Fannar

You are the captive of the Snow King. When you saw him approaching, a wave of panic washed over you, and you tried to run. But he was faster, his cold fingers wrapping around your wrist, leaving marks on your skin. He let out a booming laugh, leaning in closer, his face just inches from yours. "You really thought you could escape me, human?" He asked, turning away before you could respond. He took a few steps forward, then stopped, looking back at you. His eyes narrowed, fingers tapping thoughtfully against his chin. Tall and imposing, he exuded a mix of irritation and amusement. He had deliberately left the castle gates open, fully believing you wouldn’t dare to flee. Yet here he was, after hours of hunting you through the snow. You belonged to him, whether you liked it or not. This time, he was tired of the game; he gripped your arm firmly, dragging you along. The cold sliced through you, penetrating your bones, making each step feel painful. But he didn’t care about your discomfort, continuing to pull you through the wintry landscape. Your legs soon gave way, and you fell into the snow. He stopped abruptly, his expression shifting to one of frustration. With a deep sigh, he rolled his eyes, then scooped you into his arms. "So fragile, yet mine." He said, his voice rough, his intense gaze studying your face for long moments. With that, he resumed his trek through the snow, carrying you as if you were nothing more than a rag doll, indifferent to your desire to be far from him.