They're just so perfect that I couldn't help it. Sorry.
Our Mountain
Snowflakes are so beautiful.
The way they dance is elegant. The twinkling diamond fragments tend to reflect the glare of the orange sun. They spiral to the ground like tiny fairies, the swirling fall so lovely. When you catch sight of a single snowflake, you can truly admire its diverse beauty. But in a blizzard as such, the gentle flakes have a tendency to pass unnoticed amongst their brothers and sisters.
The sun is setting. Topaz and purple light reflects off the ice blanketing the usually chaotic waters. Painting over the sky in shades of pink and orange are shafting beams of fantastical light, each one refracting in the icy heart of a snowflake. Their auras turn the snowy white mountains the colors of a bright garden, and sweep the world in beauty that is not found in the summer months.
Elsa breathes in. The chill of the cold winter air is harsh to her lungs, and yet the frigid thrill is enticing. The snow crunches beneath her boot as Elsa takes another step forward. All around her, children laugh and play in the snow. Though she smiles from beneath her concealing hood, Elsa dares not join them in their frolic.
By order of her mother and father, Elsa is not supposed to wander beyond the castle walls. She is not allowed to see her kingdom from anything but partially shielded windows. In a sort of rebellion, Elsa had taken a habit of slipping past the guards on snow-licked days as such simply to wander and relish the sensation of freedom.
The adults meander at the edges of the plaza, each bustling about to do its own will. Filthy rags and ugly faces are hidden by the snow, becoming beautiful beneath the white flakes. All things are whitened by winter's embrace, and all things are beautified. Elsa lopes around the edges of the clearing, her smile becoming more and more genuine as she poignantly watches the caroling teens alongside the wobbling toddlers.
Something catches her eye. Elsa turns to face the children once more, the hood of her cloak still shadowing her eyes. Dancing among the frolicking children is a tall young man. He skates over the snow as if it were ice, a curled staff in one hand. A laugh is always resonating from his throat and a beatific grin wide over his face. But as the man swiftly glides through the children, they take no notice of him, as though he is a ghost, despite his constant flow of speech.
The man's voice fascinates Elsa. It's melodious and gentle, yet at the same time, filled with sparkling energy. Each sentence is accompanied by a mischievous laugh. His sparkling blue eyes glitter with the ingenuous joy of one who does not know the world as Elsa does. It attracts her to him, if only to set the man in his place and to tell him that the world isn't all laughter.
His eyes meet hers abruptly. Blue clashes against blue. Elsa gasps softly and hides beneath her cowl again, her pale cheeks beet red. She turns her back on the mysterious man and hustles quickly over the land. Her feet seemingly do not move quick enough over the ice. Fear sends her pulse racing.
"Hey, kid." Elsa freezes despite her best intentions at the man's voice. "Yeah, you. The one in the purple cloak."
Elsa shivers as though she could actually feel the algid nip of winter through her sheer covering. Her spine straightens as she pulls into a complete halt, but she dares not turn to look at the man's handsome face.
"Wait, hold on, you can hear me?" The man's voice is queer, as if this concept is strange and alien to him. "Like, see me, too?"
Elsa's tone is reedy with her fear. "Y-yes."
A gust of icy wind rifles her cloak, sending prickles up her arms and down her spine. Rabid fear takes ahold of Elsa, fueling her increase in panted breaths. She edges forward, attempting to escape the strange man before he can call attention to her subtle appearance. Already a few men glance at her oddly because of her small statement.
"Who are you?" demands the man from directly behind her.
Spooked, Elsa staggers forward and away from the man's voice. Her foot slips on the ice, her world turns upside down, and her small pale hands catch her on the coarse bricks. A sudden hush falls over the plaza as a cry of alarm leaves her lips. Starting to shrug herself back up, Elsa freezes with horror, realizing that the gazes of nearly everyone are focused on her.
Startling realization and horrified misery settles down upon Elsa's young shoulders as she recognizes that her purple cloak's hood had fallen in her moment of clumsiness.
"All hail, Princess Elsa of Arendelle!" cries a hoarse male voice from the back of the crowd. Elsa clumsily hauls herself from the ice, brushing off her cloak and blushing madly. Horror frosts the inside of her stomach. She cringes as all the people in the courtyard sink into low bows. Their humble postures spill beautiful snow from their backs, sending its cascading to the ground. A fearful hush falls over the people.
The man beside her breathes in sharply. Elsa sobs softly with quiet terror. Attention swivels to her, pressing and awful, watching her and waiting. She backs up, almost slipping over the ice again. Casting one hand out in front of her and one behind, Elsa backs away from the people. Her breath comes out in short, ragged gasps, and turns silver in the air before her. The hand angled backwards brushes against a cold brick wall. Elsa leans against the wall for a few meager seconds before the pressure of all the eyes on her finally cracking the frail resolve. A sob rasps from her chest, the cool air no longer feeling blissful along her throat.
Tears blur her vision. Without daring to glance back, Elsa turns on heel and rockets over the ice. Her gait is rocking and unsteady, and she stumbles often.
Elsa cares not where she runs to, nor who sees her race away. People cry out and dodge her as she races past. Her purple cloak flaps behind her like a sail. The burn of the winter air blowing in Elsa's face freezes her tears to her face. Through busy streets and abandoned ones alike she flees noisily.
Elsa's thoughts are a poorly constructed riddle of confusion. She thinks of what the villagers will assume. She thinks of the strange man with the staff, and how he had exposed her so. She thinks most of all of the disappointment in her parents' eyes as they'll look down at her with a brutal punishment fresh from their lips.
Elsa loses herself completely, pedaling mindlessly through the labyrinth of snowy streets. Trails of frozen tears trace down her cheeks, each icy track itchy and uncomfortable. Her boots slip repeatedly over the slick cobblestones. Each time, she lands on her hands, battering them more and more with every clumsy fall. With every topple, a fresh round of tears bursts from her throat.
Everything crashes down upon Elsa in a sudden heave as she's passing through a particularly shady alley. With a particularly throaty sob, Elsa collapses in the snow. The flakes brush her cheeks and massage her irritated eyes. Elsa's lashes brush the white powder as she shuts her lids, and her arms cup the snow in a despairing embrace. Her tears mix with the snow, and frost feathers up the nearest wall from Elsa's proximity.
"Don't cry. Please don't cry."
Elsa nearly jumps out of her skin. She whirls about, whipping her head from its snowy pillow. With wide eyes and a hand thrust out in front of her, she claps eyes upon the man who'd spoken to her earlier.
For the first time, Elsa really takes in the man's appearance. His face is finely sculpted, handsome and profiled. Frost webs over his brownish black cape. The man's bare feet are strangely not frostbit, though they are dusted in frost. His feathered hair is pure white like the icicles behind him, his pink lips are the color of the lovely sunset, and his blue eyes the shade of Arendelle's beautiful water in summer. The nooks on the staff he holds are frozen over with ice. His eyes are not fixed on her, strangely.
Elsa's heart skips a beat as she follows the man's gaze. He stares amazedly at where ice creeps up the black wall from Elsa's curse. Pain constricts her chest. Bitterly, Elsa glares at the ground at the man's feet.
"I'm a freak." Elsa's voice is defeated, even to her own ears. "I know it. Just… just don't tell anyone."
"You're not a freak," dismisses the boy the moment the words leave Elsa's lips. He crouches down, staff balancing in one hand, benevolent eyes at her level. "And you certainly don't need to be crying."
"You exposed me!" accuses Elsa. A sob catches in the back of her throat, choking her up. Tears prickle at the corners of her raw eyes. "I'm a monster! And you showed it to all of them!"
"You're not a monster," insists the boy. "And none of them noticed. Elsa of Arendelle, if you were a freak, I would be, too."
"You don't even know what it's like to be ignored!" weeps Elsa, tears freezing on her cheeks again. Her pent-up emotions swirl through her in a tumult of raging thoughts. "You don't know what it's liked to be unloved!"
The boy stiffens. His features blacken. "Kid, you're the only one that can see me. Who's ever been able to see me. I'm a hundred years old. It gets lonely. And, look, you're not a monster." He extends a hand, palm-up, expression softening again.
Elsa's sob cuts off suddenly. Her eyes widen until they are perfectly round in shape. She bolts upright from her lonely snowbank and watches in awe as a short plume of delicate snowflakes dance over the boy's hand. The snowflakes are abnormally large, each with the delicacy and size of a coin. They spout upwards in a twirling fountain, before slowly drifting back to the ground. He drops his hand, and smiles again.
"You're like me," she whispers in disbelief. Elsa's heart scarcely beats. "You can control snow."
"Yeah." The boy's smile is bold and brash. "I know you're Elsa of Arendelle, the princess. I'm Jack Frost. Nice to meet you."
He extends a hand in order for Elsa to shake it. Elsa inches forward, her boots crunching the snow. Cautiously, remembering her mother's lessons on stranger-danger, Elsa shakes it. His hand is huge compared to hers, and much more callused.
"Jack Frost," says Elsa slowly. His name across her tongue is both beautiful and alien. A smile touches the edges of her lips. With round eyes, she looks up at the older boy's pale and open face, searching for any signs of insincerity. "You said I'm the only one who can see you," Elsa notes. She tilts her head to the side, still maintaining her grip on his hand. "Why is that?"
The boy laughs with a gentle cadence. Something warm begins to glow beneath the ice sheathing his blue eyes. "You're smart for a six year old, aren't you? Well, Elsa –"
"I'm seven," inserts Elsa indignantly. The smallest beginning of a frosty tendril creeps over his skin, fueled by her burst of emotion, but Jack doesn't seem to care or even notice.
"Many apologies." Jack tips his head playfully, a chilled breeze ruffling his white hair. His pink lips toy with a smile. "I didn't mean to offend you. What I was going to say is, Elsa, I'm sort of a wanderer. A deity or whatnot. I can only be seen if people believe in me. You, for example, can accept the ice man because you're an ice girl. So, you can see me." Jack beams. "I can show you the most fun things in the world, if you'd like."
Elsa's eyes widen. Her heart tightens. His offer is so tempting, so beautiful. Underneath the convincing gaze of Jack, she can easily imagine herself dashing over the snow like a reindeer. She can imagine the fun. She can imagine ecstatic freedom she'd gain from running alongside Jack Frost.
Elsa knows that she shouldn't. She knows it in her heart. And yet, looking into his mischievous eyes, she cannot help but nod a quick yes to Jack's question.
Jack catches the little girl in the crook of his staff. The little blonde head had started to flail, her buoyant icy cloud diminishing. He hooks her beneath the arms, holding her weight midair. The girl squirms, as the hold his staff has on her is undoubtedly uncomfortable.
Dancing on the last shafts of sunlight, she regains her footing. Jack watches with a resilient grin as the cloud of snowflakes around her feet reinstates itself, strengthening more than it ever had before. The rising moon turns her breath silver in the air as it twirls away. Jack floats carelessly around her, assisting with a brumal gust where necessary.
"There you go!" he laughs, cheered by the child's first introduction to snow. "Just put one step in front of the other! There you go! Just like that! Careful! Good job, Elsa!"
Elsa's grinning face is framed by the alpine mountains behind her. Green pine trees turned black by the oncoming night pierce the snow blanketing this particular mountain range. Purple and blue dance over the snow casing the spires of blackened rocks. With impressive beauty, the mountains scrape the sky, tendrils of mottled black and white brushing the orange and pink of the setting sun.
Stray hairs fall from Elsa's perfectly combed braid. A smile curves at her face. Traces of her frozen tears remain, but those brief moments are long forgotten. The sight of her joyous smile sends a thrill of excitement through his gut, and it truly sinks in.
He's not alone anymore. This kid – Elsa the Princess of Arendelle – she can see him. She's like him, down to the frost and the loneliness. People can see her, and that's their only difference, excepting age.
Jack's glad that the kid's smiling. She'd been so miserable before. He'd had to do something to track her down, and their similarities had really affected that in no way. There'd been something about her wistful expression as she'd watched the children playing from the shadows that played across his heart.
"Hey, kid," offers Jack, reclining on his gust of icy wind, "you want to see my favorite place in all these mountains? It's best when the sun sets, you know."
Her sparkling blue eyes alight with even more fey bliss. "Could we?" she gasps, childish tone strangely heartwarming. "This is so amazing! I thought only birds could fly! But look! I'm flying!" She flails her arms like a bird in the sky herself, beaming proudly.
"Yup." He flicks his staff expertly, sending a spiral of snowflakes to steady her flight. "Like a bird. C'mon. Let's go!"
Their progress is frustratingly gradual. Though their sluggish speed again and again tries Jack's patience, he remains patient with the innocuous child to a point where he surprises himself. Her wonder at times slows her, but it's always a beautiful sort of stop. The child is fascinated by the simplest of things. She adores it when Jack sends tendrils of snowflakes to caress her face or toy with her blonde hair. Each time one of the frosty zephyrs brush her skin, her entire face brightens with a beautiful smile.
At long last, Jack touches down on the icy mountain. He reaches up and grabs Elsa by her tiny waist to set her upon the top of the peak, settling her even as her feet sink nearly a foot into the snow. Something guilty twinges inside him at the sight of her boots beneath the chilly snow. But the cold doesn't bother her, anyway.
The mountain Jack had selected is a slender one, rising from the others like a skinny pick. It's quite possibly the most gorgeous of them all. He sinks to his butt and lounges over the snow, bare feet hanging off the edge of a cliff, enjoying the view of the setting sun. Hesitantly, Elsa drops beside him, her boots dangling awkwardly.
"Wait for it…," he cautions her. Subconsciously, he lays his hand over her little fingers to keep Elsa patient. Her eyes the color of tropical waters graze over him and then return to the orange sun.
The last drop of sunlight slowly squeezes over the mountainous horizon, until only miniscule amounts of light remain. But that last drop is the most precious, the most beautiful of them all. The mountains are draped in exotic golden light as Sandy first enters the atmosphere. The snow burns amber. The blinding flare at first abuses my eyesight, forcing me to squint, but then turns gentle and elegant.
Elsa gasps. She wriggles her hand from out of beneath of his hand. Extending her fingers towards the sky, she sits transfixed, watching the golden light filter through her fingers. It turns her skin yellow and orange. "That's amazing," the girl whispers, childish awe evident in her high voice.
Jack cannot resist snorting rebelliously. "You think that's cool? Watch this!"
He lifts a hand, palm up, to the sky. Elsa watches with wide eyes fringed with elaborate lashes as a trail of feathery snowflakes erupt from his palm, swirling elegantly. The sound of her gasp brings a smile to Jack's lips.
The crystal snowflakes refract the golden light, casting yellow glitters over the albino snow. Elsa's hand is touched by the lights. The snowflakes glow golden, becoming little fairies as they drift peacefully to the ground and set down in the snow.
"Wow," whispers Elsa softly. Her hair is frosted in golden snowflakes, and her eyes reflect the ethereal luminance.
"Wow is right," Jack chuckles. The slight breeze ruffles through his hair, the crisp scent of the mountain causing Jack to instinctively shut his eyes and raise his head to allow the breeze to sweep me in its gentle embrace.
"Does the mountain have a name?" wonders Elsa to his left. Her voice is thoughtful, innocent.
"No." One pair of his eyelids peel open to peer at the girl. "Why?"
Elsa's eyes lightly brush the horizon as the golden light slowly slips behind the mountain scenery. She purses her lips thoughtfully, leaning on her hand. "Can we call it Our Mountain, Jack? Cuz you and I, we're the same?"
His heart melts a little. Swirling his staff expertly in one hand, Jack rises from the ground, spilling snow. He takes Elsa's tiny hand and smiles genuinely, gazing into her imploring blue eyes with a warm emotion bubbling in his chest. "Our Mountain sounds like a good enough name for me, Elsa."
Please tell me what you thought! Thanks!
Ciao,
~wolfluvermh