I just realized that the last chapter was chapter 25, which is a fourth of the way to 100! Yay! Thanks to all my followers and favoriters, special thanks to my reviewers, and especially special thanks to Destiel101, who has reviewed almost every single chapter!

It was early morning in the little wooden cabin. A little girl sat by the window, but she was not looking out at the big, snowy forest that surrounded the house. Instead, she gazed intently at the fernlike patterns that crisscrossed over the glass. She imagined she could see pictures in the frost, pictures of trees and flowers and fairies.

"Mama," she said to the woman that sat sewing by the fire, "Where do the pictures on the window come from?"

The woman stopped her sewing and looked up. "You know, I once asked my mama the same thing. And she told me a story, an old wives' tale."

"A story about what?" the girl inquired.

The girl's mother smiled. "About Jack Frost."

The child's brow furrowed. "Who?"

"Jack Frost," the woman repeated. "My mother told me that he comes in the night, while everyone is asleep. He's a little man dressed all in white; his coat is white and his mittens are white and his fur-lined boots made of deer-skin that go up to his knees are white, and his cap sparkles with frost.. He does not carry a gun during his wanderings like your Papa does, but he has tools of shining ice that he uses to carve the pictures on the windows."

"What else does he do?" the curious girl asked.

"They say he is the bringer of the snow and the ice that covers the trees in the wintertime," her mother answered. "But they also say it is best to stay away from him. He is a mischievous spirit and if you touch him you will catch a cold, or perhaps even frostbite."

The girl tilted her head. "Would he do that?"

The woman shrugged. "I do not know. That is simply what the stories say. And they are just stories, after all."

The girl turned back to the window and used her finger to trace patterns in the frost. "The pictures he makes are pretty."

"Yes," the woman agreed absentmindedly, going back to her work. "Such a shame they melt when the sun rises."

Indeed, the frost was melting now; it dripped down the windowpane like rain as the sun's rays pierced the gloom of the forest.

That night, the little girl snuck out of her warm bed and tiptoed to the window. She wanted to see Jack Frost for herself, and she was willing to stay up to do it. She stared out the window into the black forest with eyes wide open in expectation.

But soon her eyelids drooped and she rested her head on her arms. She was only five, after all, and she had never stayed up so late before. She was awfully tired, but as she stifled a yawn she told herself that she only had to wait a little longer. Just a little bit longer. But surely it would be all right if she rested her eyes for just a moment…

The girl was fast asleep on the windowsill when the frost crept up the window. Had she been awake, she would have seen the pale hands pressed up against the glass and the bittersweet smile of the boy who owned them. The sudden chill in the air caused her to murmur in her sleep, but she did not open her eyes. The boy on the other side of the glass finished frosting the window. With a final longing glance inside the cozy little home, he turned and flew off, never to know that the thing he so wished for had been mere inches away.

Inside the house the girl stirred and opened her eyes. She smiled at the frost that covered the window, yawned, blinked once, and fell back asleep to dreams of snow on the treetops.

This was inspired and kind of based on the very brief mention of Jack Frost in Laura Ingalls Wilder's Little House in the Big Woods. It is the only reference to him that I have ever read (and remember) in an actual published book.