Page 8 of The Enchanted Frost

Though an array of tasks awaited me—managing the temperature, preparing impending blizzards, designing frost patterns for tomorrow’s windowpanes—curiosity tugged at my thoughts and distracted my focus, persistent despite my efforts to push it aside.

The echo of my footsteps reverberated through the frozen corridors, magnified by the emptiness that seemed even more vast now that someone else occupied these walls.I paused at the doorway to my studio, where blueprints for my upcoming creations and tools of my craft awaited me.

After a moment of indecision, I bypassed the studio and headed towards the library. The room crafted entirely from ice had been inspired by mortal structures, with towering shelves fashioned from frost and etched with intricate designs, complete with icicles draping artistically from the domed ceiling.

My chest swelled with pride at my handiwork, but purpose gently nudged me forward, guiding me to a shelf tucked near the back that held not rows of books, but something far more unique and intriguing.

Magic tingled at my fingertips as I traced the frosty spines until I found what I was searching for. I carefully withdrew the thin sheet of ice. At first glance it appeared entirely blank, an illusion to the untrained eye that couldn’t decipher the faint etchings carved into the ice, records frozen in time.

Over the millennia of my existence, I’d discovered innovative ways to wield my winter powers beyond the mere creation of the season itself. I pressed my magic against the sheet, embedding it into the surface. My power stirred, rising gracefully to search the surrounding air, lingering on the invisible water particles that filled the atmosphere.

Water was the foundational element of my craft. Across my immortal existence I’d forged an intimate relationship with it. Through exploring all its possibilities, over the centuries I’d discovered that water retained memories of substances previously dissolved in it—an invisible preserver of history. Through painstaking practice, I’d learned to read these memories, though deciphering the complex swirl of images and sensations within a single drop added another layer of complexity to the already difficult task.

Closing my eyes, I let my thoughts fade, allowing thevisions captured by my powers to fill my mind unhindered. Countless paths awaited my exploration; it took time to sift through the flashes of color and sensation to find the thread connected to the mysterious woman so that I could finally attempt to unravel the riddle of why my powers had failed to claim her.

Piece by piece, I used my magic to assemble fragments of her life like shards of broken glass in hopes of creating a mosaic that would reveal the understanding I sought. As the images coalesced, my brow furrowed at the unexpected vibrancy they conveyed—instead of the dark hues and bleak details typically associated with poverty, her memories were filled with vivid color and light, painting an impression of abundance rather than deprivation.

The elegant, haughty woman in these recollections bore a stark contrast to the starved beggar I’d rescued. I traced the magical thread through the events of her life until I stumbled upon a vision of Blanche after she’d been cast onto the streets. Yet the connection between her past and present eluded me, as if her desperation to suppress the event that had led to her downfall was strong enough to erase it even from this enchanted record.

I slowed my perusal in order to delve deeper into her memories, but before I had the chance to uncover more, her recollections abruptly ended at the moment before I’d found her in that dark alley and attempted to claim her dying soul. The pattern preserved in the stream my water magic had traced matched the instances of other mortals' deaths, confirming that her life had indeed ended that night—yet she still somehow clung to existence, leaving me no hints as to the reason for the phenomenon.

An inexplicable sensation tightened in my chest, interrupting my concentration. My magic faltered, severing the connection; no matter how much I tried, I couldn’t recapturethe elusive thread. The visions faded, slipping away like mist. Unconsciously I reached out, trying to grasp the evasive wisps, but they remained just out of reach.

A nagging, unfamiliar feeling tugged at my thoughts; it took me a moment to recognize it asworry—an emotion I’d never needed to explore in my timeless existence. My magic had always come as naturally as breathing, only for it to fail to obey me twice in a single night. The only variable that could serve as a possible explanation washer, a realization that only deepened the unsettling mystery surrounding this mortal.

The visions of Blanche had been transcribed onto the thin sheet of ice I still held, etched in a way that would allow me to relive them with a brush of magic. I took this sheet and a few books from the shelves, but instead of studying them in my usual nook by the window overlooking the snowy landscape, I brought them to the room where I’d left her.

I found her still sleeping, her gentle breathing filling the quiet in harmony with the crackling embers of the hearth. To my surprise, her presence brought a sense of comfort to the room, dispelling the oppressive silence that usually draped my castle.

Checking the hearth, I noticed that some of my preservative magic had faded, leaving a reside of water droplets as the ice began to melt…another concerning sign that my powers were not behaving as they should.

This troubling development took precedence over whatever secrets lay hidden in her past. I set aside the ice containing her history and instead reached for the books on magic, hoping to find the answers that eluded me. Despite my efforts to focus, my gaze repeatedly drifted back to her, as if pulled by an invisible force. Soon the information I attempted to peruse was abandoned in favor of watching hersleep—a trivial distraction that prevented me from making any progress.

For the first time in my long existence, I questioned my course. The fading strength of my powers, the dire consequences that loomed if I failed—all seemed to pale in comparison to the enigma of this woman and the warmth she brought into my frozen world.

Who was she and what was this strange power of hers that was slowly consuming me?

CHAPTER 5

Blanche

Warmth enveloped me as I slept, a sensation so elusive that it felt like a distant memory—a longing far removed from the bitter cold that usually plagued my nights and kept true rest out of reach. But now warmth surrounded me, cradling me in a cocoon of comfort and peace.

When I finally emerged, I experienced a moment of confusion as my eyes fluttered open to soft blue darkness reflecting off shimmery white walls. Outside the windows carved from transparent ice—shinier than any polished glass—I could see the winter landscape stretching out in all directions. Snow-covered trees, frozen lakes, and gently falling snowflakes created a serene and picturesque backdrop.

Yet it wasn’t the wonder of the surreal frosty surroundings that startled me, but the sight of the man sitting beside me. The crackling fire cast amber hues across his face, furrowed in concentration as he studied a shimmery, see-through book that appeared to be crafted from ice.

I blinked in disbelief, expecting the dream-like scene to dissolve and reveal the cold, unforgiving alley where I last remembered being when I lost consciousness.

But instead, I felt the comforting weight of a cloak draped over me, its rich, alluring scent drawing my attention. I wriggled my fingers no longer inhibited by the numbing cold, and stroked the soft velvet—a sensation I once took for granted but now I found mesmerizing, too vivid to be anything but real.

Beyond the warmth of the hearth and the cloak was his presence. Despite being a stranger, his company soothed the aching loneliness that seemed to have always been my constant companion, filling the emptiness with a comfort I hadn’t known I could still feel.

My attention remained fixed on Frost, a quiet admiration that eventually drew his curious glance. “You’re finally awake. I didn’t realize mortals slept for so long.”

He scooted his chair closer, allowing me a clearer view of the thin layer of snow clinging to his long white eyelashes. The urge to reach out and brush it away tugged at me, though I hesitated, still half-expecting him to vanish at my touch, proving this fantastical experience to be nothing more than a dream prior to my death.

“Where am I?” I murmured faintly as I glanced around the beautiful room so different than any of my former experience.

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