Cold to look at, warm under the furs, and that tension is the whole room. Pile the blankets first, then the ice: a lantern of ice, candles frozen mid-drip, a chest of snowflake jewels, a table set with tea and a bowl of frozen berries. Nine windows mean you choose how much aurora comes in.
Set the tea things on the ice table and they belong to it. Move the table later and the tray, the cups and the cake go along. Push the sled behind the throne and it stays behind.
Then turn the night on, because this world was drawn for it. Twenty-six lights, more than any other room in the game: four braziers, fifteen small lamps, the ice lantern. They glow from inside and everything near them warms up, so a palace of ice ends up the cosiest thing here.
Nothing is scored and nothing has to be finished. Come back tomorrow and move one candle.
