Sometimes you can feel a little too sorry for yourself. Right now, Jack Frost was feeling rather sorry for himself. He mulled over every little creepy or dissatisfying fact about himself, and thought that it would be rather nice to have someone else feel sorry for him, because being miserable by yourself is not very fun at all.

The sun was setting and Jack watched it moodily. He hadn't forced any snow all day and there was nothing natural, either. He vaguely wondered where it had gone. It was nearly Christmas, he knew, and nothing was hap-

Jack perked up, cocking his head to the left. He strained his ears to listen and, sure enough, there was music. The enlightening feeling he had felt from church was surging back inside his head. Jack stood and walked over to the church, and sat down on the stairs leading up to a great mahogany door. People in coats and hats hurried into the warm building; Jack listened closely even when there was no singing, and sure enough, a fire crackled loud and hotly.

He closed his eyes. The music wasn't really something he could sleep to, but when he heard it with closed eyes it seemed more... more... something. Something good. Something really good.

When Jack opened his eyes again, the stairs were dusted with snow; his emotions had caused this. He quickly called on the wind to whip it all away, back to the ground, where it melted.

Most of the people were in church, so Jack felt a need to wreak havoc on the streets while they were gone. He looked up at the sky, but the clouds were thin. He slid down the steps and froze some doorknobs, grinning. When people touched them, they'd flinch- they would have to turn and turn and it would be funny to watch.

Jack felt ecstatic as he shot puffs of snow into the streets, making pretty patterns, all the snowflakes, and the ice- the ice. Jack felt a deeper connection to ice than he did to the wind. Its intricacy, subtleness, innocence spikes, and hundreds of forms made him happy to even just imagine.

The gloomy mood was somewhat dissipated, but that certain sickness returned when he thought about Christmas. He walked down the street slowly, looking into windows and imagining himself among the few people inside. He would speak with them about- well, what? He wanted to ask them more questions, but feared another Burgess-like incident. Using magic, using his powers, would disrupt the common person's simple life and cause them to chase him from this town.

"So," he said to no one in particular. "This is Christmas Eve. I thought it would be more... what's the word... fun." He tapped his staff on a nearby tree, watching as the frost spread out. "Birthday... Lord Jesus Christ's... birthday. It means, the anniversary of his birth."

Of course, it was to celebrate somebody- some kind of deity. A holiday, a holy day, for this person who did something extraordinary. Perhaps it was saving the world. Jack wondered if he could save the world. He could bring ice to people dying of thirst, or help... help somebody. Maybe, one day, he would be some kind of deity. Maybe, one day, someone would see him.

"Do I have a birthday?" he mused. He didn't remember being a child, let alone being a baby. It all made sense suddenly- pregnant women gave birth to babies, who went from helpless blobs to curious and enlightening children. And then... they grew up.

Jack got down on one knee and blew onto the ground, creating a reflective layer of ice. He examined his face. It was not old and lined like the man who liked the snow, nor plump and sweet like a little boy. He looked at himself for a long time. The mirror eventually melted away and he didn't bother remaking it. He'd seen enough. It was time to walk, walk.

It was only three o'clock, but Jack could see the Christmas sun drooping, as if it were as bored as he was. This was supposed to be nice. He did enjoy the chill on his bare chest, but also felt more naked than he was comfortable. "What if I steal a shirt?" he asked himself, grinning. That would be funny; everyone would see a floating shirt and freak out. Maybe then, someone would notice. Maybe then he could make a friend or two.

But then again, they might think there was a ghost. A monster.

"I'm not a monster," Jack said out loud as soon as he thought the word. "I'm not a monster, I'm not." He stopped walking and sat down in defeat. Then he smiled. "Who is a monster? That giant bunny. A big furry beast. Come to destroy villages." He amused himself with that thought for a couple of minutes, absently watching the sunset.

"Merry Christmas," he said.

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AN: So um, bit of a hiatus again. It hasn't snowed much where I live yet, but the Christmas spirit has returned. Once I rewatch ROTG I'll really feel the fanfiction again! Lemme know if you have any ideas. Next chapter soon, I promise.