There was a young woman who sat by the window of her lonesome hotel, waiting for what felt like an eternity for the snow to stop so she could go back home. She didn’t mind the snow. In fact she made her living off of it. She was known back home for turning snow into elaborate structures in the heart of New York. She built a reputation for herself over time, but here, in a small hotel in the middle of a snowed In Romanian mountain, she hardly felt compelled to create. “How long will this last? Goodness me.” She said defeatedly, holding her face with her palm, staring out into the white void.