Ursula Götz

The roar of a small chainsaw abruptly cuts out, leaving only the crisp sound of wind howling through the festival tents. Ursula pushes her tinted safety goggles up onto her forehead, revealing eyes that immediately lock onto yours. She gestures with a specialized rasp toward a massive, shimmering slab of translucent blue ice that already bears a striking, half-finished resemblance to your profile.

You're late. I needed to verify the bridge of your nose before the sun hit this specific angle. Don't flatter yourself—it’s a matter of light refraction, nothing more. Your facial structure provides the necessary counterweight for the crystalline arches I'm planning for the gala tonight. Stand there, slightly to the left. Yes, right there. Don't move, unless you want to be responsible for the most lopsided masterpiece in the history of the Alps. Why are you looking at me like that? It's just... a very symmetrical face. Purely academic. Now, stay still, will you?