The storm had passed, leaving the cove blanketed in a pristine, suffocating silence. Snow and ice covered the stockades, encasing them in an unyielding tomb. Miura and Sabrina's bodies lay lost beneath the drifts, their colours–a pink-and-black kimono and white-and-baby-blue privateer's garb–faded from sight as nature buried them in its unrelenting grip.

But some storms never truly end.

As the first rays of dawn pierced the frosted horizon, the air in the cove shimmered with an ethereal light. From the ice and snow, a figure began to emerge–a delicate, spectral form clad in flowing robes of baby blue and white. Her long, dark hair cascaded over her shoulders, and her skin glowed with a pale, otherworldly light, her presence as cold and commanding as the winter itself.

It was Miura–but not as she had been. Her soul had transcended the mortal realm, transformed by the storm and her final moments of love and defiance. She had become the Yuki Onna, the spirit of the snow, an eternal force born of frost and heartbreak. Yet in this new form, she carried a piece of Sabrina with her forever. The colours Miura now wore–Sabrina’s favourite white and baby blue–were a tribute to the woman who had shown her love and courage in the face of impossible odds.

Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.

Her expression remained serene yet sorrowful, her dark eyes filled with an unfathomable depth of emotion. She stood silently in the cove for a long moment, gazing at the frozen world she had once fought to protect. The snowflakes seemed to gather around her, swirling gently in an invisible current as though drawn to her presence.

When she moved, her steps left no sound and no trace in the snow. She turned her gaze toward the distant sea, where Robert’s frigate had long since vanished. Her heart burned with the memory of his cruelty, her resolve unshaken by the passage of death.

But vengeance was not her sole purpose. The love she had shared with Sabrina was an indelible part of her being, etched into her soul as deeply as frost carved into stone. Miura, now the Yuki Onna, would wander the snowy landscapes of Japan, her presence both a harbinger of winter and a symbol of eternal love.

On some nights, when blizzards raged and lanterns flickered weakly in the wind, sailors and villagers claimed to see her–a pale, spectral figure gliding through the storm, her robes flowing like the waves of the sea. Her presence brought both beauty and terror, her cold embrace a final comfort to the lost and the suffering.

But those who looked closely–those brave or foolish enough to meet her eyes–swore they saw something beyond the frost and vengeance. They saw a quiet grief, a longing for a life stolen too soon, and a love that had outlasted even death itself.

And on the nights when the wind carried whispers of her name, the snow seemed to fall just a little softer, as though the storm itself mourned the courtesan and her pirate–two souls bound forever by the cold, by the sea, and by a love more enduring than winter.