“Once upon a time, there lived a beautiful princess. It was said her face was so fair that it outshone the moon and stars, and her hair was so lustrous it glimmered like the sun on water. Word spread to all the kingdoms of this wondrous beauty and her name was on all lips, until even the King of Winter, looking down on the Earth from his great frozen throne, heard her name. Greatly intrigued, he left his icy kingdom and traversed the Earth. Frost and snow followed in his wake and the Earth was plunged into deepest winter. Animals froze in their fields, and villagers huddled around their fires as he passed.

“The princess was indeed as beautiful as the people had described and his cold heart cried out with avarice and longing. He had to possess this creature, and immediately began to court her. Repulsed and terrified by his cruel, icy façade and cold nature, she refused, but the King was stubborn. He renewed his troth, vowing not to leave until she changed her mind. The longer he stayed, the more winter tightened its grasp on the land. The soil became iron hard, water froze in the lakes and wells, and the people began to freeze in their beds.

“The princess, seeing the destruction he wrought, agreed to the King’s proposal. With great sadness she left with him to live forever in the land of winter.

“Summer returned to the land once more and the people rejoiced, vowing to remember their princess and tell her story every time winter returned to the land with the first snowfall.”

The storyteller pauses, his hands clasped to his chest and his head bowed, playing to the crowd.

I listen to the story being told to the group of children, parents and nannies, who have gathered to watch the free show, hands wrapped around hot chocolates or jammed into armpits as the frigid air kissed their faces. Feet stamp and children fidget as their thoughts drift to warmth and comfort of their homes. Most of the story is lost on them, just an interesting tale to usher in the new season. I listen to the story, as I do every year on my first day in the city, feeling the weight of the years crushing me as the sanitised and fragmented tale ends. So much has been lost or changed over the millennia until it barely resembles the actual events.

There is a general stamping of feet and shuffling as the listeners stand and head back to cars and houses, and I realise I have missed the end of the story while lost in thought. I wonder briefly what this year’s ending had been, but it really doesn’t matter, as whatever he said would be wrong. After all, the story is still playing out. I shrug off my melancholia and follow the people surging along the twisting paths through the park to continue my quest.

Frost crackles beneath my feet as I walk towards the frozen lake taking pride of place at the centre, and I watch the patterns of the ice form behind me, creating delicate diamanté shapes, thickening with every step I take. They are beautiful, but I yearn to feel the hot summer sun on my face once more instead of the burn of the cold. I feel a smile tug at my lips at the thought that is constantly crossing my mind; maybe tonight will be the night when all this changes. A commuter hurrying home crosses my trail and slips on the suddenly treacherous ground. I hesitate, but don’t offer her my hand to help her up; I’m sure she’d rather not lose her fingers to frostbite tonight.

I pause by the ice rink, watching skaters zoom past in a haze of colour, hair streaming behind, heads thrown back in laughter, breath misting behind them. My eyes are arrested on a figure in the centre of the rink. He is magnificent. He spins in place, his speed making me giddy and I wish for him to stop so I can see him more clearly. His spin ends gracefully and he dances across the ice, as though he is part of it. I follow him with my gaze, drinking in his perfect form, his startling light blue eyes and symmetrical features. But more than his looks, it is the force of his personality, his vitality that calls to me and brings a laugh to my lips. He pulses with it, and all around him are diminished in comparison. My laugh turns sardonic. How ironic it would be for the person to break my curse to be one who is so at home in the winter. One of his beloved creations. I catch his eye, and he laughs with me, beckoning me to join him.

We skate for hours as the ice and the park empty and the atmosphere becomes more intimate. Perhaps after tonight I will finally be able to live and love as I choose, with this shining boy.

He asks me for coffee, and we exchange names and life stories as we sit in the coffee shop window, watching flakes of fresh snow spiral lazily down. He tells me of his childhood and his hopes for the future, and I spin a suitably heart-warming tale. I can tell he is attracted to me; his pupils are dilated, and he is itching to touch me, but I keep my distance for now. Not until I am sure he is the one.

I pretend to sip my frozen coffee; it had iced over as soon as I picked it up. He touches the back of my gloved hand as he suggests a more private rendezvous at a secluded lake he knows. I feel his touch like a brand, and draw my hand away quickly, although he doesn’t seem to have felt any ill effects. It seems he is special after all, and excitement zips through my stomach as I agree to go with him.

“Do you know the story of the princess and the Winter King?” I ask him as we skate lazily around the circumference. Of course he has. His answer and his smug smile tells me he believes it a nice fairy tale. “Have you heard what happened to the princess after she marries?” Of course he doesn’t; nobody does. That privilege is shared only by my husband and me. I skid to a halt, tugging him closer to me.

“After many years living in the Winter Kingdom, the King could see that his bride was pining for the land below. She had lost hope and grew depressed, her looks fading with her happiness. To give her back her hope, he granted her one boon; for one day a year, as the first snow fell, she would be allowed to walk the Earth once more. One day to find her destined lover. To find the man that could melt her frozen heart, the one person that was alive enough, vital enough, to survive the winter’s cold. Find him, and her curse would be lifted, and she would be become human again, free to live and love as she wished once more.

“Are you that person?” His smile falters as I draw off my glove and reach my hand towards him. But as soon as he realises I am leaning in to kiss him, his eye darken and he pulls me towards him.

His lips burn on mine, and I feel the fire streaming down my throat and into my heart. His arms wrap around me and I feel his heart thumping against mine.

I am lost in the bliss, and suddenly realise that he is no longer hugging, but struggling, trying to push me away. My hands clench around his jacket in anger as I refuse to admit the truth and face another year of torture in that ice cavern I am forced to call home. Finally, as his struggles cease I pull away, my eyes fixed on his lips, now blue and sparkling with their layer of ice. I watch as the blue spreads across his perfect face and down his throat. His skin takes on a shimmer as it hardens and perfect ice crystals form. He is frozen in place; a beautiful ice statue. In the sunshine his perfection would be dazzling.

I feel a distant sadness at the loss of another innocent life, at the waste of potential, but it is just one more in a line that stretches back across numberless years. One more that he has forced me to kill, and one more that I will punish him for over the coming year. I kiss the boy’s crystal cheek goodbye as I mourn for the loss of my hope once again.

As I walk away I rally my hopes.  I know better than to despair; where there’s life, there’s hope, after all. And there is always next year. And the year after. I will find my happily ever after. No matter what it costs.