The night was quiet, but it definitely hadn’t been so cold a few moments ago. Derek did not decide to put his hands into his pockets - rather, he became aware that he had, reflexively, in response to a sudden swoop in temperature. Immediately, he stopped in his tracks, tilting his head to look around. His scan of the silent street betrayed nothing; no spellwork, no sign of a haunting, though those are few enough. Still, with no doubt in his mind that this was unnatural, even with London’s less than balmy summer, he quickened his pace as he walked on. As he hurried down the street, the air grew colder still, the sudden shift from summer to spring driving him on.

And, as he turned the corner, spring seemed to become winter. At first, he barely noticed the woman standing there on the pavement. His eyes had caught instead on the fog spiralling across the ground, the frost incandescent on the ground. Magic always made his hairs stand on end, and even with only a layman’s knowledge he could feel the crackle of power in the air as surely as the cold.

Gaze catching on the hem of her dress, his eyes were gradually drawn upwards. Was it possible to wear winter? The question, in all its absurdity, stuck in his mind. The gown, however, was not what had his breath hitching in his throat.

She was beautiful. Beautiful enough to stun, beautiful enough to drive all thoughts of suspicion and caution momentarily from his mind. Derek stood transfixed by her, the frost-like translucence of her and how the winter-night cold made her seem delicate and dangerous all at once.

Fae. She had to be; as far as Derek was concerned, there was no other explanation. Fae she may have been, but he’d never seen one - or anything - like her before. But it was still too difficult to get his brain working again. His fingers flexed, slowly. He let out that breath. He forced himself to shut his eyes for a moment.

“Who are you?” Coloured by shock and no small amount of awe, the question lacks the edge he’d usually like.