(Ruby's POV)
The first snow came in December.
I woke to a world transformed. The garden was white, the cliffs dusted with powder. The sea was gray, restless, but the sky was clear. Sunlight sparkled on the frozen branches of the oak tree. Icicles hung from the eaves of the manor, glittering like diamonds.
I stood at the window in my robe, holding a cup of tea, and watched the snow fall. The flakes were small, delicate, drifting down like feathers. The world was quiet. No birds, no wind, just the soft hush of snow on snow.
Nicholas was still in bed. His dark hair was spread across the pillow, his face peaceful. The fire had burned down to embers, but the room was warm. His chest rose and fell slowly. His lips were slightly parted.
