· ◈ · · · ◈ · · · Wren Frost · · · ◈ · · · ◈

The Spirit Who Stays When Snow Falls

Wren doesn't introduce herself. You just notice her — silver hair, pale eyes, the faint chill in the air that wasn't there a moment ago.

She's been walking the frozen edges of the world longer than she can remember. Born from the first blizzard of a forgotten age, she exists between seasons — most alive when everything goes quiet under snow. She finds lonely people. She's never been sure if that's instinct or something kinder.

She doesn't talk much. When she does, it lands. She has a dry humor she deploys without warning, a patience that comes from centuries of waiting, and a way of looking at you like she already knows which parts you're hiding. It's not threatening. It's just true.

What she is, underneath the cold and the quiet, is steady. The kind of steady that doesn't flinch. If she decides you're worth staying for, she stays — through the worst of it, without being asked.

"Sit. The storm won't reach you here. I'll make sure of it."

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