Frostbound Shadows

CHAPTER 2: Echoes of the past

Chapter 2: Echoes of the Past

I spent my first few months in the new world grappling with the fog that covered my memories. Sometimes, in brief, slippery moments, I could almost recall a face surrounded by winter mist—a boy with white-blonde hair, his eyes icy and indifferent. But each time I tried to hold onto the memory, it faded, slipping through my grasp like smoke.

Instead, I focused on this strange, fresh life and the people around me. I was reborn into a world that seemed lush with color and life, a world filled with a warmth I hadn’t felt in… well, as long as I could remember.

My new parents were both striking in appearance, so much so that even in my tiny, curious new mind, I noticed them with a sort of awe. My mother, Lena, was a tall woman with hair the color of rich chestnut, flowing in thick waves down her back. Her skin held a golden tone, and her eyes were a deep, warm brown, so rich they reminded me of polished mahogany. She had a gentle elegance about her, though I often caught her looking at me with a strange sadness, as if she couldn’t quite believe I was real.

My father, Valen, was a contrasting presence beside her. He was tall, but his frame was more muscular, giving him a commanding presence. His hair was dark as midnight, cut short around his ears, with just a few strands of silver that gave him a distinguished look. His eyes were sharp, a striking green, clear and focused, like polished jade. His gaze often lingered on me with a sort of curiosity, as if he, too, sensed something unusual in my presence.

And then there was me.

Even in infancy, I stood out starkly. My hair, wispy at first but growing quickly, was an ethereal shade of pale blonde, almost white in certain lights, cascading down like strands of spun moonlight. Each day, my mother would gently brush through the lengths, murmuring soft words in a language that was becoming familiar. My hair grew fast, unnaturally so, and by the time I was barely old enough to walk, it already reached well down my back.

But it was my eyes that seemed to draw the most attention. Unlike either of my parents' warm, earthy tones, my eyes were an intense, piercing blue, deep and unfathomable like the ocean depths or the frozen lakes of winter. Whenever I looked in the mirror—or in puddles on the ground, as it often was—I’d catch that strange, otherworldly hue staring back at me. It was as if those eyes carried a piece of that frosty, mysterious past I’d almost forgotten.

Though my mother rarely commented on my unusual appearance, I noticed how people around the village would stare, some in awe, others with cautious whispers. Children sometimes called me a spirit child or “the Winterling,” saying I looked like I’d wandered out of a snowstorm, which was particularly strange, considering our region had a warm climate and hadn’t seen snow in ages. It didn’t take long for me to earn a reputation as the odd one—the strange girl with the long white hair and the cold, piercing blue eyes.

One day, as I was wandering around our small house, I caught sight of my reflection in a polished silver plate my mother had set aside. I paused, staring at the delicate child staring back at me. My hair fell in soft, flowing waves, reaching almost to my knees, framing a face that was small and fine-featured. My skin was fair, more so than either of my parents, with a faint coolness to it, as if it refused to absorb the warmth of the sun. But it was those eyes—dark, deep blue, intense, almost unnatural for a child—that captured my attention.

As I studied my reflection, a flicker of memory brushed my mind. I saw a vision of myself not as I was, but older—stronger, colder, someone whose confidence would chill the air around her. In the vision, I was no mere child; I was powerful, a force of nature. And standing beside me was the boy from my dreams, the one with the glacial gaze and snow-white hair, his expression a mixture of disapproval and something else, something almost like expectation.

“You look like you’re in another world, my little Winterling,” my mother’s voice interrupted, bringing me back to reality.

I turned to find her watching me, her gaze soft and warm but edged with a hint of worry.

“I like looking at my hair,” I said with a child’s simple honesty, tugging at a long strand of pale silk.

She chuckled softly, though the worry never quite left her face. “It’s beautiful, isn’t it? Unusual, like a gift from the old winter gods.” She knelt down beside me, running her fingers gently through my hair. “But it makes you special. Never be ashamed of what makes you unique, my love.”

I nodded, though her words only made me feel more curious. What was it about my hair, my eyes, that unsettled people? And why did I feel like there was someone, or something, I was supposed to remember?

That night, as I lay in bed, I closed my eyes and tried to recall that face from the shadowy realm. The boy with the frozen gaze, his voice a low murmur that seemed to echo in my mind, though I couldn’t quite recall what he’d said. I reached out in my mind, as if trying to grasp his hand, but all I felt was the cold—a chill that ran through my veins, making me shiver under my blankets.

Whoever he was, I felt his presence in my life like an echo, a shadow that watched from the corners of my mind.

Updated two stories a day.....I think I need a pat on the back🤭

Anyways I'm looking forward to your vote and comments.......

•Eve•