She remembered being there before. She couldn't remember when, but she definitely remembered being there. The ground was snowy, dotted by rising structures made of ice so clear it looked like glass. She was aware, logically and to some degree physically, that things were cold around her. She was aware that she herself felt cold. Yet it didn't bother her at all. She felt an odd sense of belonging instead, like it was right for her to be there. Like the feeling of being next to a warm fireplace in the winter, sipping hot chocolate with her family, watching the snow fall outside. The feeling that she was meant to be there, and it was right and good.
She kept walking, feeling almost drawn by something. Almost. Not quite. It was a weird, vague sensation. In a way, the whole place was drawing her in, compelling her to be there. Her wandering was guided by subtle fluctuations in that sensation, patches of space that seemed to pull at her more than others. It wasn't a consistent thing, and it wasn't linear. She was very broadly and generously always heading towards a common direction, but there was more than a fair bit of variation in where she actually ended up going towards from time to time. Never strictly backwards, never retracing her steps, but she more often than not found herself walking one way only to walk the opposite one at the next turn.
Despite all that, she wasn't bothered in the slightest. The more time she spent there, the more at peace she was, actually. Not necessarily happy. Happy was too intense of an emotion to describe what she was feeling. At peace seemed like the right term for it. She didn't need anything else, she was content simply existing there and following that barely there, ethereal tug that told her to go one way one moment, the other the next. It was hard to properly articulate what exactly she was feeling, hard to compare it to everything else she'd felt in her regular life. It was cold, emotionless maybe, but it wasn't painful. It wasn't uncomfortable, and it didn't make her wish she would go back to how things were before. It was different. Simply different.
The sky was lit, waxy cerulean without a cloud, but she couldn't see the Sun anywhere. Neither could she see any other stars, nor the Moon, nor anything else. It was a uniform tapestry, a coloured carpet hanging over everything, serene and undisturbed. In a sense, she liked it. There was beauty in its calm, in its continuous nature, a kind of odd and subdued beauty that she could only really sense in her current state of mind. An appreciation for the peacefulness on display. The sky too was like her, needing nothing else, content within itself. And so she followed the whims of her heart, drifting almost asleep in her lack of need for thought, wandering the plains of snow and ice.