A/N: Hello! I really should be working on the numerous essays I have to write, instead of this, but whatever. These characters are my babies.

Disclaimer: I don't own the Lunar Chronicles.

Also, some feedback on this fanfiction would be nice. Just sayin'. :)

Cress woke up at precisely six fifteen, to the pinging of her alarm clock, as she did every day. She groaned, and rolled out of bed.

Standing on her toes, Cress carefully pulled her rosy-pink curtain over, revealing a snow-covered window. She sighed, and opened the window, wanting to see what it looked like outside.

Cress was met with a blast of icy air, and she shivered, drawing her thin bathrobe closer. Everywhere she looked was white; there was no other color except for the red scarf that the neighborhood children had placed on their snowman.

A snowman. Something that Cress had never made.

When Cress was born, her mother left her on her father's doorstep, with only a small note. Cress's father hadn't even known his girlfriend was pregnant, and so he had absolutely no baby things. He had brought her inside though, and put an ad in the paper for babysitters.

Sybil Mira had been the first to reply, and so she became Cress's full time babysitter, since her father's job as a doctor didn't allow him to spend much time at home.

Sybil, or Mistress Sybil, as Cress had called her, hadn't exactly been the nicest person on the planet. Her motto was "Children should be seen and not heard," and Cress had tried to live it up to the best of her ability. Sybil had homeschooled Cress, not wanting her to mingle with "those dirty neighborhood children," and so Cress had had no friends, being confined to her tiny house, except for characters she read about in books. Once in the winter, she had asked Sybil to let her go outside and build a snowman like the children in the books she said, but Sybil had refused, saying that Cress would get hypothermia or frostbite if she went out in the snow.

One thing Cress loved to do was read. It was the only thing that kept her from going insane, with only Sybil Mira, and occasionally her father to talk to. She found comfort in novels, especially those about traveling, and going on adventures. Before the age of seventeen, Cress hold only left her hometown twice: once to go to a camp, and once to run away.

The camp was a literary camp that her father had signed her up for, noticing the piles of literature around the house; Jane Austen, Charles Dickens, Shakespeare, Harper Lee, J. R. R. Tolkien, George Orwell, and C.S. Lewis. Sybil had reluctantly agreed, and so Cress had spent an entire blissful week in the next town over, living in the library with real, actual other people.

Sybil had dropped her off an entire hour early, remarking that it was much better being early than being late. So Cress had sat outside, waiting, until someone had finally let her in.

Inside the library, they all had to choose groups of three in which to work with. Cress had sat all alone, curled in a tight little ball, waiting for someone to pick her, but no one ever did.

Suddenly, she felt a little tap on her shoulder, and Cress turned around.

There stood a girl, who looked eleven, about a year older than Cress. She had pretty black corkscrew curls surrounding her face, and her eyes were golden-brown with little flecks of gray around she edges. "Hi," she chirped, in a sing-songy voice. "I'm Winter. And this-" she said, pointing to an older boy next to her with light hair and eyes, "-Is my best friend, Jacin. I wanted to know if you wanted to be in a group with us." Next to her, Jacin nodded warily, as if he didn't exactly trust Cress.

"Sure," Cress meekly squeaked. And so the three of them spent the next week practically glued together, except at night, when Jacin had to go sleep with the rest of the boys. In time, they even became best friends, and Winter sent Cress letters long after the camp had ended.

Another cold blast of wind brought Cress back to reality, and she sighed, heading toward her closet to pick out something to wear.

…

Twenty minutes later, Cress sat at her kitchen table, a mug of coffee in one hand, and her phone. Suddenly, there was a knock at the door.

Cress jumped, spilling a drop of hot coffee on her dress. She gritted her teeth. No one, absolutely no one, ever knocked on her door. Cress never ordered anything, as she prefered to use her freedom to go out in the world to buy things, and no neighbor kids ever knocked on her door, as they regarded her as the crazy genius girl who lived next door, and who took online classes from Harvard.

Was it a pirate, perhaps? Or maybe a kidnapper who would offer her candy, and then stick her in his truck? Or a murderer?

Don't be silly, Cress told herself sternly. It's probably just a branch that fell on the door. Or something like that.

Even so, she couldn't get herself to open the door.

Finally, Cress took a deep breath, grabbed a frying pan, and opened the door.

There stood a perfectly chiseled man, with brown hair and dreamy blue eyes that made Cress swoon a little. "Hello," he said, raising an eyebrow at Cress's frying pan. When Cress didn't reply back, he coughed a little. "Um, I was wondering if you wanted me to shovel your driveway? I'm Carswell Thorne, by the way." He smiled playfully, and stuck out his hand for Cress to shake. She didn't take it. Cress wasn't exactly one to be called "social."

Yep. Definitely a kidnapper, Cress thought. With the unanswered question still hanging in the air, Cress took her frying pan, and with all her might, swung it at the man.

His eyes rolled back into his head, and he fell to the ground. Cress walked closer to inspect him, despite the cold snow, and the fact that she was barefoot.

The man, Carswell, wore a leather jacket, and black gloves. He also held a shovel in one hand.

Oops. Maybe he actually wasn't a kidnapper?