The snow had glowed white that evening. A clang of metal was the last thing that resided in bruised remembrance, the shattering of ice. It swirled like a raging storm within Anna’s brain, which had begun whirring the minute her eyes had fluttered open. Tendons remained stiff as the youth’s brain began to process information that would normally just fly through her peripheral.
Cold. The place her head rested was freezing —- and distinctly marble.
Within her solemn mind, there was a nagging in the back of her mind that refused to give, along with the stinging of a particular headache that had inched it’s way to her temple. With that, Anna had begun to use her muscles for their particular usage, allowing them to pull her to her knees. Dizziness had settled within her hues, but she trekked on, managing to get to her feet with little ease.
Breath rigid, she rests for a moment. She feels weak, every heave given by her chest more painful than the last. “What —- ?“ She laments, squinting so that the light that shone heavily would not blind her. She was… in Arendelle. But —- how could that have been possible? The last time she was here, she was about to —-
freeze to death —- ! ! ! !
“Oh no.”
Arendelle had become notorious for it’s erratic weather patterns ever since the coronation. Snow equivalent to such intensity would normally be the doing of the infamous nose-nipper who spread mischief and mahem throughout the globe. But this time, his hands had been clean; free of such a mess, even if the handiwork was so very him. One might think he would utilize this opportunity, what would most likely be his only ‘get out of jail free’ card. But regardless, his attraction to chaos was greater than any other. The one flame that followed Jack Frost was burning curiosity. In this case, to discover what really created that severe winter.
An investigation was in order. Not solely for Jack’s sake, but the other legendary figures, as well. Freak climate could mean the making of a new Guardian. Which, given past experiences, is an omen – a.k.a. trouble on the horizon. And who better to put forth on this quest than the creator of trouble-making himself?
Except, there was one problem – no trouble.
Really, none. Not a mishap to be seen, not a hair out of place. The kingdom was in summer. Hot, sticky, far-too-warm-for-a-Winter-Spirit summer.
A crunch accompanied his barefeet as they landed, fresh grass freezing against his touch. ❝Impossible,❞ breathed Jack, disappointed by the lacking mist that normally rose from his breath. ❝Snow can’t just disappear – ❞
”Oh no.“
Becoming so accustomed his presence alone, the sudden voice shook him from his spoken thoughts. Fingers clenched his staff instinctively, a defense mechanism given at birth, only to soon relax at the sight of a strawberry blonde. Her worrysome words contrasted her appearance; a positively glowing form mirroring the Sun’s radiance. And for a reason beyond Jack’s understanding, he advanced. As if he was the Earth and she truly was the Sun, her gravitational influence drew him towards her.
❝Sorry, um. Are you alright? I mean, I heard you and couldn’t help but wonder..❞ Sluggish, his sentences were. But he couldn’t help it, he was under a trance. As if the mystery embedding this stranger was too strong to ignore.
He shook his head. ❝–Sorry. Are you alright?❞ he asked the question again.
“Mistletoe? Jack, you’re going to have to work harder than that. This would be a kiss of quite royal intensity.”
“Did… did you want to?”
{ Elsa was considerably more flustered at this point. All the while, she was sure Jack had been kidding. Joking around. That’s what he always did, anyway. The pranks, the snowballs, the snide remarks, all of it. She didn’t think he was ever serious about, well, anything. Much less kissing her. Who would want to kiss her, anyway? }
[Suddenly, it feels like he’s twelve years old again. Anxious, sweaty palms, and not a coherent thought in his head; all mixed together which results in the disastrous conclusion that is Jack Frost.]
