Vincent Frostcaller gets Sunburned
A Fanfiction by Zud Windbelly
Vincent Frostcaller was called Vincent Frostcaller not because of his surname, no, but because he was much more of a winter person than a summer person. His pale complexion was maintained year round so that during the deep, frozen months of winter he would have natural camouflage. Within, we knew he had turgid and wanton emotions for the icy fingers of the dark season to take him, laying him bare in his snowy habitat. The deepest of winter equinoxes nearly could match his cold demeanor in the arms race of chilliness, but frequently lost despite its best efforts.
Hidden within his cavernous den, a dark, dank, doleful place half submerged in earth is where he resided when the sun shone her sweet head. He brooded over his humble tools, tooling in many ways that one may imagine with his tool… s. It just so happened that for a short while, he had to engage with something outside of his natural environment (which was typically the ideal place for a mushroom or perhaps nocturnal worm, during the summer). The outer world. For every tunnel beneath the castle or town that he probably knew, there was no escaping the sunlight for this particular errand.
He equipped himself with a wide brimmed hat and allowed his long, dark hair cascade down his back like a raven waterfall of carbon. His white, immaculate shirt was rendered mildly limpid in the sun, and he crossed his arms over his chest in a stiff attempt to perform modesty for his maidens honor. His black pants were as tight and high waisted as ever, framing his slender legs but not like, trying too hard.
Although he preferred to walk in the shade, the midday summer sun was railing the earth with all the pent up rage of anyone kept from their lover for too long, so the comforting cool was scarce. Darting between low trees seemed too undignified, but the beating sun was even heating up Ax's frame to a temperature that may fry eggs. Somewhere, he spied Meva reclining seductively in the rays, but perhaps he was simply reclining. Seldom few ever saw Meva truly candidly.
The errand was such a trifle in comparison to the effort it took him to complete it, that Vincent irritably wondered what he was thinking in the first place. He felt well baked, as if the sun lingered with him, scalding caresses over his high cheekbones and raking down his back. His already cool fingers slid over the sensation curiously, trying to process what it could possibly be. It was tender and chafing, no longer the pleasantly warm feeling that it had seemed at first.
Examination in the small mirror hidden somewhere in his lab yielded that he was… Pink. The sun had bore through his shirt, even, leaving an uneven ombre from cream to an angry rouge. His perfectly maintained cavedweller complexion was tarnished. In anguish, he threw himself into his work as many forlorn lovers themselves to the sea. That is how he became even more of a homebody.
The end