Page 25 of The Enchanted Frost

Shyness seemed to have stolen the rest of her voice. Instead her arms tightened around me, holding on as if I might disappear again at any moment. The desperation I’d previously felt in my struggles to maintain my hold over winter shifted in an instant; the changing of the seasons seemed insignificant compared to the distress she’d felt in my absence.

When she finally tipped her head back to look at me, the relief in her glassy eyes thawed the cold grip around my heart, as if spring itself had found its way not only to my kingdom, but inside me. Instead of the usual dread that accompanied it, instead I felt…comforted, as if her gaze had reached inside to melt away the fears that had consumed me, rendering them trivial in the face of her concern.

“You missed me?” The hope in my voice was unmistakable, a raw vulnerability that I hadn’t allowed myself to feel in ages. Her shy nod sent a wave of warmth through me, helping me to finally identify the restless emotion that had plagued me since our separation…something much deeper than my anxiety about my powers undeniably tied to her.

A subtle pinch squeezed my heart. “I missed you too.” The cold I had so desperately clung to felt insignificant in comparison to the warmth she offered so freely, a warmth that I never expected would feel more attractive than my native cold.

In her arms—the very last place I would have thought to look—I found the sense of purpose that had been slipping away from me, like ice melting in the sun. Her presencerestored something inside of me that I hadn’t even realized was missing, a connection that went beyond mere survival or duty…a new strength that didn’t rely on the power of winter, but on the joy she brought into my life and the growing affection I nurtured for her.

CHAPTER 12

Blanche

The subtle shifts I’d noticed throughout Frost’s realm grew more pronounced the more I wandered through the vast labyrinthine corridors. The cold, elegant sanctuary, seemed to morph before my eyes. The pristine, intricate ice carvings that had adorned the halls were melting into abstract patterns, revealing hints of the stone or earth beneath.

The air inside the icy castle, once as frigid as the heart of winter, had grown noticeably warmer. A faint, almost balmy breeze occasionally drifted through the corridors, carrying the scent of thawing earth and blooming flowers—a fragrance completely foreign to Frost’s realm. The magical light that once glowed with a cold, blue luminescence now dimmed, taking on a warmer, more golden hue reminiscent of sunlight during early spring. Much as I loved the idea of spring and warmth, it seemed a jarring inconsistency, as though it was inherently wrong to find such things in the heart of winter.

As I moved deeper into the castle, I took note of the changes. In the corners of the castle where frost had once stubbornly clung, small signs of life were beginning to emerge—tiny green shoots breaking through cracks in the frozen ground and delicate, frost-kissed blossoms blooming with petals tinged in the soft pastels of spring: pale pinks, gentle yellows, and light purples.

In the mornings, where a thick layer of frost had once blanketed every surface, now only a light dew glistened in the first light of day, further proof that the season was beginning to shift. The distant sound of birdsong now filled the once silent arctic air, a harbinger of the encroaching spring and another undeniable sign that winter was slowly slipping away.

I shivered, not from the cold, but from the eerie silence that filled the empty spaces. Despite Frost’s earlier assurances when I’d greeted him upon his return several hours ago, I couldn’t dispel my unease that something was wrong. Eventually my worry had urged me to seek him out not long after he’d departed to perform his winter duties.

“Frost? Are you here?” My voice echoed off the ice-covered walls, but there was no response. I called for him again, but each time my voice grew fainter as I ventured farther, an involuntary hush falling over me with each step. I couldn’t shake the worry that he might be lost somewhere in his own domain as it crumbled around him.

While there was still so much I didn’t know about Frost or the magic he wielded, the concern I’d detected earlier had been enough to understand that whatever was happening was beyond normalcy—something was profoundly wrong.

The longer I wandered the castle without finding him, the deeper my worry grew—more acute than anything I’d felt during the days I’d spent struggling to survive on the streets. I couldn’t understand how I could care more for someoneelse’s well-being than my own, especially after such a short time…and when it was his duty to allow winter to complete the work it had begun in the alley.

But seeing the evidence of his powers weakening all around me, I began to understand why it was imperative for him to claim my soul. I pressed my hand to my chest, as if I could keep all that made me who I was in one piece. I no longer felt the same apprehension I once had at the thought of losing myself if it would help the only man who had ever shown me kindness, even as despair welled within me at the thought of being parted from him forever now that I finally had something worth living for.

My heart twinged, as if trying to convey an unspoken message, but I hastily dismissed it. Desperation was causing me to become confused; this denial battled with my sense as I continued exploring the castle.

I came upon a chamber I hadn’t explored before filled with old, ornate furniture covered in a thin layer of frost. The walls were lined with shelves holding various artifacts—crystals, ancient scrolls, and weathered books. Though a quick glance revealed Frost wasn’t present here either, I found myself drawn closer, guided by an unspoken desire to learn more about him.

Seeking answers, I approached one of the shelves and ran my fingers over a dusty tome. Opening it revealed detailed sketches of ice formations and snowflakes, accompanied by notes written in a flowing script that spoke of the intricacies of seasonal magic, the delicate balance required to sustain it, and the ancient rituals of winter.

Next to the tome, a crystal vial containing a shimmering blue liquid caught my eye, likely a potion or magical essence. I wondered if it was something Frost used to maintain his powers, or perhaps a relic from his long existence. Each item seemed to whisper fragments of his past, hinting at a lifelived in solitude, surrounded by the endless winter he had created and maintained.

I was reminded of my own mortality as I moved around the room; even without the time counting down until Frost was required to complete his duty, my life was diminutive in comparison to the eons he’d lived and worked to keep the world as it should be.

As I explored further, I stumbled upon a large, frost-covered mirror. Wiping away the ice revealed not my reflection but a shadowy figure with an ethereal glow—a representation of Frost, but not as I knew him. An aura of cold fire surrounded his regal form, a reminder of the immense power he wielded. I drew back slightly, too curious to look away but too awed to stay close.

The flickering image shifted to reveal glimpses of Frost's past. This mirror appeared to be more than just a reflective surface; similar to the showcase of my memories Frost had shown me earlier, it seemed to capture moments of his history, a window into his past lives and the solitude he had endured.

I watched as the swirling images sharpened, steadying to reveal Frost standing atop a mountain, his hands raised as he summoned a blizzard with nothing more than a thought. Concentration furrowed his expression, his eyes glowing with an otherworldly light as he shaped the storm, guiding it across the land with a mastery that seemed effortless. I shivered as I imagined the whine of the wind and the stinging blow of each tiny shard of ice whipping through the air, but Frost stood serene and untouched in the midst of the storm as he watched it do his bidding. Snow and ice obeyed his every command, and soon the landscape below was covered in a thick, glistening blanket of white, a testament to his control over the elements.

The scene changed to show Frost in a different time andplace. He stood alone in a vast, frozen wasteland, the wind howling around him as he walked through the snow, no longer leaving any footprints behind. His face was solemn and his eyes distant, as if the weight of eternity pressed upon him. He paused at the edge of a frozen lake, staring into the ice as if searching for something—perhaps a glimpse of himself in the reflection, or a reminder of who he had once been before winter became his only companion…if such a time existed at all.

Another image flickered into view, showing Frost crouched in a dark alley, much like the one where he had found me. He bent over what at first glance appeared to be a heap of rags. But as I looked closer, I realized it was the lifeless body of an old man. Frost extended a hand and a swirl of shimmering blue magic flowed over the man’s body like a gentle river. Deep within, a tiny golden spark flickered, slowly rising from the body and floating along the stream of magic towards Frost’s outstretched hand.

The moment the spark touched his fingertip, a burst of white light enveloped him, and he inhaled deeply, as if drawing the essence into himself. The light faded, but he remained kneeling a moment longer, carefully scooping a handful of snow from the man’s body into a small vial, no doubt preserving the man’s memories. With a slight nod of respect towards the fallen soul that had become part of nature’s delicate balance, Frost vanished into the night. My breath caught as I watched, realizing this was a glimpse into my own future.

The mirror’s surface rippled again, this time showing Frost in battle, his powers clashing against another elemental force—perhaps a spirit of fire or a being of sunlight. The air around him crackled with energy as he courageously defended his realm, the ice responding to his every command with ferocity. Yet even in the midst of combat,there was a sense of weariness about him, as if he had fought these battles countless times before, each one taking a little more from him.

As I continued to gaze into the mirror, a new scene emerged, this time pulling me into the present. The reflection shifted to the outside world, revealing the landscape surrounding the ice castle. The once-serene winter wonderland was now caught in the throes of a violent hailstorm. Jagged chunks of ice pelted the ground with brutal force, shattering the delicate balance of snow and frost. The trees, once laden with soft, powdery snow, now groaned under the weight of thick ice, their branches cracking and breaking in the relentless storm.

The sight was both awe-inspiring and heartbreaking. As if the magic within the mirror had silently conveyed a wordless description of the event, I recognized this as the aftermath of Frost’s desperate attempt to cling to his powers, a manifestation of the turmoil he could no longer contain—an outward display of the inner conflict tearing him apart. The hailstorm was not just a force of nature; it was a reflection of Frost’s anguish, his struggle against the inevitable change that threatened to take everything he had known and held dear.

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