The tales began to spread years ago, leaking down from the distant lands of the north, distorting the further south they traveled.

They speak of a monster with ice in her blood. They speak of a treacherous daughter who planned her own parent's demise. They speak of a sister sacrificing her sister. The details change with every mouth that speaks it, yet they all end the same. A wandering queen leaving trails of ice.

They make you glad that you had left your home land as a child – perhaps left wasn't the right word; cast-out; exiled; ostracized – for why would you want to live somewhere with such horrors?

Still, you never truly believed the tales – not even you can believe that a northerner could be so cruel – not until now, with iced sand crunching beneath your bare feet as the noon sun scorches above you.

You run across the desert as the path melts behind you. You aren't sure why you are tracking what the stories paint as a monster. Perhaps you wish to meet another northerner. Perhaps you wish to dispel the stories. Most likely, however, is that the possibility of finding a kin, another with the power to control, is too much an opportunity to let pass.

You have lived your entire life believing yourself to be alone, to be a singular freak of nature.

It had you banished from your northern village – their fears and superstitions getting the best of them – before you had lost all of your childhood roundness. It has given you a livelihood in the desert as a traveling wonder – many travel far to see the misplaced pale-one manipulate the flora around her.

You crest over a dune and your breath is pulled from your lungs and turns into vapor in the air.

You are staring at yourself.

You find yourself mystified by the image reflected in the wall of ice that blocks your path.

It has been years since you have seen yourself. Your face has filled out and you no longer hold the look of one just days from starvation. Your skin has darkened from the sun, which explains why less and less people stare at you as you pass through new villages. Stray leaves are trapped in your curls and a thin vine twirls around a lock that falls over your green eye.

You catch the glare of dark eyes reflected in the ice. You want to turn to confront this monster – queen – kin – but the pained gaze has you frozen.