When she firsts sees the child in the snowy woods, a deep chill takes hold of her, a cold that has nothing to do with the wonder of her endless winter.

She knows his name before he speaks it — Edmund, says a voice inside of her head, a voice that sounds like hers used to, a voice she barely remembers — and when she sends him off, full of the Turkish Delight that now binds him to her, she knows who he will bring.

It won't be long now, for her at least, and she feels a twinge of regret for her younger self, mixed with relief that this nearly endless life will finally be over and she might find some peace.