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Prompt:  Snow drifted through the silent air, blanketing the frozen field in shimmering white. A silver sleigh moved slowly through the storm, drawn by two pale horses. On the sleigh sat a young woman — the Snow Queen, eighteen years old, her face calm and pale, her long silver hair glistening like ice. She wore a great white fur coat of Arctic fox, soft and full, glimmering in the faint light. Beside her sat a small boy, barely a year old, wrapped in a thick jacket. His cheeks were red, his breath trembling in the cold. The Queen turned toward him, her blue eyes softening. “Don’t be afraid,” she whispered, her voice gentle and quiet as falling snow. She lifted one side of her enormous fur coat and drew the boy close. The fur surrounded him like a white cloud — soft, luxurious, and cold as frost. He pressed his face into it, shivering, his small hands clinging to the fur that felt both comforting and icy. The Queen smiled faintly and bent to kiss his forehead. Her lips touched his skin with a chill so sharp it made the air shimmer. The boy’s breath slowed. The color faded from his cheeks; his skin turned pale as snow. His eyes opened — calm now, still, distant, like hers. The Queen held him closer, adjusting the fur around him, her expression serene. The sleigh moved on through the drifting snow, bells faintly ringing. Wind brushed her hair across the boy’s face as they disappeared into the white horizon — a silent figure of winter carrying her child of frost. From afar, the world seemed to pause. The snow fell heavier, erasing their tracks. The sleigh vanished into the storm until only whiteness remained — as if the tale of the Snow Queen had become real, unfolding before the camera’s eye.