A/N: *Inbox implodes* Wow. You guys liked last chapter? That was so short! Whatever . . .
Addressing reviews: Jack's fear of shellfish comes from his allergy found in chapter 28 (which I really need to rewrite).
Thanks to the people who pointed out that he should have a fear of drowning. (I can't believe I forgot that!*bangs head on desk*) I claim exhaustion as my excuse. I shall fix that at one point.
And yes, I now have more plots to write about. :D
Moving on . . . Happy Easter! I hope you have/had a good one!
Disclaimer: Sadly, Bunny did not bring me the rights to RotG. :( Though, I'm not sure how he would fit them in an egg . . .
A Light Renewed
Easter was a time for new beginnings. A time for hope.
And Jack Frost didn't have any.
He observed the children in his woods silently. Like he did every year. The giggles and laughter echoed in his ears, like a mocking crowd.
From his position in the tree, he could see almost every child in the woods. They were so excited, so full of life and belief and happiness and hope.
The stuff Jack didn't have.
It was hard not to feel resentment toward the Man in the Moon. It was his fault he was stuck like this – unseen, scared, scarred, and hopeless. But he wasn't mad at him; in fact, all he could feel was the same, numbing cold he always felt.
He'd stopped talking about four years ago. There was no point. Not a single soul cared enough about him to want to converse with him. It just made things easier for his tormentors, now they didn't have to deal with his sarcastic comments.
It would be so easy right now, just to fade. To let himself move on. To stop and say that his life had no point.
But he couldn't. He couldn't because of one little thing.
The lost eggs.
There were always some, a few painted decorations the children had missed. Jack always felt bad for them. He wondered if the little critters could think, and what they would say if they could talk.
I'm here, but no one noticed me. I'm just sitting here rotting away, my purpose gone. I didn't do anything.
Just like him. It was odd, to feel such a kinship with these odd creatures, but he did.
And so, he waited until the children left, and then went on his own hunt. Usually, he'd only find two or three missed eggs, but it was enough. He couldn't leave these poor beings on their own. This year he only found one, a brightly, pastel colored egg. He gently removed it from its hiding place, stroking its shell with chilled fingers. It shivered, his immortal touch bringing it back to life. Thin, stick legs popped out, and they wiggled with ferocity.
Jack ignored it, focusing instead on the feel of its shell. He closed blue eyes, crouching down so that his worn, brown cloak dusted the forest floor.
That was one more thing the eggs provided. He assumed it was the Easter Bunny's spring magic or something, but just holding the little thing brought back his strength. He took in a deep breath, feeling hope course back into his frozen heart.
These eggs were what kept him going. Year after year, he survived on the remnants of what was an exciting, fresh Easter Sunday. He slipped the creature into a little fold he'd sewed onto his shirt, tapping it gently with his fingers to ensure its safety.
He never noticed the bright green eyes staring at him from behind a bush. He never saw the gentle expression on the Easter Bunny's face as the Pooka recognized the signs of a reignited light.
And, he never noticed how even more eggs were given a difficult hiding spot in his woods, just so that a certain winter spirit could have hope.
Because, to E. Aster Bunnymund, every light was worth something, even when that light caused a huge blizzard, or froze his ears together.
A/N: Happy Easter!
-sprinkles