Title: Frozen
Summary: She reminded you of stepping into water that was freezing. Water that was so icy cold it felt like it was burning, like you had fallen head first into a smoldering fireplace.
Rating: T
Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.
Author's Notes: One-shot Drabble, as of now. Written originally in the point of view of someone watching and contemplating a certain person, but view point changes sporadically, although it is unintentional.
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Looking at her, just looking at the long curtain of thick curls shaded like fire, deep oranges melding into brass melding into blood red(1). Just looking at the untamed depths constrained within her snapping tawny-amber eyes, you'd think of passion. You'd think she was fierce, a raging inferno of emotions. Fire incarnate. You'd think she'd have a glorious temper, that she'd leave a trail of smoke anywhere that she might have stood for too long. If you touched her, you'd blister your skin, and if you stood close enough, maybe the heat that the vision of watching her created, maybe she could melt through the ice ensnared around you.
But the only thing that you thought of when her eyes met yours, when iron wrapped in the startling hues of amber and tawny present in her eyes, not passion, not life. You thought of ice. Ice queen, forever encased in a deadly spiral of indifferent flames. She reminded you of a time when you stepped barefoot into freezing water. Water so icy that it burned, burned your skin, and the unshakeable, unbearable cold tingled up your spine and spread to the tips your fingers, freezingnumbingburning all at once, like you had fallen head first into a smoldering fireplace.
She was aloof and unaffected, terrifyingly beautiful in an almost calculating way. It didn't matter if she looked like she would melt diamond; you knew that if you touched her, she'd be cold. Like a beautiful but untouchable statue, made of marble, or ice, or both. She was unmoving and unreachable, because all were unworthy of her cold radiance. When your eyes met, she would look down her pert upturned nose at you, no matter if she stood nearly a foot smaller. It didn't matter that your reputation preceded you, or that others thought you were better then she because of your name, of your social status, of your wealth. She was better and she knew it, and you did, too.
She never seemed to loose her cool, no pun intended. The façade was never seen to slip. No one ever managed to see the real her. Maybe she lost it along the way, maybe it never really was. Maybe the her that was now was the her that always was.
It was disconcerting to see a girl who appeared so vivacious, so empty. Even her voice was chilling, a drop of ice water down the inside of your arm. She should have wielded flames and fire, life, not darkness. Not ice, not the cold she courted so well(2).
But she was proud, so very proud. Prideful strength teemed from every lithesome step, in every smile, in every stare. Emotions didn't appear present within her, and if there were, she masked them well. After all, she would much prefer to freeze, then to drown.
And from her background, from such an alive family, she just simply threw you off. She didn't match, didn't seem to be one of them. They laughed at nothing, just for the pleasure of laughing, they loved, lived life in a dizzying whirlwind of speed and heat. She looked like she fit, like she lived like them, was one of them, but she wasn't. It was like trying to fit a square peg into a round hole, a square peg that for a second, looked like a round one. Until you looked, really looked, and saw that it was square.
And shouldn't she smile? Really smile, a genuine presentation of happiness in an upturning of the lips? Not the knowing, slightly patronizing expressions that forced you to realize that her eyes, her smile, her thoughts, were far too old for such a face.
But she never did appear dead. No, she was quite far from that. She was very much alive. She was just unaffected. Not self-absorbed, don't dare mistake the two. She was far from stuck on herself, merely untouchable by others, by anyone near to her. None deserved the honor.
And she wasn't just cold. She was imperial. Ice Queen, a regal goddess of incongruous delicate beauty. Flowers never sprung up from where she stepped, but you could easily imagine ice coating every surface, ice so cold it would eat your skin off the minute it touched you. She could dissect you with a single glance of those beautiful malevolent eyes(3); tawny-amber so bright they cast shadows. She could see through you with a maliciously cold smile and a toss of blood-spun curls(4), and she was gone before you could blink.
She was a sculpture to be worshipped, sacrificial in the perfection of her form. She was worldly enough to appear fragile, but you knew it was a lie. You knew that she was strong enough to withstand more than you could possibly imagine. Ice was her element, and she apparently revered it proudly.
She didn't walk, didn't step. She glided. She completely occupied the attention, even as the people near pretended not to look, not to be aware of how…unnerved she made them. Their liquid gazes slid over her all the while she pretended not to notice that they always glanced back, eyes always glued to her, eyes always trying to figure her out. There was no figuring to be done. Accept her at face value and you wont be disappointed when you receive nothing for your efforts. She intended nothing when it came to revealing.
She wore dark, entrancing colors that offset the pallid hue of her skin and the upturned red curve of her lips. The mesmerizing hair spiraling down to her waist skimmed lightly freckled cheekbones, the high, defined cheekbones beneath the brilliant almond shape that were her tawny-amber eyes. A fringe of thick blood red bangs lay, barely curled, just above her eyebrows, drawing attention to the anomalous, heavily lashed eyes that stared at you, sucking the thoughts out of your head, out of your eyes, your soul, until she looked away. And then you could breathe, could think, could blink.
A tornado couldn't create as much ruin as she, wouldn't dare to destroy the foundation of your world as much as she dared. She was a double negative. Someone of her intense appearance should never seem so unfeeling, she shouldn't exist that way, and yet, she did. She was magnetically charged and drew the gaze of anyone near, held it to where dragging their eyes away needed substantial force of will, and you ground your teeth with the effort until it hurt. She was a black hole, sucked everything in, and nothing came back out again. Nothing, not even you.
She spun a sticky web, held you far and never touched. She never once glanced at you from her own choosing, never acknowledged that you watched her and knew more about her than anyone else, and even then, you could probably count the traits you knew on one hand. The complexity of her person surpassed enigma by the millionth degree, and you begin to think she is a puzzle that will never be solved. She seems to prefer it that way, and you wonder if you are beginning to prefer it that way as well.
But within the secrecy of her own mind, she wonders if ice truly suits her. For all the darkness and chilling cold in her glacial eyes and somewhat somber stare, she knew that her exterior did not coincide with what was within. The frigidity of her temperament merely masked a swirl of flames within, flames made of burning ice that would eat your skin off the minute it touched you. Her frigid exterior hid passion, because it was so easy to forget just how much ice burned(5).
A/N
deep oranges melding into brass melding into blood red: Chapter nine-ish of "Unexpected" by dracademented.
not the cold she courted so well: actual: something like "darkness, and they courted it wantonly. Chapter seven-ish of "A Different Dark Age" by dracademented.
She could dissect you with a single glance of those beautiful malevolent eyes: Chapter one of "A Different Dark Age" by dracademented.
blood-spun curls: "Lost But Not Forgotten" by dracademented.
it was so easy to forget just how much ice burned : actual: "it is so easy to forget how ice can burn" Chapter nineteen of "Ice" by Sionnain.
The "she" is Ginevra Weasly. My interpretation of Ginevra should be credited mainly to my interpretation of the similarities of fire and ice, as well as dracademented's depiction of Ginevra in "A Different Dark Age" and "Unexpected". Also, some of the fire vs. ice should be credited to Sionnain's "Ice", which can be found on Login required to read the story.