She knew she was in her realm again.

If the expanse of the vast ocean, black underneath the glitter of the stars, did not give it away, then the silent armada of broken ice did.

She stood erect on a piece of frozen debris, taking in the enormity of thousands of galaxies above her and the millions of glaciers around her.

She was not numb to the cold, for she could feel it burrowing into the farthest reaches of her heart. In the place of crippling pain, however, there was austere clarity.

She looked down at her hands to find them laced with frost. Gradually, she became aware that her entire body was lightly dusted with this frost.

She began to wonder where the mistress of this domain was.

It was not like her to keep guests waiting.

"You're too heavy for that ice."

She looked up and saw a blue and black figure looming before her. Her swords gleamed enticingly, despite the only light being that of the stars.

A sudden terror suddenly seized her heart. The austere clarity was ripped out between her ribs and in its place came the crippling cold. Her hands went to clutch her chest, but the frost which had lightly touched them had now turned to leaden ice.

Her eyes went pleadingly to the figure, but the helmeted warrior remained aloof and unattainable.

"I cannot turn back a pendulum, nor can I fix you."

The ice beneath her feet groaned and cracked before splitting open and pulling her into its black and silken waters.

Mitsuru slowed breathing hitched slightly as she opened her eyes to the darkness of her room. Immediately, she peeled back the heavy layers of blankets which she had piled on and felt the entirety of the cold sweat which she was currently bathing in.

Mitsuru put a steady hand to her sticky forehead as she painstakingly swung her legs down into a sitting position on her bed. She wasn't really the kind to get sick, but even she wasn't immune to disease, apparently. Despite her best efforts at daily vitamins and rigorous excercise, a fever and its accompanying ache had come for a prolonged visit.

She sighed as she reached over to her nightstand for the glass of water.

Her eyes stopped on her window as she saw the tree outside gilded in ice.

Apparently, tonight was Shinjiro's lucky night. Aki said they wouldn't be patrolling tonight because somehow, some way, Mitsuru was sick. Aki had obviously registered that this was about as frequent as a solar eclipse, and had nearly ran out of the premises to the gym. With his primary option out doing what he did best, Shinjiro had wondered how best to spend his free night.

His first act (and only act) was to watch television and then fall asleep, which he executed with stunning precision. However, Shinjiro had expected to sleep straight through until morning, and was slightly jarred when he woke up at three with a nagging nicotine itch.

He half-consciously worked his way up the stairs to his favorite smoking spot, the roof. As he moved, he buttoned up his trenchcoat tightly and pulled his cap down more snugly over his ears. He lightly pulled his lighter out and fingered a loose cigarette in his pocket as he used his shoulder to push open the door adjoining the roof.

Shinjiro stepped out onto the landing and was in the process of lighting up when he noticed the figure clad in a light blue robe with soaring red hair lightly dancing over her shoulder in the night wind.

Shinjiro would have left at that moment had it not been for the pressing feeling of intrusion. Odd as it sounds, if he had been intruding on just Mitsuru he would have left. However, Shinjiro had the distinct feeling he was interrupting a very private scene.

This is what caused the hesitation, for there was no one else here. How could Shinjiro interrupt a conversation when there was just one person present.

His hesitation lingered too long.

Mitsuru wearily turned her head and, to Shinjiro's bewilderment, gave him a sickly and weak smile.

"Ah, Shinjiro." She acknowledged.

Shinjiro furrowed his forehead.

"'the hell you doing up here?" He said with the cigarette pinched between his lips. Shinjiro threw a casual glance at the outside thermometer before retuning his cautious glare back at Mitsuru. He flipped his lighter open and shielded the flame from the cold as he slowly approached Mitsuru's side.

"I have a fever." Mitsuru's voice was soft and raw.

Shinjiro held the cigarette between his fingers as he looked out at the open city.

"Oh, of course, how frightfully moronic of me not to realize." Shinjiro said snidely.

"Ah," Mitsuru smiled weakly again, making Shinjiro even more frustrated with the irregular behavior.

"The cold is helpful."

"I'm no doctor, but standing in the cold doesn't really help the sick."

The smile slipped gently away, but Mitsuru's glazed eyes remained on the city lights. Shinjiro looked down at the edge of the roof and saw Mitsuru's hands placed lightly over the stone. Even though Mitsuru was naturally fair-skinned, the cold seemed to make her look especially distant and gaunt.

Mitsuru was silent at Shinjiro's jab.

Shinjiro stared at her warily as the cigarette passed to his lips.

"When I was a child, I used to take walks in the winter by a frozen pond near my family's estate,"

Mitsuru paused, her heavy, slow, and almost dreamlike breathing became quiet .

Shinjiro let the smoke billow out of his lips.

"I always wanted to go ice-skating on the pond. I had never been and was curious whenever I saw other children in the park. My father never took me, and I was told the pond behind the estate was too thin to attempt it. One day, I couldn't restrain myself. I ran onto the ice and slid about it on my feet like I was skating like the other children. The edges were frozen just as well, but when I reached the center. . ."

Mitsuru trailed off dizzily.

She lowered her lashes and fingered the chips of ice that were lodged in the nooks and crannies of the lowered wall.

"Who pulled you out."

"I don't know."

"You don't remember." Shinjiro corrected haughtily.

"I opened my eyes and I was lying on the edge of pond. I laid in the cold for hours before someone found me."

Shinjiro looked at her meticulously, watching as her warm fevered breath was taken into the cold night.

"You don't remember." He said again.

Mitsuru looked at him, tired and puzzled.

"Either someone pulled you out and left you for dead, or you pulled yourself out and you don't remember."

"I wasn't strong enough." Mitsuru said lightly, though her expression told Shinjiro it wasn't a light matter.

Shinjiro gave a wry smile as he looked away and took another smoke of his quickly disapperaing cigarette.

Mitsuru returned her eyes to the glowing city.

Shinjiro saw a thin sheen of sweat on her face as he quietly dabbed the excess ashes from his cigarette on the edge of the wall before bringing to his mouth again.

"I died that day. . . ."

On the ice, he finished for her.

Shinjiro looked at her, expressionless save of course for his darkened eyes.

He wondered briefly what a world of ice felt like. If it invaded your heart and caused it to shatter or if you could tame it and love it and teach it how to kill and how to protect. Mitsuru had been at this game a long time. Her persona was built for a young girl, but Mitsuru had stopped being a girl a long time ago. How long could she hold up with Penthesilea before one of them broke?

"Well, it's been fun." He said morosely as he flicked his dead cigarette off the ledge. "But I'm going to bed."

Mitsuru was silent, lost in thought or lost in the sweltering hell of her fever.

Shinjiro stuffed his hands in his pockets as he chewed the insides of his cheeks and glared at Mitsuru thoughtfully.

"Go to bed, Kirijo."

"I'm heavy."

"You're sick, idiot."

Mitsuru was silent.

"Go back inside."

"I can't. . ."

"Dumbass-"

"I can't leave the cold."

Shinjiro frowned.

"Shit. You really are sick." He said gravely. Shinjiro pulled his hands out of his pockets and firmly grasped Mitsuru by the waist and shoulder and directed her toward the stairwell. Mitsuru frowned at this, but Shinjiro could see that the fever was deep enough that she couldn't entirely comprehend where she was.

He silently led her down the stairs and let her wrap her arm around his waist so that she could help him with the task of steadying herself.

Shinjiro opened Mitsuru's door and set her down on her bed.

She watched him as he opened the window and smiled softly as he shivered from the cold.

"Compromise." He muttered, pointing to the mountain of blankets at the foot of her bed.

"Yes." Mitsuru agreed.

Shinjiro looked at her briefly as he passed over to the door. He took the doorknob in his hands and went to shut it before looking at Mitsuru with a raised eyebrow and shutting the door.

Mitsuru felt herself fall over on her pillow, and dutifully pulled the pillows up around herself before the fever smothered her into a hazy sleep.

"Father! I will protect you."

"Now she will spend her life atoning for the mistakes of her family instead of finding her own way."

Mitsuru opened her eyes, and found herself, once again, in her realm.

She looked below her feet at the flimsy piece of ice, which was beginning to show stress from under Mitsuru's weight.

"You're too heavy for that ice."

She looked up and saw Penthesilea's helm.

"What do I do?"

Penthesilea raised her swords to Mitsuru head and Mitsuru screamed in terror, trying not to fall back into the black waters. Penthesilea's swords came crashing down, but not on Mitsuru's head. Instead, another figure had appear.

A woman wearing a rounded helm, pointed mask, and razored armor. The whip she carried was wound around Penthesilea's swords. The woman gave a sharp pull and Penthesilea was unarmed. Penthesilea was brought to her knees, as the intruder slipped a flat hand under her neck where her pulse would be in a show of dominance.

"Who. . ." Mitsuru stammered.

"Too long has your heart been ice, Mitsuru. In time, you will learn my name and tame me. I will unbind your heart but I will make it strong. I will push you but I will protect you. In time, Mitsuru, I will be your ice and I will not break you."