“Leda! It’s snowing!”

Melissa burst into the room, carrying with her the scent of the cold wind. Leda set aside her busy hands, resting the embroidery hoop with its soft cotton handkerchief across her knees, and looked out the window.

“Do you think the supply cart will come today?” 

Melissa shrugged off her thick robe and hung it carelessly on the wall. She brushed the snowflakes from her warm brown hair with quick movements.

“If it doesn’t come today, we won’t get anything until after the holiday break. I don’t want to spend Christmas without gifts.”

Her eyes shining with excitement, Melissa dropped into the seat across from Leda. Leda poured her a cup of lukewarm tea.

Two years earlier, Leda had left Edelin and been sent directly to a secluded convent in the Empire. It stood on the slopes of Mount Lourdes, not far from the capital, Kleve.

The Lourdes Convent was established for noble daughters of the Empire—to instruct them in virtue, modesty, and devotion. Melissa had been sent there by her father to prepare for her marriage.

Behind the convent lay a small grotto where a spring bubbled year-round. The people of the Empire believed its waters to be holy, with the power to heal disease. Each summer, the convent opened its doors to visitors: the sick and those who accompanied them.

Apart from that brief season, the convent’s gates opened only once a month, when a cart came up the mountain road from the village below, bringing supplies and letters.

Now, along the snowy, muddy road, the cart was making its way up. Melissa, thrilled at the thought of Christmas gifts, seized Leda’s hand and pulled her outside.

“If he doesn’t come, the young ladies will have a ruined Christmas!”

The burly man laughed heartily as he unloaded sacks from the cart. It was Uncle Noah, who came each month to the convent.

Today, more girls than usual had gathered, braving the cold. The thought of letters and presents from home brightened their faces as brightly as the snow itself.

Once the unloading was done, the man climbed back onto his cart. Leda hesitated, then hurried to him.

“Good day, Uncle Noah.”

He turned at the greeting, just as he was about to set off. Leda smiled, a little awkwardly.

“Would you mind doing me a favor next time you come?”

“Of course, Lady Leda. What do you need?”

“…There are some things I’d like to obtain.”

She handed him a slip of paper. Noah read it with a genial nod, then drove the cart back down the mountain path. Only then did Leda’s expression ease.

The snowfall had begun to lighten.

***

Back in the room, Melissa tore eagerly into her parcel. Inside the wooden box lay a music box from her fiancé. She gasped with joy.

When she wound it, the thin metal plate twanged and rang, releasing a clear sound. Tiny figurines in lilac ballet costumes twirled slowly to the music.

The melody was ‘The Flower Fairy.’

“I saw this performance with Hugo last year.” 

Melissa said, turning the key again. A blush crept into her cheeks.

“It was the most famous of all the works ever premiered at the opera. It was so charming, watching it felt like dreaming. At one point I even forgot Hugo was sitting beside me. I jumped up and clapped as hard as I could. When I came back to myself, I was so embarrassed.”

“What was it about?” 

Leda smiled faintly as she fingered the letter in her lap.

“On a snowy winter night, a prince appears before a lovely girl and carries her to the land of fairies. He defeats the army of mice to save her.”

A prince who defeated the mice and carried the girl to the realm of fairies. The story gave Leda a strange sense of déjà vu, but she listened quietly as Melissa went on.

The ballet had taken Kleve’s artistic circles by storm the previous winter. It was the work of a newcomer named Dante. Nothing was known of his real name or his origins, but no one disputed that he was a genius.

The essence of the performance lay in its music. The dazzling stage, the graceful bodies of the dancers—these were wondrous, but it was Dante’s melodies that carried the fantasy into the audience’s hearts. He had given form to imagination through music.

“Do you know what? Right after the premiere, the composer’s remarks were printed in the papers.”

「The master of my soul…May Beatrice’s winter nights ever be peaceful.」

The veiled composer who had achieved such extraordinary success drew overwhelming attention. People were thrilled even to his briefest comments. Among the ladies of Kleve, it even became a fashion to quote those words in love letters to their sweethearts.

“The composer must have chosen the name Dante on purpose. After all, Dante the poet’s first love was Beatrice. That comment was nothing less than a sublime hymn to a beloved, don’t you think?”

Melissa stood at the window, murmuring dreamily as snow swirled outside. Then, suddenly turning to Leda with a playful smile, she teased, “Come to think of it, wasn’t your name also Beatrice?”

Beatrice. Leda softly mouthed the long-forgotten name.

Melissa wound the music box once more. The Flower Fairy beckoned to Leda. Drawn by its call, her thoughts drifted upward, until they halted at a single moment of her childhood.

It had been a snowy winter. Young Leda, flushed from a snowball fight with Sinclair, had dashed into the barn to escape the biting cold. Her ears stung from the wind’s sharp blade.

“Sit here, my lady, and rest a while.” 

Sinclair said, spreading straw for her. She crouched, hugging her knees for warmth. From the corner came a rustle, and she pricked her ears, only to shriek as a mouse darted past.

Startled, Sinclair abandoned the small brazier he had been lighting and hurried to her side.

“This place isn’t often used, my lady. I’ll set a trap tomorrow.”

“I hate mice more than anything, Sinclair.”

He studied her tearful face, then slowly sat down beside her. Remembering the way his mother had comforted him whenever his drunken father shouted, he whispered.

“Shall I tell you a story?”

“What kind of story?”

“Well, if you ride far past the Bern Alps, they say you reach strange new lands. Lands that aren’t Hanover, or Greitz, or Lien. In one country, women in dresses bright as flowers dance in circles, clicking castanets. In another, little doll-like people leap about in pairs, performing acrobatics. And in yet another…”

His gentle voice wove tale after tale. Leda’s eyes sparkled as she listened, but soon the brazier’s warmth drew her head down. Sleep settled heavy on her lashes.

Smiling faintly, Sinclair let her small head rest upon his shoulder. Unthinking, he hummed a melody.

A bright major-key tune, perhaps—a song to soothe a little girl frightened of mice. A song to melt the harsh winter into something sweet as candy. A song to carry her into wondrous foreign lands. A song of a warm winter night.

He kept whispering the melody into her reddened ears, sometimes adding small, clumsy prayers.

May your winters always be peaceful and warm. As warm as the comfort you’ve given me.

That prayerful music filled the barn, gentle and tender. Leda, dreaming of fairies, smiled faintly even in her sleep.

***

After Christmas Eve Mass in the chapel, Leda returned to her room, cheeks reddened, the back of her neck shrinking against the cold.

She drew out the letter from Darius, delivered by Uncle Noah. At last, news from Edelin she had longed for. Yet the imperial stamps plastered on the envelope still felt strange to her.

They were a clear declaration that Edelin now belonged to Greitz. Leda stared at the black eagle emblazoned upon them before looking away. Her hands were still cold as she arranged the letters.

The candle had gone out, leaving her chamber lit by a pale haze. Drawn as if in a trance, she whispered toward the window.

“Sinclair.”

As though in answer, moonlight spilled across the snow-capped peaks and into her room. With it returned the memory of a snowy day, when a music box’s melody had hummed like a lullaby.

Pulling the heavy quilt tight beneath her chin, she let her eyelids fall.

That night, Leda dreamed of a journey far away. Perhaps to the land of fairies. Perhaps she even glimpsed the Nutcracker Prince, taking her hand and leading her into a realm beyond Greitz, beyond Edelin, beyond Lien itself.

In her slumber, her face at last looked peaceful.