The day was biting with frosty air, and the sun shone down on the freshly fallen snow that blanketed the landscape. She sat on a stone near the water, her bare feet barely gracing the frozen surface, her dark hair swirling around in the snow flurries.
A boy with a blue hoodie and frosted white hair touched down across the lake, wind swirling beneath him to steady his decent. With his staff in hand he summoned more winds that carried on their backs further currents of snow drift. The children on the nearby town were in for a thrilling snow day.
He went about his work with a light heart and open mind, and yet he did not notice her. He was oblivious of her stare, and the frozen tears that rolled down her cheeks, splashing upon the ice.
It was one thing to not be believed in, but to be forgotten burned her heart, and chilled her soul. Sure, the people had forgotten her name and her legends, but how could Jack Frost forget? He knew what it was like to not be believed in, to feel children pass right through you. And yet, she was invisible to him.
And there was nothing she could do to break the curse without him.
Satisfied with the snow he had collected, Jack leaped into the air, a smile ghosting his lips. She wanted to call out, to plead and beg for him to remember her, to see her, but she knew it would be pointless.
She wanted to follow, but she was confined to this lake, thanks to her mother. Many winters ago, her mother had cursed her, constricting her to this lake, and making her invisible to all those with hearts of impurity. The adults who used to talk of her legends by the fire to their children forgot she was there, and so forgot the stories. The children grew up, and lost their innocence. Their hearts that were once playful and naive grew hateful and polluted. This impurity blocked her spirit from view, and she was left alone at her lake, her own bitterness growing inside.
And then Jack came. His playful spirit and immortality insured that he would never grow old, his soul could stay pure and he could see her. He would tell her stories of where he had been, of what he had done. They would sit by her lake, or rather, she would sit and he would balance on his staff that he never seemed to be without.
Every evening, after Jack had finished carefully laying a blanket of snow across the world, he would call out her name.
"Kiara," he would whisper, his breath wisps through the chilly air.
And she would answer, the same way every night, "Tell me a story."
They went on like this for years. Every night he would arrive, whisper her name, and paint images of the beautiful sites he had been to. She would close her eyes and imagine his pure heart, his innocent soul that allowed him to see her. She was grateful for this one true friend who would never turn his back on her.
But eventually his visits became less frequent. His stories less exhilarating, his heart less pure. Bitterness, similar to her own, was growing inside of him, and he allowed it to blossom and take over. He allowed it to consume him, and Kiara disappeared from his vision.
Oh how she longs for him to see her again, to remember that she is there, waiting to hear his stories, to see his smile, and hear his laugh. To look into his blue, depthless eyes, and know that he is staring right back into her own.
And she was so close, so close to breaking the curse. Only her mother knows how to break the curse, but she could feel it in her bones that she was close.
And Jack was a key part of making it possible.
She had to make Jack believe, she had to find some way to clean away the bitterness inside him so he can see her, and break the curse.
And then maybe, just maybe, he will tell her a story.
i hope you enjoyed your first taste of Kiara, lady of the lake. this prompt was given to me by Dark Angel aka DementiaJackson and i have to thank them so much for such a wonderful idea.
i hope you stay to see how this story turns out, please review!
