Crozier gathers himself, as much as he can, and steps back from Strange. His hands are beginning to tremble.

"Damned Memo Moira," he mumbles, crossing his arms as he looks out at the frozen harbor. "My Papist witch grandmother warned me about this."

The snow and wind begins to kick up again and Crozier closes his eyes to brace himself. He's in control. He's in control. He doesn't want to see Queen Anna frozen solid again. If he could just -- what was it? Exert enough willpower? What in the goddamn hell did that even mean?

"Strange, think of your apartment. In Venice. I've visited, but I need help to get us there before -- just help me, please."