My Anime Shopping Tree & My Cold Prodigy Wife!

Author: LordNoname

Episode : 0

Words : 1871 Updated : Sep 10th, 2025

The story starts in Chapter 1 of "My Anime Shopping Tree & My Cold Prodigy Wife!": The world had been green, alive, moments ago. Sun-dappled leaves, the scent of warm earth... Don’t miss it!

The world had been green, alive, moments ago. Sun-dappled leaves, the scent of warm earth – an idyllic canvas. Then, she had arrived. And summer had died. A predatory frost uncoiled from her, a tangible wave of frigid despair. It spread with horrifying speed, killing vibrant hues, replacing them with stark monochrome. The air, once a caress, now bit with a blizzard’s teeth. Snow, thick as a funeral shroud, fell with furious intensity, a white, suffocating rage. The youth on the ground felt the change deep within his bones, a creeping cold mirroring the numbness from his grievous wounds. His blood, crimson seconds before, was crystallizing into grotesque, ruby-like shards. It crunched faintly when he tried to shift, the effort sending searing, then numbing, pain through him. Pain itself was fading, replaced by the insidious cold stealing sensation, turning his limbs to stone. He blinked slowly, snowflakes catching on his lashes, refreezing into sharp needles. His gaze drifted to the sky – no longer azure, but a churning maelstrom of bruised purple and angry grey, the source of the unnatural snow. It seemed the heavens grieved, or raged. Then, through the swirling white, she came into view, a figure of impossible, heart-stopping beauty, stark against the dying world she’d created. Her raven hair, darker than midnight, billowed around her like a storm cloud, untouched by the snow. Her eyes, wide and luminous, were polished obsidian, reflecting the icy desolation yet burning with an internal fire – a volatile, tormented incandescence. They were windows to a soul consumed by a blizzard of conflicting emotions. She moved with lethal grace, leaving no footprints, a phantom of winter’s bleakest dream. Tears streamed down her flawless cheeks. Not warm tears, but ones that transformed instantly in the biting air, crystallizing into glittering, razor-sharp icicles clinging to her skin like macabre jewels, or shattering on the frozen ground with the sound of tiny, breaking bells – a delicate, chilling music for this private apocalypse. The cold emanating from her was a soul-deep chill, a winter of the heart made manifest. She reached him, a dark angel, and knelt. The hem of her dark gown, embroidered with silver threads like trapped starlight, pooled around her. The snow seemed to part for her, reluctant to mar her terrible beauty. Her obsidian eyes fixed on his, drinking in his stillness, his pallor, the frozen testament of his blood. His own gaze, the color of a stormy sea on the cusp of freezing, met hers. Empty. Devoid of fear, hatred, or any plea. A calm, desolate expanse. "My love," she whispered, her voice a silken caress edged with breaking ice. The words were a grotesque parody of tenderness. Snowflakes settled in her raven hair, melting against the unnatural cold radiating from her skin. "Do you feel it?" she murmured, one slender, gloveless hand, pale as winter moonlight, hovering just above his paling cheek, her fingertips radiating a cold that was almost a burn. "The world... it weeps with me. It freezes for our final embrace." He said nothing. His storm-grey eyes remained fixed on hers, a flat, unreadable expanse. No flicker of their shared past, no defiance, no hint of the passionate fire that had once burned between them. Only a vast, weary emptiness. An emptiness that clawed at her, a silent rebuke more piercing than any scream. A single ice-tear detached from her cheek, landing on the frozen blood crusting his tunic with a tiny, almost inaudible click. "I love you," she stated, the words a raw, broken sound, like a wounded bird’s cry. "So much. More than life. More than my sanity. More than the sun." Her obsidian eyes, for a fleeting moment, filled with an agonizing tenderness, a glimpse of the love now fueling this destructive act. He has to see it, to feel it, even now, she pleaded internally. This isn't cruelty; it's... preservation. "And because I love you so profoundly," she continued, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper, a lover sharing a terrible, intimate secret, "because this love is a fire that consumes me, a madness that will not let me rest... I must do this. I must claim you. Entirely." His expression did not change. No shock. No fear. Not even surprise. As if she’d merely commented on the weather. This... this infuriating, soul-crushing emptiness in his gaze... it was worse than any hatred. It was a negation. A void where her passion, her pain, her very existence, found no purchase. Look at me! her soul screamed. Feel something! Hate me! Anything but this... this nothing! It was an insult to the inferno raging within her. "Don't you understand?" she pleaded, her voice cracking, the ice-tears falling faster, a glittering cascade. "This is the only way. To keep you. To preserve this moment, this terrible, perfect intensity. Before you change further. Before you... forget." Her gaze hardened again, a flicker of dark, fierce possessiveness. The brief vulnerability vanished, replaced by a chilling, almost ecstatic resolve. If he offered nothing, she would carve her meaning onto his stillness. "After your beautiful, stubborn heart has stilled," she promised, her voice a chilling vow against the wind’s howl, "I will follow. I will join you in the endless, frozen dark. I will hold you, my love, for all eternity. Our final, perfect, unbreakable embrace. Together. Always." He blinked slowly, a languid, almost dismissive movement, the only sign he still perceived her terrible, beautiful, insane intent. The silence stretched, broken only by the whispering snow and her ragged breathing, each exhalation a white plume. With a sigh carrying the weight of a dying world, she moved. Her slender form settled onto his chest, the pressure increasing, a deliberate, ritualistic claiming. Her raven hair fell around them, a silken curtain, creating a private, claustrophobic world of shadow and chilling intimacy. Her hands, pale and cold as marble, rose, hovered above his throat, fingers trembling almost imperceptibly – the only betrayal of the maelstrom within. Then, they descended. Long, strong fingers wrapped around his neck, the touch firm, possessive, inescapable. She could feel the faint tremor in her grip. This is love, she told herself, a desperate affirmation. This is the ultimate act of devotion. "This... this coldness in your eyes, my love," she whispered, her face inches from his, obsidian gaze boring into his, searching, desperate, for something no longer there. "This terrible, empty glare... it is the same glare I once turned upon you, is it not?" A flicker of painful memory crossed her eyes – a time when their roles were reversed. "When I was the ice, and you were the fire," she murmured, her voice thick with a sorrow transcending grief. "When my heart was a frozen fortress, and your desperate, foolish passion beat against its walls, seeking an entry I so cruelly, so proudly, denied." Her grip tightened, stealing his shallow breath, making dying lights dance before his fading eyes. The cold from her fingers seeped into his skin, a prelude to the eternal winter she promised. "You hated me then, didn't you?" she accused, her voice low, broken, thick with tears freezing directly onto his chilling skin. "You despised my coldness, my refusal to yield to your... relentless, consuming affection. You looked at me with that same burning emptiness then, your unrequited love turning to ash." Or did you? Was it hate, or was it this... this same awful indifference? The unwelcome thought pricked at her. His gaze remained unchanged. Detached. Empty. A mirror reflecting only the cold desolation she’d created. No hatred. No anger. No love. Only profound, transcendent weariness. No! Her mind recoiled. It must be hatred! He must feel something as strong as what I feel! "This hatred you feel for me now," she declared, voice rising with manic triumph, fingers digging deeper, cutting off his air, a desperate attempt to impose her narrative onto his dying gaze. "This beautiful, burning hatred... I will not let it fade! I will freeze it, here, now, for all eternity! By ending you! By preserving this moment where your soul finally mirrors the ice I once offered! We will be one, finally, in this frozen tableau of passion and pain!" Her words were a torrent, a desperate attempt to find meaning, passion, even a twisted reflection of her love, in the void she met. To believe his state was a mirror of her past, a shared intensity, rather than a complete negation of everything she felt. But there was nothing. Only the tightening grip, the fading light, the encroaching cold. He didn't struggle, beyond involuntary, weakening spasms. He didn't plead. He didn't even blink. His eyes, the color of a winter sea just before it freezes solid, remained fixed on hers, a silent, damning testament to her failure. Her passionate, destructive love, her desperate need for a shared, eternal torment, found no purchase, no echo, in the vast, cold emptiness of his final moments. He was already drifting, leaving only the shell. Suddenly, a tremor ran through her. Not of cold, but of something else. A stark, horrifying realization pierced the fog of her madness. His lack of struggle wasn't acceptance; it was... indifference. A profound, soul-deep indifference her fire could not touch, her ice could not truly claim. Her grip, absolute moments before, faltered. Just a fraction. The manic light in her eyes flickered, shifting from crazed certainty to a dawning, terrifying confusion. This wasn't right. He was supposed to fight, to glare, to show something she could capture, freeze, possess. "No..." she breathed, the word a wisp of vapor, laced with a new, sharper pain. "Not... silent. Not empty." Her fingers loosened almost imperceptibly. Air, sharp and frigid, scraped into his starving lungs. He coughed, a weak, rattling sound, frozen blood cracking on his tunic. Her obsidian eyes, wide and now laced with a dawning horror that superseded her earlier resolve, stared at him. He was still alive, barely. The "perfect moment" she had sought to create had been flawed, wrong. His emptiness was not her past coldness reflected; it was something else, something she couldn't fathom, couldn't control. "You... you won't even give me your hatred?" she whispered, the accusation raw, wounded, lost. The grand, tragic opera she had envisioned was falling apart, replaced by a silent, bleak tableau of misunderstanding. The raven-haired beauty knelt above him, her ice-tears continuing their silent descent, mingling with the frost on his skin. The world she had crafted for their eternal, passionate end now felt... hollow. He was alive, but the connection she sought to forge through death had eluded her. His silence was a louder scream than any curse. The snow fell harder, a final curtain on their tragic, frozen stage. But he was still breathing, a faint mist against the icy air, and she... she was left with the terrifying, unexpected burden of his life, and the ruins of her mad, loving plan. The abyss of her love had sought an echo and found only the chilling whisper of his fading pulse. What now? What did eternity look like when its foundation had just crumbled to ice dust?

My Anime Shopping Tree & My Cold Prodigy Wife!

Episode : 0

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