A little idea that escalated. I quite fancied practicing writing again. Ahah. enjoy.
IDONTOWNRISEOFTHEGUARDIANS
They say those who lay their eyes upon the radiant daughter of winter, this frozen nymph are enthralled by her eternal beauty. So much so they fail to see the agony instilled by centuries of bitter loneliness and are unable to spot the salty tears that entwine with the crisp and graceful snowflakes, falling in an ethereal dance, cutting across her face. Freezing before falling; an icicle holding her memories.
Who am I? Well, I'm Jack Frost. I know because the moon told me so. And my story? Well, you know my story all too well. You've heard it over and over again, haven't you? You've sung it, passed it down in bedtime stories, wrote it over and over again. 'You don't want Jack Frost nipping at your nose!' It's all a joke to you. But to me? Well to me, it's all too real. I lived it. And now I present to you the real story of Jack Frost, the harbinger of snow, the daughter of winter.
Falling gracefully to the floor, supported by the wind; a dance, if you will, She stops. Her face draped in a veil, covering her true identity. A radiant array of shining blues and iridescent purples, like freshly fallen snow, complemented by frost itself. Her eyes concealed by a hood, and even if you could see them, they were perpetually shut. Eyelids over blanked iris's. She moves one foot in front of the other, tendrils of ice spiraling out around her, a wooden crook trailed by her side. She's graceful, it's as obvious as the sun, no childish demeanor around her, as one might expect. No. No trace of the young child she once was, so full of life, joy, belief. Now her heart is almost as barren as a winter landscape. One place, however, there is still life, is where she keeps her love for the children. These children brought out the best in her, as timid as she was. And even for a time, she could forget she was invisible, a simple spirit.
She looked up, toward the twinkling stars and the bright moon, the very same one that had brought her back from the brink of death. Now you may ask yourself, 'how could the moon save someone from the brink of death?' or more importantly 'why were you on the brink of death, in the first place?' but I can't answer you yet, but I promise all will be shared in due time.
Pale fingers reached upwards, golden granules of dreams whisk around her hand. A beautiful image forms, a butterfly, single and cold, and more importantly, alive. A beautiful life created by her hand instead of being taken by her. She sighs once, a singular tear, frozen and as cold as she is, falls from her eye; a crystal. She walks on.
She hears it, disturbances in the wind. The wind itself noticed and pulls her further forward, wrapping itself around her, keeping her from danger. She hears it once more and races faster and faster. She must know. She must know what it is! She speeds, faster and faster until- She stops. Halted in her pursuit, she pulls her staff closer to her body, an inanimate hug. She peers around, frozen ferns form from her feet, a universal sign for 'beware!'.
A tap from behind her, she turns.
"Hello, mate" It talks, or more rather, he talks. 'He' being the Easter bunny. Her shoulders drop, unnoticeable to some, but he sees it. He continues.
"Long time no see" She doesn't respond. He continues still.
"Blizzard of '68, I believe," He speaks, his tone confusing her senses to who he actually is. She smirks at the thought.
"I can't believe you are still on the defense about that, Bunny. I told you, it was an accident" She speaks in her smooth, silken tone, it could be compared to a siren's call, but while a siren's call could drive a sailor to death, her voice could give the sailor dreams at the same time. She raises her hand in a placating manner.
"Yeah, you keep believing that, sheila. However, that's not why I paid you a visit." He explained, a smirk threatening to play on his lips. A mischievous glint in his eyes.
"Then tell me, you big kangaroo. Why did you grace me with your presence?" she asked, genuinely intrigued. She always wondered why he visited, it was always at the worst time.
"Oh, if I told you it would ruin the surprise. I just hope you don't get travel sick" He replied and backed away from the soon to be, incriminating place, the scene of the crime.
"What?" Was all she could make out before rough hands grabbed her each arm. Hauling her with preternatural strength, stuffing her into a bag. Hauling her through a small opening, her screams muffled by the fabric. Tears smothered as she clawed at the air, unable to draw in a breath, her eyes screwed tight. She couldn't breathe, tears came harder and faster. She had ceased her attempts to rip open her woven prison, and had taken to focusing on surviving, ripping at her face instead, any flesh bared, but it was easier said than done. She quickly lost control over her body and welcomed oblivion with open arms.
Being thrown onto the cold floor was not a welcome feeling. The disagreeable journey had eventually reached its end. This end, of course, involved dumping her to the floor of some unknown location. She reached out, slowly, in pain, self-inflicted welts on her face bleeding into the scarf turning it an uneasy brown colour, she was unable to find her crook and in giving up the fruitless search, decided to instead use the frost to see. Leave her hand to the floor, a thin layer of ice pattern covered all, she did not move once more. Now being able to see where she was she calmed considerably but still she did not yet move.
"Jack?" An unsure voice asks to the frozen nymph. She slowly moves her head to face the source of the voice, now unhooded, milky white, sightless iris's gaze upon jolly faces, soon shocked. She quickly realizes her mistake and hastily rectifies it, lifting her hood once more, covering her face, but all too late.
"Jack?" Another voice asks to the left of her. This question, a single worded sentence, meaning all, spoken in a maternal manner. She turns again, now almost sat upright; a fight with gravity.
"Tooth." A simple word, worth a thousand words, wheezed out; lack of breath, a remnant of the unpleasant journey. She feels small hands on her face and she leans into them, welcoming the touch; what seemed like a thousand years had gone by since she had last felt real touch, real interaction. Wet tears ripped her from her musings. She reaches her hands and dries the tears of her old friend. Now again you may be asking 'who is she? Who are all of them?' But I can truthfully tell you that during that moment I didn't know whom I was surrounded by, I only cared for the feelings of my friend. Now if you let me continue.
Broken once more from her revery another voice calls to her, one unrecognized and it appeared only she could hear it. Speaking in signs, spoken to those whom cannot see to read them. Jack Frost, you're safe now. Open your eyes. I refuse the offer. I can't open my eyes because opening my eyes makes everything real. She shakes herself. She asks for a name. I am the sandman, the guardian of dreams. I am here to protect you, Jack.
"Sandy." She asks, scared and unknowing, uncertainty gripping to her chest, she focuses on her friends warm hands. He nods and she melts further, much alike snow, too close to a flame. She feels a presence behind her, Bunnymund her mind provides. Her fear quickly turns to burning, indescribable anger.
"Is that what you call a joke, Bunny?" I murmur quietly. His name dripping with audible sarcasm. Her disdain for him obvious.
"I'm sorry, what?" He asks, confronted. She stands quickly, soon toe to toe with him, whipping out. Frost making her seem larger, more frightening. Her eyes snap open, white eyes meet brown.
"I SAID, IS THAT WHAT YOU CALL A JOKE, POOKA!" She shouts, wind whistling past her, chilling the already cold place, making it almost unbearable. He cowers in her presence and she quickly drops.
"Don't mess with things you don't understand, my friend..." She deflates.
What has become of me? She asks herself and soon her anger burns itself out, mellowing by the icy pang of excruciating sadness and tears later following. She drops her knees to the floor and she shortly finds herself in the arms of a man inexplicably large. She panics briefly but finds herself soon calming when the small sandman speaks to her once more. His name is Santoff, or North, or more commonly known as Santa Clause. He will look after you. As the guardian of wonder, it's his duty to, young one. I find myself relaxing into the touch once more.