Whitney Winters has come to hate the sun. She sees it as just a big lie glitzing over the horror that lies beneath the world's surface. And she's seen horror. Horror that's cost her friends, family, her very innocence,
"Yeah, yeah," she says to herself. "Pity party, table for one." She shakes it off and shuffles to class. That annoying Valentina Cazador is playing in the hallways. "That girl is the devil," she thinks, now realizing that she's late, and doesn't even have her chemistry textbook. She sighs, and doubles back to her locker.
No sooner has she pulled the book from the locker, though, then she realizes that the hallways has been blocked by a wall of ice.
"Miss Winters," says a pale white man with a sort of Jack Frost motif costume, "It's a pleasure to meet you. I'm afraid I need you to come with us."