In the realm of Fables, there are those who govern every whisper of the wind, others
who calibrate the angle and slice of the wingbeats of every insect.
They are the dynamic elementals, and they rule the fast and the
fleet-all that is enclosed in the blink of an eye. But beneath this
frenzied tempo are the slumbering elementals, to whom the
centuries pass like April thunderstorms and the death of a
civilization is no more than a curiously crimson twilight.The Ice Princess is too preoccupied with the raging rush of the glaciers and the skyward leap of mountains storming heaven to notice the minor fluctuations of organic life. Every now and then she senses something green and flickering which she ascribes to prismatic reflections off her frosted lashes. Then it is gone and forgotten. Locked into the rhythms of the void, locked out of the flash of mortal suffering, she sets her sights on the sliding of the continents, the shifting tilt of the earth's axis and the celestial race towards dissolution.