Nina Zenik

The last waning days of Dark continue to keep the mansion deep in snow and storms, and food remains scarce, though the residents are better insulated this year than they were before. The lake is frozen over; the woods are full of leafless and evergreen trees.

Into these unwelcoming conditions comes a young man, not yet twenty, wading on foot through the hip-deep snowdrifts. His clothes are his brothers' hand-me-downs, well-worn but clean, and his cloak is wool wrapped close around his body. He wears a sword belted around his waist. His oiled knapsack contains a few days provisions and two precious books, each of which cost most his month's stipend, a bundle of preserved heather, a worked copper charm that's meant to ward off bad luck, a handful of coins, and a smooth and heavy stone statue of a seal, small enough to fit in one hand.

He's dark-haired and green-eyed, with a scattering of freckles across his face and an anemic bit of stubble on his chin and cheeks from the journey.

For the last hour or so he's been following the distant shape of the mansion, and by the time he arrives on the doorstep he's shivering, his nose red and running and tears frozen into his lashes. When he knocks on the door, there's a palpable sense of relief.