…as she turned back to watch the Buckle Family Factory fade away in the white blizzard, it’s windows crying black soot from the fire she’d set.

The carriage rocked her like her mother used too, and the foot warmer made the carriage’s cracked leather interior seem almost homey. “This leather” she thought to herself “smells like Buckle Leather”. She reached out and gently caressed the cold skin-

- like the beautiful Night-Mare that had hung dying before her whispering, “My foal”. The foal was harvest-bred; the young creature a special request from the Royal Doctor in search of a Noble cure.

Winter became too ill to work the floor and was repurposed as a tray runner delivering Smash to the stockyards. She fearfully shoved trays into dark cages containing The Ghosts. “Move fast, or they’ll grab you!” the head feeder had barked.

While retrieving trays from The Ghosts, she’d heard, “Winter, is that you?” She dropped the trays and lunged forward as familiar red eyes and pale hands reached for her…