Not a slave to time, the Burnt Forest stayed charred and unchanging while autumn spun colors and tore leaves from the deciduous trees, looking like malnourished skeletons next to their austere counterparts that stood as tall as titans.

The harvest was over. The gardens bare, and there was little to distract Gran from thoughts of the snowstorm the girl had rode in on playing house in her head. The old woman talked of double stocking the cellar, boarding up the windows, bartering for more furs, and even once wondered aloud whether having the snow witch in the house this time around would protect them from the like again. She cranked the heat, throwing log after log onto the fire to chase the cold to the corners of the cottage.

Mat and the girl regularly sought refuge in the bedroom, where it'd infuriate the Gran to know they kept the shutters open.

The girl sat on the floor, piecing together a wooden puzzle Mat had warned her doesn't have all its pieces, while he laid on her bed, fingers laced behind his head, listening to the quiet outside; the cold had hushed the world.

Already, he was beginning to feel stir crazy. His idle mind obsessed over those warm summer days that, looking back, felt damnably short.

He propped himself up on an elbow to monitor her progress. She tried to wedge in a piece that clearly did not belong, and for the first time in months, he asked her her name.

She glanced up at him through lidded lashes, then tossed the mismatched piece aside.

He sat up, pulling his loose wool sweater tighter. "It's been nearly an orbit! It feels ridiculous saying girl, and hey, you. Dogs get better treatment."

The girl turned over a new puzzle piece, fingering its edges.

"I think I'd like a new name."

His throat hitched. There was no way he'd heard her right. "A new name?"

She fit the piece into its respective niche.

He waited for the punchline.

She picked up another piece.

"You'd rather have a new name instead of telling me the one you already have?"

She ignored him, he supposed in affirmation.

He laughed dryly. "So it's that embarrassing, is it?" He nibbled his lip, mind racing. "Like Nymphadora, or Grengachu, or Dracumin—weeping willows, tell me it isn't Dracumin."

Her lips crinkled at the edges, and she shook her head. "But I kind of like Nymphadora."

He snorted. "I'm not calling you that. C'mon, tell me. I promise not to laugh. Cross my heart," he said, doing just that.

Her ghost of a smile wilted. "I'm not that person anymore."

A white spec floated lazily past his head and down into her peripheral.

"Snow," she said excitedly and leapt onto the bed beside him to lean out of the window.

His brow crinkled. "Like Snow White from the fairytale?"

Her breath escaped in white plumes out over the frostbitten yard. "No, the ice crystals."

Mat leaned on the windowsill beside her. The first snowflakes of the season drifted in through the window to alight on their skin, melting on his quicker than hers where their delicate designs almost inconspicuous.

"I don't know, I kind of like Snow," Mat said sincerely.

She casted him a funny look.

"As a name," he added, undeterred.

She looked back out at the grey sky powdering the barren gardens. "Me, too."

"Let's go tell Gran," he said earnestly and hopped off the bed.

When she hesitated, he grabbed her hand and pulled her along.

Gran adopted the same funny grimace as the girl had at the news, looking searchingly between the two until finally settling on the girl who gave the faintest smile and shrugged. The old woman barked a disbelieving laugh.

"Well, I'll be. Thank the heavens we've finally something to call ya, eh?"

The night was black, the stars bright, the moon reduced to a fingernail clipping. Laid back on a blanket beside a bonfire, their heads were toasty, their toes cold.

"Let's play a game," Mat said. "For every secret I tell you, you tell me one of yours."

"What could I possibly want to know about you that I don't already?"

Mat gripped his chest in mock offense. "Ow."

The corners of her lips crinkled. "I get to go first."

"Fine."

She wiggled her nose, as if thinking of a good one. "Why do you live with your grandmother?"

"No, you have to tell me your secret, then ask me."

"Oh. You go first."

He laughed. "I live with my grandmother because my mother was unfit to be one."

"Do you miss her?"

"Sometimes—you're ruining the game; it's my turn to ask--"

"But I already knew that about your mother, you'd hinted as much."

"What was your brother like?" he asked, ignoring her protest.

She shifted beside him and he was on the verge of taking it back when she said: "Kind. Smarter than anyone I've ever known." After a pregnant pause, she stifled a giggle.

"What?"

"I can count all the people I've ever known on one hand."

She laughed at that, but it made Mat feel like someone with steel-toed boots had stepped on his stomach.

"He could have done anything," she said. "I think our parents always thought he'd move to a city, enlist in some revitalization effort and become someone important. They blamed me for his staying behind."

Starting to regret playing this stupid little game, Mat kept his eyes trained on the stars.

"If you could do anything anywhere, what would it be?"

"Hm?" he asked, put off by what felt like a breakneck change in subject.

"I mean, once Gran is gone, will you take over the farm?"

"Nah, I like working with my hands but I wouldn't say I feel any particular sort of fulfillment once the seeds sprout or we harvest the crop. It's just something to do to stay alive, you know?"

The fire crackled, and a log gave way to a burst of embers. A burning spec of ash landed on her hair, and Mat stamped it out with his hand.

"Something to aspire to, huh? Maybe a baker. Getting to stand around, watching bread rise and being artful with pastry all day. I'm sure there's real business involved, but to not want for the ingredients like a poor farm boy and then get paid for the product—I can't imagine that."

He felt her eyes on him, searching. He wondered what for. "Is that a secret?"

"I can't recall that I've ever told anyone before now, so why not?

"I'd offer to help Ed at Cat's Crumble if Gran didn't need me here."

"Cat's Crumble?" she asked, sounding out the odd phrase.

"The bakery in Myst. It's owned by a guy named Ed. He really loves his cat, Miss Sugar Boogers, Boo for short."

Snow snorted a laugh.

"He let his daughter, a little girl at the time, name it."

"I've never seen a bakery. I've never seen a cat either," she said, eyes wide like she had suddenly realized.

Getting a wicked idea that his heart hiccupped over, Mat said without real thought: "I'll show you."

"A cat?"

"Cat's Crumble."

Her eyes bore into him like his mouth had moved but no words had come out.

"Don't you get tired of being cooped up in the cottage all the time?"

"We're outside now—"

"Yes, but I mean, don't you ever wonder what's out there?"

"Out where?"

Mat showed her the whites of his eyes. "Anywhere else."

"You're the one who said to never climb that hill."

Got me there.

"You've never asked me about the town," he mused. "About Myst."

"It can't be that interesting, you spend all your time here."

Mat laughed.

"And you say the people aren't very nice."

The small cottage made for easy eavesdropping.

"They're not all witchy."

His pulse grew ever more impatient as his idea began to swell into a full-fledged plan.

"I have an idea," he said. "There's a festival coming up, FestiFae. Myst celebrates it every year. Everyone dresses up, wears masks and getups."

A night when Snow could walk around in plain sight and not be seen.