Frostbitten

Winter is her favorite time of the year.

It's beautiful. Silver and blue dance around with one another in a waltz of freezing passion as snow and ice douse the land in a blanket of boreal glamour. Glass windowpanes become easels for falling snowflakes, frost etching into the smooth surfaces in intricate and unique patterns.

Winter has always been her favorite time of the year, and it always will be.

It is not because of Christmas--no, even though she loves the holiday, it is not what sparks her strong fondness for the star-colored blanketing across the land. Her infatuation with the snow and ice and everything cold has to do with something that most people don't truly believe in.

A boy.

A boy whom she met long ago.

She still remembers the day like it was yesterday. Running around in the forest, laughing and tasting the snowflakes as they fell down into her parted lips and melting immediately on her tongue. All bundled up as a precaution, even though the winter has always been kind to her in its cold embrace and has never affected her like others. And so she continues to run, a little girl so happy and glad to be out in this winter wonderland of silver trees and breath freezing in mid-air and snow coating her flushed face and entire body in a comforting white armor.

Then there's a sudden gust of wind, colder than usual and as fast as lightning.

She stops in her tracks, small boots sinking into the snow as she peers up into the skeletal canopy curiously. The tree branches are all knocking together in the chilly wind, creating a hollow cacophony as icicles drop down and plunge into the snowbanks, disappearing from view. Despite the sudden temperature drop, she doesn't shiver--instead, she merely watches the trees dance in the wind, a smile etching across her face.

And then there is a laugh--the same laugh she will always remember, a sound she will cherish like a precious note of the most melodious music in the world.

It's a boy's laugh. Playful and impish, mischievous and bright; a blend of everything that echoes "winter" in her ears.

She raises her hands to the sky, fingers curling inside the warm confines of the gloves as she desperately tries to touch the wind that whips around her like an excited puppy. She wants to feel the winter with her heart, not just her body. She wants to let the winter know how much she loves it, how much she cares for it.

How much she believes in it.

Or, more importantly, how much she believes in him.

"I know you," she whispers, soft and gentle voice carrying on the wind. "I've always known you...I always will. I believe in you...Jack Frost."

The wind and laughter cease immediately, shock palpable in the frigid air as time seems to stop completely, as if frozen.

And then there's the feeling of a cold yet gentle hand brushing against her forehead, and for the briefest of moments two eyes as blue as a winter sky are gazing into hers. Those eyes hold everything; sorrow, gladness, humor, kindness, melancholy, love, fun...

Those eyes are winter. Her winter.

Her Jack Frost.

"...thank you, kid," he answers in a quiet tone, his voice as lovely as freshly fallen snow yet as strong as a glacier.

And then he is gone.

She smiles as she reminisces of that day, so long ago. She is older now, bigger and wiser. Yet she still loves winter; still loves him. She will never stop loving him, never stop believing in him. For he is winter, and winter is her one, true love.

As she is leaning against the now-open window so she can feel the sweet, chilling caress of winter's--and his--touch from the outside, the tip of one finger etching into the frosted glass slowly and unconsciously, her mother's voice permeates the barrier of memories she had been hiding herself in.

"Child, you'll catch your death like that! Close the window and come away from there--do you want to get frostbite, dear?"

A humored smile stretches across her lips, and she can't help but give a little chuckle as she gazes upon the pattern she has made in the icy window.

A boy's figure, so simple and without detail that it could be anyone--yet she knows exactly who it is.

"Don't worry, Mother, I've already gotten it," she answers jovially as she places one hand over her chest to feel the fluttering of her heart. "In fact, you could say I've had it for a long time. Right here, in my heart..."

She swears she can hear a laugh far off in the distance, her dear winter giving her the gift of his freezing music once more.

"I'm frostbitten, and I always will be."