Page 11 of The Enchanted Frost

This desire, unhindered by the uncertainty clogging mythroat, allowed me to at last voice my desperate question. “Have you discovered the reason why my soul appears to be lingering?”

He looked up from his place on the other side of the table, where he’d been watching me eat with curious fascination. He blinked hastily, as if my voice had summoned his thoughts from somewhere far away. “There are many possibilities, the most likely being that something is keeping you here. We’ll have to experiment to discover what it is, but once we determine the cause, I should be able to release you.”

What if I don’t want my soul to be released?

The thought struck me with surprising intensity. Yet despite that intense desire, I hesitated at the thought of returning to the life I’d left behind…nothing awaited me there save the mere illusion ofliving, and the sensations I was experiencing now gave me a longing for a life of more meaning than just survival. But I was afraid to voice these reservations to a man who for all his show of care was still very much a magical stranger responsible not only for the season I loathed, but for ensuring that in the end I froze to death…leaving me very little reason to trust him.

As I finished the last bite of fish, I glanced up to find Frost watching me with an intensity that made me pause. His vivid blue eyes, so full of mystery and unreadable emotions, met mine across the table. He wasn’t eating—hadn’t even so much as touched any food since we’d sat down. The thought unsettled me, and before I could stop myself, the question slipped out.

“Aren’t you going to eat?”

He blinked, as if the idea hadn’t occurred to him. “I don’t need to eat, not the way mortals do.”

His casual tone did little to ease my discomfort. If he didn’t need to eat, then how did he exist in this frozen realm, untouched by the needs that bound me to life? I wanted toask him about his habits, the years he’d lived, and the secrets he must have gathered through countless winters.

The questions hung on the tip of my tongue, but apprehension held me back—the fear of getting closer to someone who, despite his current kindness, might not have my best interests at heart when his ultimate goal was still to claim my soul.

I brushed a finger along the edge of the tablecloth—a wonder of delicate frost as intricate as any of his snowflakes—trying to steady myself. The array of sensations I was currently experiencing made it impossible to fathom—the food’s taste, the sensation of warmth, and the weariness that pulled at my eyelids felt all too real. Yet if I was currently trapped in a state so near death, how was I able to experience these things? Was it all a cruel illusion to remind me of what I’d lost along with my life?

Perhaps it was simply because the human experience was all I’d ever known, so tangible that even in this liminal state, my mind and body clung to it. The thought left me unsettled, as if the very nature of my existence was slipping through my fingers.

CHAPTER 6

My uncertainty deepened as I reluctantly followed Frost through the castle, a confusing labyrinth of directions whose navigation eventually ascended a winding staircase within one of the turrets. Apprehension weighed my steps, each heavier than the last. When we finally reached the top, an empty room awaited us, bathed in the soft light of the approaching sunrise; glimmers of dawn danced across the icy floor, casting an ethereal glow.

Curiosity momentarily eclipsed my reservations. “What is this place?” The room didn’t seem like the kind of place where Frost would complete the freezing process that for whatever reason had been miraculously paused…unless he intended to set me back on death’s fatal course by pushing me from the balcony.

I hovered in the doorway, afraid to venture any further into the mysterious room. Upon noticing where apprehension had halted my footsteps Frost paused and turned back to me, his expression softened by an unspoken understanding. He extended his hand toward me, a silent invitation to trust him.

I wavered, caught between fear and the faint stirrings of hope. I slowly placed my hand in his. His touch was cold, as expected, but the way his fingers gently encircled mine offered a surprising warmth. With cautious steps, I let him guide me over the threshold, venturing into the mysterious room.

“This is the viewing room,” Frost explained, his tone tinged with an undercurrent of concern. “I wondered if revisiting your life might help us uncover why your soul is trapped in this state of in-between.”

A wave of trepidation washed over me, eclipsing the fleeting awe I’d felt at the mention of this mysterious power. Reflecting over one’s life was often associated with someone’s final moments before death, a grim confirmation of the fear I didn’t want to face…not to mention that I would derive no pleasure from viewing the downward spiral of my life as luxury gave way to misery.

“Is there really no way to reverse it?” I asked, my voice barely holding steady.

He shook his head, his expression somber. “Once the process has begun there’s nothing I can do to stop it. I can only claim your soul to allow you to finally enter eternal rest. I’m sorry.”

His dreaded pronouncement settled over me with heavy finality.I’m going to die. The realization cinched my chest with a helplessness unlike anything I’d ever felt, different than the hopelessness that had plagued my poverty-stricken life. While those circumstances had been dire, there had always been the chance that each new day might bring some change…something I hadn’t truly appreciated until I’d run out of dawns to look forward to.

Until now, my constant fight for survival had suppressed the regrets I’d long buried, dismissing them as distractions from my immediate struggle. But now faced with theinevitability of my death, those regrets surged sharply to the surface, overwhelming me with their weight. They were no longer just passing shadows, but the shattered remnants of dreams that would forever remain unfulfilled.

I yanked my hand from his grasp and snapped, anger lacing my words. “I refuse to let you toy with what’s left of my life at your whim.”

Regret etched his expression, a genuine empathy that felt hollow coming from an immortal man who could never truly grasp the concept of death…an irony made more painful knowing that acquiring my soul would only extend his own endless existence.

“I’m not trying to force you to move on out of cruelty. I fear what might happen to your soul if you linger in this transitionary realm for too long.” His vivid blue eyes locked onto mine, and for a moment I lost myself in the depth of his concern. It chipped away at the defenses I’d built around my frozen heart, just enough for his words to seep through.

My old stubbornness would have refused to let go of my frustration so easily, but time and weariness had weakened my resolve. Reluctantly, I allowed him to take my hand again and lead me farther into the room. Curiosity guided my compliance, the secret longing to see the past I’d tried to forget—a past that felt like a distant dream, yet still held wounds that I knew for all my pretending hadn’t fully healed.

Frost led me to the center of the frozen chamber, where he summoned a glistening ball of cerulean light. Fascination allowed me to momentarily forget my apprehension as I watched the magic dancing in his hands, effortlessly mingling with the moisture in the air until snowflakes began to form, swirling in a glistening curtain of white.

He molded the snow into a large, smooth ball and extended it towards me. “Your touch will complete the spell.”

I hesitated, my heart pounding in my chest, beforetentatively reaching out and letting my fingertip brush the surface of the snowball. The coldness kissed my skin, and with that touch the snowball began to swirl like the mist within a crystal ball. It rose gracefully into the air, floating over the balcony railing before exploding into a shower of glittering snowflakes, like fireworks against the dawn.

Instead of dazzling the approaching night with glistening color, the sky transformed into a stage, where an image began to take shape like a grand theatrical performance. The memories unfurled with the grace of a well-rehearsed play, the scene set with a soft, nostalgic glow. As if drawn by an unseen director, fragments of the past came alive, each one taking its place in an intricate tapestry of time.

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