I have always been the Ice Prince: stark, barren, unyielding. It is a vast and empty land over which I rule, shadow and nightmare in shades of silver. Yet now you the Ice Queen too bear the iron crown, I see. Welcome to the kingdom, dear sister. Yes, we are kin, of a kind. We’ve the same black ice blood sluicing through our veins, the same bleak winter in our lungs. Your inheritance is ice and indifference, stone and storm. Did you think otherwise, when the depths and dark places have always called to you? There are no promises or platitudes here; only cold, hard, cutting truths. We can never offer enough, never fill the cup of longing, never sate need nor want. We are inert, hollow, unfeeling things, and even when we give it is always inadequate. We are inadequate. Frozen hearts, wasteland souls, impenetrable and deceitful. Do not disagree, you have carried this shard of knowledge in your breast all your life. After all, are the stars not hard and distant, no matter how brightly they shine? Constant as the Moon is fickle, yet both shed the same cold light, dead light, false light, are unobtainable all the same. So you. So I. So we. Do not deny the crown, Lady, should it slip and become your noose.