Yet another one-shot, since you guys seemed to like the last one. It's... sort of sad? I don't even know.
Anyway, Icy deserves way more love on this website. So I try to give her some.
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Icy had been taught from a young age that the one thing a witch could never, not under any circumstances be, was weak.
Weakness was despicable; a weak witch represented a disgrace to her entire kind. And Icy had sworn herself that she would never allow herself to be a disgrace.
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"Witches are not supposed to cry. Crying is weakness."
"Crying is weakness" repeated the classroom of young, barely even ten year old girls and looked up to their headmistress in awe.
"Never give your enemies the satisfaction of seeing you cry."
The old woman raised her eyebrows at her obedient students.
"What else?" she asked, her eyes roaming through the rows of students, "What else is to avoid as good as possible to grow into a strong, independent and invincible witch?"
A little girl with frizzy blue hair raised her hand.
"Fear" she said confidently before the headmistress had even called her to speak.
"Exactly" she was praised anyway, "fear."
The way the headmistress spat out the short, seemingly harmless word made it seem like a horrible curse.
"What sort of witch would that be? Afraid of confrontation; afraid of a fight. Pathetic."
She made an effective pause, her eyes wandering through the classroom once again.
"Fear is weakness."
"Fear is weakness," repeated the girls, not only a few raising their heads a little higher. They didn't want the headmistress to think that they could possibly be afraid of her.
"What else?" she asked again, "one more thing, one more word I want to hear."
The girls stayed silent.
"One little word, the most abominable of them all."
She started pacing through the classroom. It remained silent; nobody knew the answer she expected to hear.
Then she stopped in her tracks, her eyes dead serious and looked at every single one of her new students individually.
"Love" she then said with a cold stare.
"Nothing is a bigger sign of weakness than love."
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It was when Icy was eleven that she realized that not being a disgrace might be a harder task than she had imagined.
She knew she was powerful, even at an age this young she was aware that she was strong. Not only her powers were, but also her mind.
Yet neither her powers nor her mind could save her from being homesick from time to time.
She told herself not to think about it too much.
It was ridiculous, really.
She had everything she could wish for here at Cloudtower, an education, a place to sleep and lots of girls her age. It was pathetic to wish for anything else.
Yet there were times where she felt nothing but alone in this huge school, and strangely those times were also when she wanted nothing else but to be alone for some time.
She later realized that it had no deeper meaning, wanting to be alone as soon as she felt homesick; it was for the simple reason that she did not want any of the others to see her tears.
I am weak.
Icy hated herself for crying.
She hated herself for not being able to hold it back.
And even though it took a few weeks, she eventually learned to control it.
She simply didn't allow herself to cry any longer, she forbid herself to be sad in general.
Sadness.
What a useless emotion.
Why waste time being sad, when it's so much easier to use the emotional pain to strengthen yourself?
She wasn't weak.
She was pulling out the weakness by its roots.
I am strong.
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It was when Icy was seventeen, sadness an emotion long left behind, that she after so many years felt like a disgrace again.
As she stood there at the window, inside Griffin's office, the woman who had taught her everything she knew, an unknown feeling crept up inside of her.
She didn't know what it was at first; of course she didn't. It was something she hadn't felt in more than seven years.
She was afraid.
"Are we ready to leave?" Darcy's voice appeared behind her and Icy couldn't manage to tear her eyes away form the sight outside the window.
Their army of darkness was stronger and more numerous than ever before; the creatures of the dark were invincible.
The skies were dark, the forests dead, everything was the way she liked it.
But they hadn't won yet.
"Yes" she said, almost too quiet for her sister to hear her, "go get Stormy."
She heard how Darcy left and almost let out a sigh of relief.
Under no circumstances would she want her sister to be here with her right now, not now that this strange feeling was occupying her.
Icy hated it.
She hated the feeling, but more importantly she hated herself.
She hated herself for being afraid.
I am weak.
But it took her only minutes to pull herself together again.
What was she afraid of? Losing?
She chuckled.
They were not going to lose.
Then, what else was it?
But, as much as she tried, she wasn't able to put her finger on it, and so she stopped trying.
It didn't matter anyway. As soon as she took her place on her throne, she knew that whatever it had been – it had been useless.
Fear.
What a pathetic emotion.
Fear was not something she wanted to feel, ever, fear was something she strived to inflict upon others.
Icy wanted to be nightmare that kept her enemies awake at night, knowing that there was no escape.
Knowing that they had no chance.
She was the fear.
Icy wasn't weak.
She made others feel weak.
I am strong.
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It was when Icy was nineteen - stronger than ever, more frightening than ever - that she hated herself once again.
For years she had done everything not to be a disgrace. She didn't want to be a disgrace, not even now, that Griffin had not even the slightest bit of authority over her. It was a matter of principle.
But she couldn't help it, he was tall, he was mysterious – and he was utterly handsome.
Yet, she asked herself whether he was worth it multiple times.
Over and over.
Wasn't this what she had forbid herself to feel for all those years?
Was she going to give up everything she believed in – for a man?
Icy spent entire nights hating herself.
She spent them restless, contemplating, over and over.
I am weak.
….Am I?
While she spent the nights hating herself, he spent the nights telling her the opposite.
She didn't listen.
Wasn't this manipulation at its finest?
After a while, she started hating herself for listening to him.
"Stop saying that."
"I love you."
"Shut up."
He would laugh at her, telling her she was being so ridiculous.
Icy didn't like it when he laughed at her. She was not to be laughed at.
It took months this time. Nothing had ever been harder on her than this.
Love.
What an abominable emotion.
…Right?
Maybe she wasn't weak at all.
Or maybe she was.
Maybe weakness was the price she had to pay.
Yes, Icy was now aware. She was weak.
Every single bone in her body was weak and for once in her life, she liked it that way. But Icy knew very well that there was a difference between simply being weak and choosing to be.
I choose to be weak.
I am strong.
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END
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AN: Concerning the end - I can see questions coming in, whether the guy she chooses to be weak for is Valtor or Tritannus (bleh) or anyone else, but: It doesn't matter in my eyes. The reader can choose to picture anyone he or she likes. (*cough* I wrote it with Valtor in mind though *cough*)