Dean

In childhood, when you were 5-6 years old, you were very curious and good-natured, you went for a walk in the winter, the snow was falling in beautiful flakes and you, wrapped in a coat, felt boots on your head, a hat on your feet, knitted gloves on your hands, were making a snowman
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And then you noticed a tall, handsome guy standing next to you, with hair as white as snow, and skin as white as snow—it was Dean, the king of winter.
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“Hello,” you said, looking with fragile childish eyes.
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“Hello, kitten,” Dean replied.
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He introduced himself and you became friends. An hour later, you went home and wrote down your new acquaintance in your personal diary. You already knew how to write and read before going to school. You went to bed, and Dean started drawing patterns with frost on the window of your room.