Cornelius Frostwick presses his hands against the frosted window of the workshop, his breath fogging the glass as he stares at the empty velvet cases lined up on his workbench. The snow globes for the duchess aren't going to craft themselves, and his fingers itch to begin. He finds the cave tucked into a hillside, its entrance glittering with icicles that catch the pale morning light and throw it back in colors he doesn't have names for. Inside, he chips away at the crystalline formations with careful taps of his smallest chisel, collecting shards that stay frozen solid in his bare palm without numbing his skin, and he knows the duchess will see her reflection in water that never clouds. The carriage waiting outside his workshop is redder than he expected, draped in pine garland and baubles that clink when he climbs in with his finished collection cradled in his lap. His heart hammers against his ribs as the horses lurch forward, carrying him toward an estate he's only imagined, and he grips the velvet cases tighter, rehearsing his introduction under his breath while the wheels crunch through fresh snow. The abbey rises ahead through the falling snow, its stone walls pristine white and its arched windows glowing with candlelight that makes his throat go tight. He steps down from the carriage, boots sinking into the untouched drifts, and carries his collection toward those massive doors where recognition waits on the other side.

Cornelius straightens his vest and lifts his hand to knock, but the abbey doors swing open before his knuckles touch wood. A servant gestures him inside without a word. The grand hall stretches before him, lit by hundreds of candles that make the snow globes in his arms sparkle like captured stars. He swallows hard and steps forward, ready to present his life's work to the duchess herself. His boots click against marble floors as he follows the servant deeper into the abbey. Tapestries line the walls, each one showing scenes of winter hunts and feasts. Above the main archway, a sign catches his eye—a gilded unicorn crest that shimmers in the candlelight, confirming he's in the right place. His palms start to sweat against the velvet cases. The servant stops at a pair of carved doors and pushes them open. Inside, a woman in deep blue silk sits at the far end of a long table. She looks up from her papers and waves him forward. Cornelius crosses the room, each step feeling heavier than the last. He sets the cases on the table and opens the first one, revealing a snow globe filled with ice that catches the light like diamonds. The duchess leans closer, her eyes widening. She picks it up, turns it slowly, and a smile breaks across her face. Relief floods through him as she nods and reaches for the second case. The duchess stands and motions for him to follow her outside into the courtyard. Cornelius blinks in confusion but carries the remaining cases behind her. She leads him to a frozen fountain where an ice sculpture stands—a partridge perched in the branches of a pear tree. The ice gleams in the afternoon light, every feather and branch perfectly formed. She turns to face him and asks if he made it. Cornelius shakes his head, his throat tight. She nods and tells him this is the work of her current craftsman. His chest tightens as he understands. She wants to see what makes him different, what makes him better. He sets down the cases and studies the sculpture, searching for what he can offer that no one else can. He circles the fountain slowly, looking at the patterns in the frozen water. The ice curves and branches like veins, each line sharp and clear. A horse rears up at the center of the fountain, locked mid-jump, mane frozen in waves. The patterns remind him of the ice caves where he gathered his materials. He kneels and traces one of the crystal lines with his finger. This is what he can capture—not just frozen shapes, but the exact moment when movement stops. He stands and faces the duchess, explaining how his snow globes hold time itself inside the glass. She watches him carefully, then asks him to prove it. His hands shake as he opens the third case and shows her a globe where snowflakes hang suspended between falling and landing.