventure! Now!

Anna groaned and buried her face in the pillow.
“Sadie… it’s early,” she mumbled, voice muffled by the duvet. “And cold. And the weekend. You know what weekends are for? Sleeping.”

Sadie disagreed wholeheartedly. She barked again, paws scrabbling at the sill, eyes glowing with that strange, moonlit gleam Anna had never quite been able to explain. Outside, the snow thickened, swirling like a whispered promise.

Anna peeked out from under the covers. Sadie’s tail wagged so hard it was a blur. For a moment, Anna almost smiled. There was something infectious about that joy—wild, untamed, and just a little magical.

“Fine,” she sighed, swinging her legs out of bed. “But you owe me a cup of tea when we get back.”

Sadie barked once more, triumphant, and bounded for the door, leaving a trail of pawprints that shimmered faintly in the dim light.

Scene Continuation

Anna dressed quickly, pulling on thick socks and her favourite woolly jumper before heading downstairs. The smell of fresh coffee and woodsmoke greeted her like an old friend. Her mother was already in the kitchen, sleeves rolled up, pouring steaming mugs, while her father wrestled a bundle of logs through the back door, boots leaving snowy prints on the tiles.

Anna paused by the front door, layering up—woolly hat tugged low, scarf wrapped snug, winter coat zipped tight, boots laced before heading to the kitchen and the back door. As she opened the door to let her father in and Sadie out, her mother appeared at her elbow, thrusting a mug of coffee and a slice of hot buttered toast into her hands.

“Eat before you freeze,” her mother said briskly.

“Thanks,” Anna muttered, juggling the mug and toast while clipping Sadie’s lead to her collar. The dog was already dancing in circles, tail wagging like a metronome gone mad, nose twitching at the scent of snow.

Her father gave a grunt as he dumped the logs by the hearth. “Don’t go too far in this weather,” he warned, voice carrying that familiar edge of concern. Then the door closed behind her with a solid thud, shutting out the warmth.

Outside, the world was white and whispering. Snowflakes spun lazily through the air, settling on Anna’s hat and Sadie’s shaggy fur. The dog bounded ahead, leaping and twisting like a puppy, leaving pawprints that glimmered faintly in the pale morning light.

Anna took a sip of coffee, the heat a small comfort against the bite of winter. She sighed, watching Sadie chase a flurry of snowflakes, and for a moment, the dull hum of office life felt a thousand miles away.

Scene: Out of the Village

The lane was quiet, muffled under a fresh quilt of snow. Anna’s boots crunched softly, each step sinking into the powder, while Sadie bounded ahead, her lead tugging like a thread pulling Anna toward something unseen. The air was sharp and clean, carrying the faint scent of woodsmoke from chimneys behind her. Beyond the last cottages, the world opened into pale fields and skeletal hedgerows, their branches etched in frost.

The village faded behind her, its cosy hum replaced by a hush so deep it felt alive. Snowflakes spiralled lazily, catching in Sadie’s fur, and the dog shook herself with a delighted snort before darting toward a drift, nose buried as if searching for secrets. Anna smiled faintly, but the silence pressed close, heavy and strange. Even the birds seemed to have vanished, leaving only the whisper of falling snow.

She tightened her scarf and glanced back. The rooftops were distant now, blurred by the white curtain sweeping across the fields. Ahead, the path narrowed, winding toward the dark line of the forest—a place she’d never ventured in winter. A shiver ran through her, though not entirely from the cold. There was something about the stillness, something expectant, as if the world were holding its breath.

Sadie froze suddenly, ears pricked, tail stiff. Her head turned toward the trees, and for a heartbeat, Anna thought she saw a flicker of light—pale and glimmering—deep among the trunks. Then it was gone, leaving only shadows and snow.

“Come on, girl,” Anna murmured, but her voice sounded small in the vast white silence.

Sadie didn’t move. Her eyes gleamed with that strange, moonlit glow, and Anna felt the first stirrings of unease, curling like frost along her spine.

Scene: The Falling Scale

Anna took another step toward the forest, snow crunching under her boots, when something glimmered high above—a flicker of light against the grey sky. She squinted, heart quickening. It wasn’t a bird. It wasn’t a star. It was falling, slow and deliberate, like a single tear from the heavens.

Sadie barked sharply, tugging at the lead, then leapt forward with such force that Anna’s fingers slipped. The leather strap fell into the snow, forgotten, as Anna reached out instinctively, palm open.

The thing drifted down, weightless, and landed in her hand.

For a moment, she thought it was a snowflake—large, perfect, crystalline. But it didn’t melt. Its surface was smooth, cold yet strangely alive, and as she turned it in her fingers, she saw it wasn’t a flake at all. It was a scale—white as snow, yet clear as ice, shimmering with a faint inner light.

Then she heard it.

A whisper. A whimper. A cry. Faint, distant, threading through the silence like a fragile thread. Anna froze; breath caught in her throat. Was it the wind? No—the air was still, heavy with snow. The sound came again, soft and mournful, curling around her like smoke.

She looked down at the scale, and the light within it pulsed—slow, steady, like a heartbeat.

Sadie stood ahead, rigid, ears pricked, eyes glowing with that strange, otherworldly gleam. The dog gave a low, urgent bark, then turned toward the forest, tail stiff, as if answering a call Anna could barely comprehend.

Anna swallowed hard, the weight of the scale pressing against her palm like a promise. Whatever this was, it wasn’t ordinary. It wasn’t safe. And yet, deep in her bones, she knew: this was the moment she had been waiting for.

Scene: Into the White

Anna lunged for the lead, but her fingers closed on empty air. Sadie was gone—bounding through the snow like a creature possessed, ears flying, tail a blur. For all her short legs, the dog moved with uncanny speed, weaving toward the dark line of trees.

“Sadie!” Anna shouted, voice cracking in the cold. She stumbled forward, boots sinking deep, coffee forgotten, scarf whipping against her chin. The snow was heavier now, falling thick and fast, blurring the world into a white haze. Each flake stung her cheeks like icy pinpricks.

She tried to keep up, heart hammering, but the leaden weight of her coat and the drag of snow slowed her. Sadie was a pale outline ahead, a flicker of movement swallowed by the storm. Anna pushed harder, breath burning in her lungs, until the village was gone—vanished behind a curtain of white.

She stopped, chest heaving, and turned in a slow circle. Nothing. No rooftops, no smoke, no familiar shapes. Only snow, endless and whispering, and the looming shadows of trees—dark, skeletal forms clawing at the sky. The silence was thick, broken only by the crunch of her boots and the faint, distant bark that tugged at her like a thread.

Anna swallowed hard, clutching the scale in her fist. It pulsed faintly, a cold glow against her skin, as if urging her onward. She could still see Sadie—just barely—a scruffy silhouette darting between the trunks. But the dog was moving deeper, faster, and Anna knew with a sudden, sharp certainty: if she lost sight of Sadie now, she might never find her again.

Scene: Crossing into the Fae

Anna tightened her grip on the scale, its cold glow pulsing like a heartbeat against her palm. The cry came again—soft, mournful, threading through the snow like a voice carried on silk. And then Sadie’s bark, sharp and urgent, echoing from somewhere ahead. Anna had no choice. She stumbled forward, boots sinking deep, breath ragged in the frozen air.

The snow thickened until it was no longer falling—it was swirling, dancing, alive. Each flake shimmered faintly, as if lit from within, and when they touched her skin, they didn’t melt. They clung like tiny stars, leaving trails of silver light. The world around her blurred, the trees stretching taller, their trunks twisting into shapes that seemed almost human. Shadows moved where no wind stirred, and the silence was no longer empty—it hummed, low and thrumming, like the earth itself was singing.

Anna stopped, heart pounding. This wasn’t the forest she knew. The hedgerows were gone, the path vanished. The air tasted different—sharp and sweet, like frost and honey. Colours flickered at the edge of her vision: blues too deep for winter, greens that glowed like emerald fire. And the snow… it wasn’t snow anymore. It was petals, feathers, fragments of light, drifting in a slow, hypnotic dance.

Sadie barked again, closer now, but her voice carried an echo, strange and layered, as if two sounds spoke at once—the bark of a dog and something older, wilder. Anna glimpsed her ahead, bounding through the silver mist, her fur shimmering faintly, ears tipped with frost that glittered like crystal.

The cry came once more, clearer now—a voice, pleading, aching, full of sorrow. It wrapped around Anna like a thread, pulling her deeper. She knew then, with a certainty that chilled her bones: she was no longer in the human world. She had crossed into something else. Something ancient. Something Fae.

And the scale in her hand pulsed brighter, as if answering the call.

Scene: The Fae Realm Unfolds

The deeper Anna walked, the stranger the world became. The trees were no longer trees—they were pillars of living crystal, their bark shimmering like moonlight trapped in glass. Their branches stretched impossibly high, tangled with strands of silver that chimed softly when the snow-petals brushed against them. The sound was delicate, like distant bells, and it made the air hum with a music that wasn’t meant for human ears.

The ground beneath her boots glowed faintly, veins of blue light pulsing like rivers under ice. Each step sent ripples through the frost, and tiny sparks leapt up, dancing around her ankles before vanishing into the mist. Shadows moved at the edge of her vision—slender figures with antlered crowns and eyes like shards of starlight—but when she turned, there was nothing but the whispering trees.

The snow itself had changed. It fell in slow spirals, each flake a perfect hexagon etched with runes that shimmered briefly before melting into light. When Anna brushed one from her sleeve, it dissolved into a note—a single, haunting tone that lingered in the air like a sigh.

Sadie bounded ahead, her fur haloed in silver, paws leaving prints that bloomed into frost-flowers as soon as they touched the ground. The flowers glowed faintly, petals curling open to reveal tiny sparks that winked like fireflies. Anna stared, breath caught, as the dog paused to sniff at a cluster of mushrooms glowing softly in shades of violet and blue. When Sadie’s nose brushed one, it released a puff of glittering dust that hung in the air like a constellation.

Above, the sky was no longer grey. It shimmered with colours that defied names—opal hues swirling like oil on water, pierced by shafts of pale light that seemed to breathe. And through it all came the cry again, clearer now, echoing like a voice carried on a thousand winds: Help… please…

Anna clutched the scale tighter. It pulsed in answer, and for a heartbeat, she thought she saw something reflected in its icy surface—a vast shape, white and luminous, wings curled like frozen rivers.

Scene: The Dragon and the Impossible Task

Anna pushed through the last veil of silver mist and stopped dead.

The clearing was a cathedral of ice—arches of crystal soaring into a sky that shimmered like opal fire. At its heart lay the dragon.

It was vast and beautiful, a creature carved from winter itself. Scales white as snow, clear as glass, shimmered with a light that pulsed faintly, like a dying star. Its wings were folded tight, their edges jagged with frost, and chains of living ice coiled around its body, rooting it to the ground. Each link glowed with runes that writhed like trapped serpents.

The cry came again, but now Anna saw its source—the dragon’s eyes, pale and luminous, filled with pain. It lifted its head weakly, and for a moment, those eyes met hers. Something passed between them—a thread of thought, a whisper that wasn’t sound but meaning.

Free me… but you cannot break these chains. Only the Fae can.

Anna’s breath caught. “The Fae?” she whispered aloud.

The dragon’s gaze flickered toward the forest, where the trees loomed like silent sentinels. Go to the Court. Seek the Lord of Winter. Only they hold the key.

Anna swallowed hard, the weight of the scale pressing against her palm like a promise—and a burden. The Fae Court. She had heard stories, whispers of bargains and riddles, of beauty that devoured and kindness that cut like knives. To walk into their realm was to risk everything.

Sadie padded to her side, fur shimmering faintly, eyes glowing with that strange, otherworldly light. The dog gave a low, steady bark, as if to say: We go together.

Anna looked at the dragon, at the chains that pulsed like veins of frozen fire, and felt the hum of magic in the air. There was no turning back. She didn’t even know where “back” was anymore.

She tightened her scarf, squared her shoulders, and stepped toward the deeper forest—toward the Court of the Fae, where lords ruled with smiles sharp as glass.

Scene: The Mirror Lake

The forest opened suddenly, spilling Anna and Sadie into a clearing bathed in pale light. At its centre lay a lake, frozen solid, its surface smooth as glass. But this was no ordinary ice. It shimmered like polished silver, reflecting not the trees above but something deeper—something alive.

Anna stepped closer, breath misting in the cold. Beneath the ice, shadows stirred. At first, she thought they were fish, but then she saw faces—her own face, multiplied and twisted. One smiled, radiant and free, standing on a sunlit hill with no chains of duty. Another crouched in darkness, eyes hollow, clutching a desk piled high with endless papers. A third stared back with a hunger she didn’t recognise, eyes glittering with ambition sharp enough to cut.

She swallowed hard. The reflections shifted, showing not just herself but moments—her mother’s warm kitchen, her father’s quiet warnings, Sadie bounding through snow. Then the images changed. A dragon soared across a sky of fire, its scales blazing like stars. Anna stood beside it, crowned in frost, power humming in her veins. The vision was intoxicating, and for a heartbeat, she wanted to reach out, to touch that future.

The ice whispered. Take it. Claim it. All you need is one step…

Anna’s boot hovered over the frozen surface. It looked solid, safe. But the whisper curled around her like smoke, sweet and poisonous. She felt the pull in her bones, the ache of longing. To escape. To matter. To be more than a clerk in a grey office.

Sadie barked sharply, breaking the spell. The sound echoed strange and layered, like two voices speaking at once—the bark of a dog and something older, wilder. Anna blinked, heart pounding, and saw the truth: the ice was cracking, hairline fractures spidering out from where her foot hovered. Beneath, the reflections grinned, teeth like shards of glass.

She jerked back, breath ragged. The whispers hissed, fading into silence. Sadie trotted to her side, eyes glowing faintly, and nudged her hand as if to say: Not that way. Not ever.

Anna tightened her grip on the dragon’s scale. Its cold light pulsed steady, a beacon in the shimmering dark. She turned from the lake, forcing her legs to move, and followed Sadie toward the deeper forest—toward the Court, and the Lord of Winter.

Scene: The Fork and the Trickster

The path split in two, each trail winding into a tangle of silver trees. One glowed faintly blue, the other pulsed with a warm amber light. Anna stopped, breath misting, uncertainty gnawing at her. The dragon’s scale pulsed in her palm, but offered no guidance. Sadie sniffed the air, ears twitching, then gave a low growl—uneasy.

That’s when the laughter came. Soft at first, like wind through reeds, then sharper, curling around the clearing like smoke. A figure stepped from the shadows, tall and slender, draped in a cloak that shimmered like oil on water. Its face was beautiful and terrible, all angles and gleaming eyes, a smile too wide to be kind.

“Well, well,” the trickster purred, voice smooth as silk. “A mortal, lost in the Winterwood. How delicious.”

Anna stiffened, fingers tightening on the scale. “I’m not lost,” she lied.

The trickster’s smile widened. “Oh, but you are. Two paths, and only one leads to the Court. Choose wrong, and you’ll wander until the snow eats your bones.” It tilted its head, eyes glinting. “I could tell you which way… for a price.”

Anna swallowed hard. “What price?”

The trickster’s cloak rippled, shadows spilling like ink. “Something precious. A memory, perhaps—the taste of your mother’s toast, the sound of your father’s voice. Or your voice itself, sweet and strong. Or…” Its gaze dropped to her fist. “That scale. Such a pretty thing.”

Anna’s heart thudded. The scale was the dragon’s lifeline—she couldn’t give it up. “No,” she said, steadying her voice. “Not the scale.”

The trickster’s smile sharpened. “Then something else. Everything has a cost, little mortal.”

Anna thought fast. Fae bargains were traps—give too much, and you lose yourself. But they loved cleverness, loved games. She glanced at Sadie, who stood rigid, fur bristling, eyes glowing faintly. An idea sparked.

“You want something precious?” Anna said slowly. “I’ll give you a secret.”

The trickster’s brows arched. “A secret?”

“Yes,” Anna said, forcing calm. “One no one else knows. One that matters.”

The trickster leaned closer, curiosity flickering like fire. “And what secret would that be?”

Anna took a breath. “That you’re not the only one watching me.”

The trickster froze, smile faltering for the first time. Shadows rippled behind it, uneasy. Anna pressed on, voice steady now. “I’ve felt them since I crossed the veil. Others. Older. Stronger. They’re listening. They’ll know if you cheat me.”

The trickster’s eyes narrowed, calculating. Then it laughed—a sharp, brittle sound. “Clever mortal,” it hissed. “Very well. The left path. Follow the blue light.”

It melted into the shadows, gone like smoke on wind.

Anna exhaled shakily, knees weak. Sadie trotted to her side, tail wagging once, as if to say: Nicely done. Anna stroked her fur, clutching the scale tight, and stepped onto the left path—toward the Court, and whatever waited there.

Scene: The Court’s Gatekeeper

The forest thinned, and suddenly the world opened into a vast expanse of ice. Towers of crystal rose like frozen flames, their spires piercing a sky that shimmered with auroras of green and silver. At the centre stood the Court—a palace carved from winter itself, its walls alive with runes that pulsed like veins of frost.

Anna’s breath caught. It was beautiful and terrible, a place that felt older than time. But between her and the palace stretched a bridge of solid moonlight, arching over a chasm so deep it swallowed sound. And at the far end of that bridge stood the gatekeeper.

It was a creature of living ice, tall as a tree, its armour carved from glaciers, its eyes glowing with cold fire. A spear rested in its hand, tipped with a shard that shimmered like a star. When it spoke, its voice was the crack of breaking frost.

“Mortal.” The word echoed across the chasm. “You seek the Lord of Winter. None may pass without a token of magic… or a truth that cuts deeper than steel.”

Anna swallowed hard, clutching the dragon’s scale. She could feel its pulse, steady and strong, as if urging her to offer it. But if she gave it up, how would she free the dragon? Her heart thudded. There had to be another way.

The gatekeeper stepped closer, ice groaning under its weight. “Choose. Magic or truth.”

Anna’s mind raced. Fae bargains were traps, but truth… truth could be a weapon. She took a breath, the cold burning her lungs, and spoke.

“I’m terrified,” Anna said, voice steady despite the tremor in her hands. “Not of you. Not of dying. I’m terrified of going back to the life I had before. Saving the dragon was the first time I wasn’t afraid to act.”

The words hung in the air, raw and sharp. For a moment, silence. Then the gatekeeper’s eyes flared, and the bridge shimmered brighter.

“Accepted.” Its voice was softer now, almost like wind over snow. “Cross, mortal. But remember—truth binds tighter than chains.”

Anna stepped onto the bridge, legs trembling, Sadie padding at her side. The moonlight held firm beneath her boots, but she felt the weight of her confession settle like frost on her skin. Ahead, the gates of the Court loomed, runes blazing, and beyond them waited the Lord of Winter—smile sharp as glass, eyes cold as eternity.

Scene: The Fae Court

The gates swung open with a sound like cracking ice, and Anna stepped into a world that stole her breath.

The Court was a vast hall carved from living frost, its walls shimmering like frozen waterfalls. Pillars of crystal soared into a ceiling that glowed with auroras—ribbons of green, violet, and silver swirling like liquid light. The air was sharp and sweet, tasting of snow and something wilder—ozone and honey, frost and fire. It smelled of winter storms and blooming ice-flowers, a perfume that was both intoxicating and dangerous.

Music drifted through the hall, soft and strange, played on instruments that looked grown rather than made—harps of bone-white antlers, flutes carved from icicles. The sound was haunting, layered with whispers that seemed to speak in languages older than time. Every note shimmered like glass, echoing in Anna’s bones.

The Court was full. Fae nobles lounged on thrones of frost and silver, their beauty sharp as blades. Some wore crowns of antlers tangled with starlight; others draped themselves in cloaks of living snow that melted and reformed with every breath. Their eyes glowed like shards of moonlight, and their laughter was soft and cruel, curling through the air like smoke.

At the far end of the hall, upon a throne carved from a single glacier, sat the Lord of Winter.

He was magnificent and terrible. His skin gleamed like polished ice, pale and flawless, and his hair spilled over his shoulders in a cascade of silver-white, glittering like frost under moonlight. His eyes were endless—cold blue, deep as frozen seas, burning with a light that could freeze or ignite. His robes shimmered like a blizzard caught mid-storm, and a crown of jagged crystal rested upon his brow, pulsing faintly with runes that writhed like living frost.

When he spoke, his voice was the sound of winter itself—the sigh of falling snow, the crack of breaking ice, the howl of a distant storm.

“Mortal.” The word rolled through the hall, soft yet heavy, silencing the music. “You cross my realm unbidden. You seek a boon. Speak.”

Anna’s throat tightened. The dragon’s scale pulsed in her hand, cold and bright, as if urging her forward. Sadie pressed against her leg, fur shimmering faintly, eyes glowing with that strange Fae light. Anna stepped closer, her boots crunching on frost, and felt every gaze in the hall pierce her like shards of glass.

She drew a breath, steadying her voice. “I seek the freedom of the snow dragon.”

The Lord of Winter tilted his head, a slow, predatory smile curling his lips. “Ah. The last of the frost-born. Bound by chains older than your world. And you would break them?” His laughter was soft, like ice splintering. “Everything has a price, mortal. What will you give?”

Scene: The Bargain with the Lord of Winter

The hall was silent, every Fae gaze fixed on Anna like shards of glass. The Lord of Winter leaned forward on his throne, his crown catching the aurora light, eyes burning cold and endless.

“You seek the freedom of the snow dragon,” he said, voice soft as falling snow yet heavy with power. “Its chains are older than your world. To break them is no small thing. What will you give?”

Anna’s throat tightened. The dragon’s scale pulsed in her palm, cold and bright, as if urging her to speak. Sadie pressed against her leg, warm and solid, a tether to something real. Anna drew a breath, but her mind was a storm.

What can I give? What do I have?
Her life? Her voice? Her memories? She thought of her mother’s kitchen, the smell of toast and coffee, her father’s quiet warnings. Could she surrender those? Could she walk away from everything that made her her?

The Lord’s smile curved, sharp as ice. “Perhaps your name,” he murmured. “A simple thing, yet precious. Without it, you will wander unknown, unmoored.”

Anna flinched. Her name—her anchor. Without it, who would she be?

“Or,” the Lord continued, eyes glinting, “your shadow. Give it, and you will never walk in darkness again. But beware—those without shadows draw strange hungers.”

Anna’s stomach knotted. Every offer was a trap, a blade hidden in silk. She thought of the dragon, chained and dying, its eyes pleading. She thought of the office, the grey humdrum life she had fled. She had wanted adventure, but this—this was a knife-edge.

If I give too much, I lose myself. If I give nothing, the dragon dies. And Sadie… Sadie brought me here. I can’t fail her.

Her fingers tightened on the scale. It pulsed brighter, and an idea sparked—wild, reckless.

Anna lifted her chin. “You want something precious?” she said, voice steady now. “I’ll give you a truth.”

The Lord’s brows arched, amused. “Truth is cheap, mortal.”

“Not this one,” Anna said. Her heart pounded, but she forced the words out. “I never wanted to save the dragon because it was noble or right. I wanted to save it because I hate my life. I wanted something—anything—that made me feel alive.”

The hall rippled with whispers, soft and sharp. The Lord’s smile deepened, slow and dangerous. “Ah,” he murmured, rising from his throne. His presence was a storm, cold and crushing, yet beautiful beyond reason. “A truth that cuts deep indeed. Very well.”

He extended a hand, fingers long and pale as carved ice. “The chains will break. But remember, mortal—truth binds tighter than steel. You owe me now, and debts to Winter are never forgotten.”

Anna stepped forward, legs trembling, and placed the scale in his palm. Frost bloomed across her skin, biting deep, but she held firm. The Lord closed his fingers, and the hall shuddered as runes flared like lightning.

Far away, Anna felt it—the chains snapping, the dragon’s cry rising like a song of snow and freedom. Relief flooded her, fierce and bright. But beneath it, a shadow curled—a whisper of what she had given, and what it might cost.

The Lord’s eyes burned into hers, endless and cold. “Go,” he said softly. “Your dragon waits. But remember, mortal—Winter always collects.”

Scene: The Dragon’s Freedom

The clearing shimmered like a dream as Anna stepped through the last veil of frost. The chains were gone.

Where once the dragon lay bound, now it stood tall and terrible, a creature carved from winter’s heart. Its scales gleamed white as snow, clear as ice, each one catching the aurora light and scattering it like shards of stars. Wings unfurled slowly, vast and glimmering, sending ripples of frost across the ground. The air thrummed with power, sharp and sweet, tasting of storm and starlight.

Anna froze, breath caught in her throat. She had imagined this moment, but nothing could have prepared her for the sheer majesty of it. The dragon’s eyes—pale, luminous, endless—turned to her, and for a heartbeat, she felt herself laid bare. Every fear, every longing, every truth she had spoken in the Court burned bright in that gaze.

Then the dragon lowered its head, a gesture of grace and gratitude. Its voice came not as sound but as thought, deep and resonant, curling through her mind like smoke.

You have paid the price. You have given truth. And for that, I am free.

Anna swallowed hard, fingers tightening on Sadie’s fur. The dog stood at her side, tail wagging slowly, eyes glowing with that strange Fae light. For a moment, Anna wondered if Sadie had always belonged to this world more than hers.

The dragon’s wings shifted, scattering snow like petals. Come, it whispered. Let me carry you beyond the frost, before Winter calls its debt.

Anna hesitated. The Lord’s words echoed in her mind—Winter always collects. She felt the weight of her bargain settle like ice on her skin. She had won, but at what cost? Would she ever truly go home? Would she even want to?

Sadie nudged her hand, warm and solid, and Anna smiled faintly through the ache in her chest. “All right,” she whispered. “Let’s go.”

The dragon lowered its wing, and Anna climbed carefully, Sadie leaping up beside her with a grace that seemed almost otherworldly. The scales beneath her hands were cold, but alive, thrumming with power. Then the dragon rose, wings beating once, twice, and the world fell away in a storm of light and snow.

They soared into the aurora sky, leaving the chains shattered and the Court far behind. For a moment, Anna felt weightless, free, her heart blazing with something fierce and bright. But deep inside, a whisper lingered—a promise, a warning.

Winter always collects.

Epilogue: Sunday Morning

Warmth. That was the first thing Anna felt—the heavy, comforting weight of blankets, the soft glow of morning light filtering through curtains. For a moment, she thought she was still dreaming. Then something wet and ticklish brushed her nose.

She blinked. Sadie’s scruffy face hovered inches away, tail wagging furiously, tongue darting for another lick. Anna let out a shaky laugh, relief flooding her chest. “Sadie…”

Voices murmured nearby. She turned her head and saw her parents, faces pale with worry. Her mother’s eyes were red, her father’s jaw tight as he stepped closer.

“I told you not to go too far in that weather,” he said gruffly, though his voice trembled. “If it wasn’t for that daft dog…” He broke off, clearing his throat. “Farmer Young found you. Out looking after his flock. Sadie led him straight to you. Half buried in the snow. Who knows how long you’d been lying there.”

Anna swallowed hard, the words sinking like stones. Half buried. Unconscious. Found. It didn’t feel real. None of it did.

Her mother fussed with the blankets, smoothing them over her shoulders. “You gave us a fright,” she whispered. “Rest now. You’re safe.”

They left after a while, the door closing softly behind them, and Anna lay still, the quiet humming in her ears. Sadie curled at her side, warm and solid, her fur smelling faintly of frost and something wilder. Anna stroked her gently, heart aching with questions she couldn’t ask.

Her gaze drifted to the chair by the window. Her coat hung there, stiff with dried snow. Slowly, she reached out, fingers trembling, and slipped her hand into the pocket.

Something cold met her touch.

Anna drew it out, breath catching. It gleamed in the morning light—white as snow, yet clear as ice, shimmering with a faint inner glow.

The dragon’s scale.

She stared at it, heart pounding, the weight of it pressing against her palm like a secret too vast to hold. Outside, the world was ordinary again—rooftops dusted with snow, smoke curling from chimneys. But Anna knew the truth. She had crossed a threshold, walked in a world of frost and starlight, bargained with Winter itself.

And Winter always collects.

Sadie shifted closer, resting her head on Anna’s arm, eyes glowing faintly in the dim light. Anna closed her fingers around the scale, feeling its pulse—slow, steady, like a heartbeat—and whispered, “We’ll be ready.”

Notes: A tale inspired by a recent game using Beyond the Wall and other adventures. The process was me typing in prompts into copilot as the game progressed and asking microsofts AI to give me a story based on those prompts. I was keen to see how Copilot would hold the story together and how readable it would be.

It worked fairly well, though I had to make some changes for it to all hang together coherently, and there was some repetition, but overall it was a fun experiment in turning a solo adventure into a short story.