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Take one look at Kazuma; you can tell he hasn’t seen snow before. Wonder (childlike, innocent, so unlike him) glints in his eyes as he watches the footprints they make, his breath ghosting the air, the shine of snow against the low gaslight of each home they pass.And what of the splotches across his cheeks? The stark snow collecting in his eyelashes? The little tug on his mouth when the wind blows just so, collecting all the snowflakes in it?There’s something beautiful about it. About him. Like an artifact cradled within frosted glass—there, but distant. Look, but don’t touch.