I'm alive!...

...barely!

So, I have written a buttload of chapters for you, of which this is just the first! I realised that one of my main problems was that I was forcing myself to make chapters reach a certain length- which was incredibly difficult and stressful! So a lot of the chapters that I've written are under a thousand words, but I think they are of a higher calibre than previous chapters.

Next chapter will be up in a few days- when I get back from Munich! The end of term school Christmas party was last night, and I didn't get to bed until 2 this morning, only to then have a day of lessons. It's now 8:00pm in England, and I have to wake up at half three tomorrow morning to get to the airport for a school trip to Germany! No internet in the hotel we'll be at, but it's only for a few days, so I'm sure you'll survive. When I get back I'm going to be doing an intense mixture of fanfiction writing and revising for IGCSE mocks- in a sick, twisted way, I'm sort of looking forward to it!

But I think I've blabbered on enough now. So, this chapter is a follow up to chapter 11 (scavenger); please read, review and enjoy!


It's okay he told himself, slipping down the stairs. They said that it's okay. They said that I'm allowed to. He had only been down this corridor once before, two weeks ago when he went with the other guardians. It's not stealing if they said that it's okay.

It was two in the morning and all was silent in Santoff Clausen. Outside a blizzard that for once had nothing to do with the winter spirit swept through the pole, but inside everything was still. His bare feet made no sound as he padded along, leaving a trail of frost on the tiles where he walked. The way was dimly lit by North's magic lights, turned right down for the night, and long shadows stretched across the ground.

The youngest guardian was so tempted to turn, to run, to do something other than this, and the worst part he didn't even know why; any normal person would have been fine. Any normal person would never have been in this situation in the first place. Giving in to his nervousness, he paused, looking around. They said that I need to do this. They said that it's my only option now.

But it wasn't, was it? He could go back to the way things had been for the past three hundred years; it wasn't not like any of them would ever notice. But he had made a promise that he wouldn't do that anymore, and so, setting his jaw in determination, he doubled his pace.

The Santoff Clausen kitchens were very, very large- they had to be, to accommodate for North's massive sugar consumption. Bright lights flickered on automatically and Jack squinted, raising his eyes to shield against the glare. Polished marble tops gleamed, groaning under the weight of silver platters containing all manner of Christmas goodies, from cookies to fruit cake to entire roasts. It was entirely overwhelming.

"Okay, Jack," he muttered to himself, more to break the silence than anything else. "It's just a kitchen. No big deal. Just a nice, regular kitchen, with a good choice of midnight snacks." He stepped forward, eyeing the dishes before him before settling on one with two dozen mini quiches arranged in a flower pattern around a marzipan Christmas tree. Reaching out a hand, he stopped just before he grabbed one- it was too pretty for him to ruin.

So the winter spirit stepped away again, looking for a better option. His eyes landed on a large Christmas cake and he grinned.

"Perfect," he said, but then paused. Did Santoff Clausen still put coins in their Christmas cake? Because Tooth would kill him if he were to break one of his pearly whites on a silver dollar or something like that.

He briefly considered some roast pork, but decided that no one ate meat for their midnight feast. The tiramisu was too rich and the gingerbread men were probably for North's breakfast. Eventually he forced himself towards a bowl of crème Brule.

And there the winter spirit stood for a good half an hour, leaning against the counter top and fighting back tears. Why was this so hard? It was just food; nothing more than fuel really. Who cared if it was from a bin or a silver platter? It all tasted the same. It was all made of the same stuff. So why couldn't he just eat it?

A small jingle startled him out of his panicked reverie, and he glanced down. There stood one of the elves, who was staring back up at him with obvious concern.

"Yeah, I'm fine," he said, trying to steady his breathing. "I'm just trying to decide what to have is all." The elf didn't look convinced, and Jack tried to steer the conversation on. "What are you doing up? Are you hungry too?" It nodded, and an idea suddenly occurred to the youngest guardian. He grinned. "Do you want to share a loaf of bread with me?" It grinned back, and he reached forward and plucked a loaf out of the bread bin (which was the size of a large safe) before sitting cross legged in front of it and placing the bread on the floor between them.

"Here," he told it, "help yourself." This said, he ripped a chunk off for himself and began to eat. Within twenty minutes the bread was gone. Jack bid the elf goodnight before making his way back up to his room, an iced roll in either pocket of his dressing gown.