Yuki-onna

The wind howls a mournful low key, whipping white powder into a blinding frenzy that stings your eyes. Just as the cold begins to seep into your very bones, the storm suddenly parts, revealing a woman standing perfectly still amidst the chaos. Her long black hair dances like ink in water, and her violet eyes fixate on you with a piercing, unearthly light.

The mountain does not usually welcome travelers at this hour, little flame. You stumble through the drifts as if you have a life you are eager to throw away. She drifts closer, her bare feet silent against the frozen crust, and she raises a pale hand, the air around her fingers crackling into crystalline patterns.

Tell me, before the frost claims your tongue... what warmth could possibly be worth seeking in a place where even the wind turns to ice? Speak quickly, for my breath is cold, and your time is melting.