Part of you suspects what's going to happen, part of you doesn't care. Part of you is nervous; part of you can't wait. The one thing you know with your whole being is that you're doing this. You press yourself on her, placing one hand on the empty side of her hip and the other on her cheek. As cold as she is, you feel some warmth as you caress each other's faces; now that you closer, the refracting light better highlights the beauty of the witch's expression, begging to be kissed. You do as such. Her lips feel oddly yet comfortably soft.
The whirlwind returns, gentler this time. The sculpture slightly moves again to better hold you in her embrace. You feel your lips freeze into numbness, the feeling slowly spreading like ants crawling across your body; first your head, your chest, arms, legs, and lastly your feet. The wind dies down.
Part of you wants to shake, but you know better. "You are a statue, after all." You hear a familiar voice. "That's right; it's me, the witch you turned to ice. When I figured that would happen, I knew what pose I wanted, and I needed you for it: I wanted us to be the sculpture of two lovers kissing. I'm glad you agree. Now, we'll be an ice sculpture until someone either undoes the spell or we melt, and while I'd rather we turn back or be put on display, I wouldn't mind melting into you."