In that village—cold not merely in its climate, but in the hearts of those who dwelt within it—every soul moved as though stripped of feeling. The people walked with stern composure, their faces carved in unyielding severity, for in that place no one was ever seen to smile.
And yet, amidst that desolate stillness, Jean and Raphael would play together with innocent delight, their laughter a fragile warmth against the village's relentless chill. Thus the years drifted by within that frost-laden settlement, where joy was a rarity and warmth an almost forgotten memory.