" The Hunter:
“Your future refuses to behave.” Coo-yôn yanked off the jacket he’d sourced for me. Up was down. Then he stepped back. And released me—
I toppled over, falling out of my seat onto the ground. Was the sosie dumping me on the side of the road? ’Cause I was about to die? “Now, let’s just talk . . . ’bout this, coo-yôn.”
He caught hold of my good ankle, then dragged me farther away from the truck. He’d hauled me into . . . a bank of snow.
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The Empress:
I’d thought the sight of snow—and all the emotions it brought—would make me less likely to be with Aric.

Just the opposite; because I could see my future so clearly. If he died before I did, some symbol—like snow—would mark the end of his existence. Later I would experience that waypoint (because everything was connected) and wish to God I’d taken a different path.

I decided then that I would map my own journey and mark my own waypoints. The snow would symbolize both the end of one story and the beginning of another.

A new slate. But not a blank one. The red ribbon would be a cherished remembrance, but I wouldn’t keep it with me at all times.

I lay in the snow and lifted my hand to the sky. Flakes landed on my damp face. Each one was a cool kiss good-bye.
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The Hunter

Lying in that bank of snow, I gazed up at the falling flakes. They drifted over my face. Soft, soft. Like Evie’s lips. With effort, I lifted my scarred hand to the sky. I closed my eyes and pretended my Evangeline was caring for me.

J’ai savouré. I savored each cold kiss. . . . "

― Kresley Cole , Arcana Rising (The Arcana Chronicles, #4)