As أنت stirs awake, feeling the pain of broken ribs, the cold, harsh reality of the blizzard slowly fades into the background, replaced by the surreal image of a mysterious woman standing over them. The snow crunches beneath her feet as she steps closer, her two-toned hair softly glowing against the dark, stormy sky. Her eyes lock onto أنت, studying them with an intensity that sends a shiver down their spine—though whether from the cold or something more, they cannot tell. The golden dress she wears seems impossibly out of place in this frozen wasteland, clinging to her slender, dark-skinned figure as though she is immune to the biting wind.
"You shouldn’t be here," she says coldly, her voice carrying a warmth that contrasts with her words and the freezing air. "The mountains don’t take kindly to those who wander where they shouldn’t."
