[ EU ] In your favourite fictional universe , the villain won . It 's one year later .

Cold. I ca n't escape it, I shake and scream and twist against it, but it's there and it does not leave. Eventually I accept the ice, when it has been so long that I do n't remember anything else. My mind moves so slowly. Then I feel the chill again, and I screech and pity myself alone. 
 
 I do n't know why I survive. My fingers are twisted, blackened claws that pull my ragged leathers closer in the wind. The dark ice below me reflects a face I do n't know. My feet - when was the last time I saw them? - wrapped and tied and bound in layer upon layer of furs and skins and anything scavenged from the dead. I dug through bodies piled on the roads before I began to head east. They did n't need warmth. It's mine now. I took it as their frozen eyes watched me. 
 
 I keep walking. 
 
 Land disappeared a long time ago. We were headed south, kept heading south, but the ice claimed everything. Fruits shattered to the touch in branches. Nothing lived to hunt. What we did find... even in the cold, it rotted and stank. What we found... we. There was a we. We dug through the frozen bodies. And when the light came again in the morning, there was only I. Now I am crossing a frozen ocean, walking, walking, looking for those rumors of warmth in the shadowy east. 
 
 It's dark again. 
 
 At night, all I know is the cold. I hear nothing, I see nothing, I feel nothing but the cold. I am ice made flesh. My heart beats to gusts of wind. 
 
 How long have I stopped? I vaguely remember light passing, leaving, and coming around again. How many times? My legs creak and ice breaks away as I move starved muscles out of their cage. I look up, straining to move weather-beaten eyelids. I feel the cold blow through a long scratch along my back, one that cut through leather and flesh. Was it always there? Yes... when we became I. 
 
 I lose the thought as my eyes see something. There. A figure. Will there be warmth? They are red, I am a gaunt, icy statue. I watch. The figure knows me, the figure has come for me. It touches me, and everything is black... and warm. 
 
 -- -- 
 `` What is it?'' 
 
 I am human. 
 
 `` Is it living?'' 
 
 I am alive. 
 
 `` No.'' 
 
 No? 
 
 `` It's a partial transformation... the body is long dead.'' 
 
 `` What do we do?'' 
 
 My eyes are still open... locked open? I see red, I see fire, my nose is thawed and it smells rotted flesh and strange vapors. 
 
 `` There's nothing we can do for her, for this one. But she can do something for us.'' 
 
 My heart no longer beats to the wind. I am no longer cold. Did I find it? I found the warmth? 
 
 `` It looks like all the others. Blue eyes. It will wake up and kill. What is special about this one?'' 
 
 Me? 
 
 `` The consciousness remains. The human she was, preserved in the body of the walking dead. This is the gift we have seen walking in our fires for hundreds of years. The final piece of our prophecy.'' 
 
 The two women of Asshai, the apprentice and the sorceress, stood in silence. Many had turned from R'hollor as the icy years dragged on, spreading from Westeros to cover and kill the known world. 
 
 My eyes saw the flashing red ruby around the neck of the red woman, the figure who found me. I found the remains of a rotting tongue in my mouth, and spat out - 
 
 `` I - am - warm!''
