Of Frost and Snow

By Morgan J. Manns

Get comfortable, my exquisite Snowflake. I have a story to tell.

My tale begins with a meandering stroll through a chilly, moonlit forest. As I wandered, families slumbered in cozy cottages, blissfully unaware that dawn’s golden light would soon reveal intricate patterns on their windowpanes, an icy gift from none other than myself, Jack Frost.

Yet, little did I know that I, too, would soon be touched by an unforeseen enchantment—a fateful first encounter with the woman who would become your mother.

Lost in my imaginings of the villagers’ excitable reactions, I began a new tapestry on the outskirts of town. A rush of joy washed through me. Perhaps my creations would inspire others to carve designs into the delicate frost. After all, my art was meant to be a shared canvas.

As I danced and twirled, casting my glittering magic through the trees, an unexpected noise gave me pause—a giggle. I spun. There, beneath the boughs, stood the most beautiful woman I’d ever seen.

My heart raced with curious wonder. Cloaked in the purest of whites, with long silver-blonde hair draped to her waist and skin like marbled ice, she watched me, poised as a queen.

I must have looked a fool, gaping at her.

Clearing my throat, I called out. “Fair maiden! What brings you here at this hour? Surely a beauty such as yourself needs her sleep!”

A knowing grin pulled at her lips as she glided to me. “I’ve been looking for you, Jack Frost.” Her unfamiliar accent danced around me, pulling my heart into a flutter. She knew who I was?

The air shimmering in her wake told me she was no mere human.

Incredulous, I said, “Someone as enchanting as you, looks for me? Pray tell! I must know why.”

Her eyes, like sapphires, bore into mine. “Are the wind nymphs’ rumors true? Do you claim to be the greatest artist to grace the northern lands? That nothing can compare to your icy creations?”

I waved my hand in polite dismissal. “Ah, those pesky nymphs have twisted my words. All I claimed was that I have not yet met someone who creates such awe-inspiring designs with a flick of the wrist, as I can.”

“Is that so?”

At that, I pressed my hands together, the air’s very essence chilling beneath my fingertips. I spun, flashing my palms, casting sparkling magic among the branches. So heavy was the frost, the branches hung like icy white arches, like portals to distant lands.

Turning back, I expected to see delight in her eyes. Amazement, even.

Instead, her lips pressed together in a thin line as if withholding a laugh.

“That’s the best you can do, Jack Frost?”

Setting my jaw, I strode past her to a natural clearing. If she wanted a show, she’d get one.

As she watched from the tree line, I began my dance. I twirled, collecting the air, shaping it into ribbons of shimmering white. With a dramatic leap, I landed, blowing out my breath. The ribbons transformed, becoming powdery glitter, falling to the earth below.

The clearing, now covered in a shining portrait of starlight, was dazzling in its frozen brilliance. I sighed, relishing its beauty.

She strode forward, regarding my work with a raised brow.

Her scrutiny was lead upon my shoulders.

“Jack Frost, I challenge you. Witness my art. If you find it worthy of your praise, grant me one ask.”

I laughed, my dear Snowflake. See, I did not believe her, but I bade her to try.

With a flourish of her white cloak, an icy cyclone of frigid air encased us both. I gasped amidst the wind’s torrent. My feet left the ground as she whisked us upward and away.

In moments, we belonged to the sky. Her whirlwind calmed ever so slightly, enough that I could breathe easily. I watched, a mere spectator.

Her arms outspread, silver hair drifting in the wind, she called forth the clouds.

They gathered in earnest, blocking out the stars. The wind howled an eerie melody as blinding gusts sliced through the air. Icy snowflakes accumulated, then blazed to the land below.

I discerned no pattern, no rules to her creation as she reached out, directing blasts of wind and snow.

Amazed as I was at her unbridled power, I shook my head. No way could this uncontrolled frenzy amount to anything beautiful.

When she finished her frozen composition, she turned toward me and smiled, her eyes bright and gleaming. Somehow, in her panting state, hair disheveled, cheeks pink with exertion, she was even more striking than before.

As the storm dissipated, she brought us down, and the heavens opened again to starlight. My feet once again upon snow-covered ground, I trembled at the sight before me.

The forest had transformed. Where I had bestowed a touch of sparkle, she had covered it in a blanket of pristine, untouched snow. I blinked slowly at the immaculate frozen vista. As far as the eye could see, drifts like ocean waves covered the land in rippling artistry. Under the starry night, it gleamed like diamonds.

I turned, bowing my head. “You have earned my praise.”

Our eyes met, and time itself held its breath. She couldn’t have known how stunning she looked—her silver brilliance against the white.

Summoning my words, I asked, “What is it that you seek from me, m’lady? I am a nomad, with little to offer.”

Her chin dipped slightly, and she fiddled with the broach of her cloak. “I simply ask for a partnership, Jack Frost. Let us create masterpieces together in this world. Just imagine the wonders we could craft.”

And so, my dear Snowflake, after a time, we created you. As our most exquisite work of art, Yuki-onna, you carry the fierceness and beauty of your mother and the wit and charm of your father. Whatever powers you may come to possess, I am confident that your artistry will wreak beautiful havoc upon the world.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Morgan J. Manns is a speculative fiction writer who firmly believes that the world needs more stories filled with magic and wonder. Captivated by the realm of intricate world-building since composing her first fantasy tale at the age of ten, she now ventures beneath the endless Canadian prairie sky with her supportive husband and two hobbit children, all while eagerly contemplating her next literary creation. While her current occupation is that of an elementary school teacher, her dream job will always be dragon rider, soaring through the skies of her imaginings.

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