The morning in the Alps appeared in a hazy grayish-blue hue. The fog was so thick that Rubie could only see the faint white silhouette of Rowan waiting at the door. She cautiously stepped out, her long, waist-length blonde hair neatly braided, but her bright blue eyes betrayed her unease.
The village road was not as smooth as the city's avenues. It was a collection of jagged boulders, covered in slippery moss and slushy melted snow. Rubie, in her flimsy leather shoes meant only for garden walks, found it difficult from the very first steps.
Rowan walked ahead, keeping a distance of about three steps. His movements were light, as though every crack in the stone path was already etched into his memory. From time to time, he would cast a brief glance over his shoulder. His clouded eyes narrowed, irritated by the harsh daylight, but his true purpose was to make sure the small girl behind him had not yet given up.
"Careful, right there—"
He did not have time to finish the sentence before a sharp slip cut through the air.
Rubie's foot slid on a thin sheet of ice. She pitched forward, her knees crashing hard against the freezing stone, her pale hands sinking into filthy mud. The pain shot through her body, staining her dress with grime, but worse than that was the overwhelming sense of helplessness that flooded her chest.
Rubie sank onto the ground, her small shoulders trembling. Humiliation burned inside her. Why did a young lady like her have to be here? Why had her mother left her in this wretched place, only for her to disgrace herself in front of a stranger? Tears spilled freely, mingling with the mud smeared across her cheeks.
"I… I hate this place! I want to go home…" she sobbed, her voice breaking under the weight of her misery.
Rowan stopped short. He stared at the girl crying on the ground, his hands lifting awkwardly before retreating again. He had never comforted anyone before. Helplessness was written plainly across the pale face of the fifteen-year-old boy. At last, he let out a long, weary sigh, stepped closer, turned his back to Rubie, and crouched down.
"Get on," he said, his tone sharp but threaded with unmistakable concern.
Rubie froze, her tear-filled eyes fixed on his slender back. "Y-you… what are you doing?"
"I said climb on my back! Or are you planning to sit there until you freeze solid?" Rowan snapped, glancing back at her, his clouded eyes locking onto hers. "I told you to watch your footing. Why are you staring at the sky like that? In the Alps, one careless step is all it takes to lose your life, you idiot."
Being scolded only made Rubie sob harder, but she knew she had no other choice. Hesitantly, she wrapped her arms around Rowan's neck, pressing her burning, shame-flushed face against his cold shoulder.
Rowan lifted her up with a firm motion. He was thin, but the legs he had trained on mountain paths since childhood were steady and strong. He adjusted his grip, secured her properly, and resumed walking.
"Does it hurt?" he asked quietly after a stretch of silence, his voice noticeably softer.
"It hurts… I think my knee is bleeding," Rubie murmured. Her breath brushed against Rowan's ear, making the boy's ears flush red, the color stark against his unnaturally pale skin.
"When we get home, I'll put some medicine on it. And if you ever dare go outside in shoes that thin again, I'll just leave you lying there next time."
He grumbled as he spoke, yet his hands tightened protectively around Rubie's legs, his steps growing twice as careful as before. Rubie rested her head against his shoulder. The scent of snow and pinewood clinging to Rowan made her feel strangely at ease. Amid the bone-deep cold of the Alps, for the first time, Rubie felt a hint of warmth, not from a fireplace, but from the back of a boy the world called "the cursed one."
Rowan carried Rubie along the main road leading to the village's small market. Despite their hurried pace, Rubie's golden hair and Rowan's pale complexion made them look like a couple straight out of a painting, misplaced in this muddy, dusty scene.
And of course, they couldn't escape the scrutinizing gaze of old Hans – the village's only baker. Hans was portly, his cheeks perpetually flushed from alcohol, and his mouth spoke faster than his hands kneaded the dough.
As soon as he saw them, Hans stood at the shop door, hands on his hips, shouting as if selling his bread:
"Oh look! Who is this? Isn't that our little snow boy? And now he's carrying a fairy who's fallen from the sky!"
The old man's loud voice echoed through the narrow street, causing the housewives choosing potatoes to turn their heads. Rubie was so embarrassed she wanted to disappear into the ground; she buried her face in Rowan's neck, her hands tightly gripping his.
"Hey, Rowan! What's wrong with that girl's legs?" — Old Hans still wouldn't stop, taking a few steps closer, the strong smell of alcohol and flour rising up — "Tsk tsk, city girls, indeed. They fall down the moment they step out the door. Or maybe it's because you carried her so comfortably that she's pretending to be hurt so she can lean on you?"
"Mr. Hans, shut up!" — Rowan snarled, his cloudy white eyes narrowing in annoyance. He quickened his pace, but Old Hans still followed him like a persistent fly.
"Oh dear, now he even knows how to get angry and defend his lady! Villagers, come and see, Rowan has grown up! When Mrs. Hondly comes back, she probably won't recognize her son-in-law!"
Hans' boisterous laughter made Rubie's head spin. "Son-in-law"? That word struck the 14-year-old girl like a bolt of lightning. Rubie's face was now not only red with embarrassment but also burning hot. She could feel Rowan's arm tensing with anger.
"If you say another word, I'll never carry firewood for your oven again!" — Rowan turned and snapped softly.
Old Hans finally stopped, clicked his tongue, and chuckled, "Okay, okay, no more teasing you two. But Rowan, remember to put some ointment on her, the young lady's skin isn't like ours!"
The neighbors around them burst into laughter, whispering amongst themselves:
"Look, they make a good couple, don't they? One as white as snow, the other as golden as sunshine."
"Poor girl, she must be on the verge of tears from Hans's teasing."
Rowan snorted coldly, not bothering to look back, and resolutely strode towards the wooden house on the hillside. Only when the cool forest breeze drowned out the babbling of the old baker did Rubie's heartbeat gradually stabilize.
Rowan slammed the wooden door shut, placing Rubie down abruptly, almost roughly, on the bench near the fireplace. He didn't look at her, nor did he say a word, but sullenly went straight to the back to fetch a basin of warm water and some clean cloths.
The atmosphere in the wooden house suddenly became thick with awkwardness. Rubie sat huddled on the bench, her bright blue eyes secretly following Rowan's pale back. Old Hans's teasing words still echoed in her head: "Son-in-law," "a perfect match"... The 14-year-old girl had never faced such crude remarks in the city, where everything was shrouded in a veneer of artificial formality.
Rowan turned around and knelt on one knee in front of Rubie. He took her foot, intending to remove her mud-stained leather shoe.
"Don't! Let... let me do it myself..." Rubie recoiled instinctively, pulling her foot back.
"Sit still!" Rowan snapped, his dull white eyes glaring at her with a sharp intensity that silenced Rubie. "You've fallen this far and you're still acting like a lady. Do you want this wound to get infected and end up crippled?"
He roughly removed her shoes and socks, revealing her pristine white knee, now scraped and bleeding, the blood staining the fabric. Despite his curt scolding, Rowan's movements were tremblingly gentle as he dipped a cloth in warm water to clean the wound. He meticulously wiped away the mud, his breathing heavy with lingering anger over old Hans.
"Old Hans is a talkative drunkard. Don't pay attention to his nonsense," Rowan muttered, still focused on the wound.
Rubie gazed at his snow-white head, her initial shyness giving way to intense curiosity. She parted her lips, gathering her courage to ask softly:
"Rowan... why are you... so white? And those eyes? The villagers say you're 'the child of snow,' but old Hans talked about... something about inbreeding?"
Rowan's arm froze mid-sentence. A chilling silence fell over the room, broken only by the crackling of the fire in the fireplace. Rubie immediately regretted her words, intending to retract them, but Rowan spoke first. This time, his voice was no longer harsh, but held a profound sadness, far more mature than his 15 years.
"Don't you know? In this remote mountain region, winter lasts six months, and snow covers every path. There are small families living in isolation in the deep valleys, unwilling to share their property or land with outsiders. So they marry each other... cousins, uncles... and so it continues for generations."
Rowan lifted his head, the flickering firelight reflecting in his dull, pupil-less eyes, making him look both terrifying and pathetic.
"I am the result of that selfishness. This body is the price they pay for preserving the 'pure' bloodline they pride themselves on. My skin cannot withstand the sun, my eyes cannot see the brilliance... I am not of the snow, Rubie. I am a mistake of creation."
Rubie fell silent. She looked at Rowan, and for the first time, she saw that they were no longer two opposing extremes. One abandoned by his mother for the sake of fame, the other cursed by his family's greed. Two broken souls sat side by side in the cold Alps.
Unable to restrain herself, Rubie gently touched Rowan's platinum blonde hair with her small, mud-stained hand. It was softer than she expected, cool to the touch like the first snowflakes of the season.
Rowan was startled by the sudden touch. He tried to pull away, but when he looked into Rubie's sun-blue eyes—eyes now devoid of fear and filled with genuine compassion—he froze.
"It's not your fault, Rowan," Rubie whispered. "You're not at fault. You're the one who built the fire to warm me last night, and you're the one who carried me when I fell. That's the truth."
Rowan quickly lowered his head, his pale cheeks flushing with a strange blush. He hastily bandaged her wound with a somewhat clumsy knot.
"Alright! Be careful when you walk." – He jumped up, picked up the basin of water, and headed straight for the door to hide the embarrassment spreading through his body.
Rubie watched his retreating figure, a faint smile playing on her lips. It turned out that behind his blunt exterior and peculiar appearance, Rowan was just a teenager with a very warm heart.