Frostbound

Chapter four

The morning began like any other, the pale winter sunlight casting soft, golden beams across Eve's modest living room.

She sipped her coffee, still bleary-eyed from another restless night.

Despite the tranquility of Winter Hollow, Eve's mind was a storm—a mix of confusion over Jack's antics and the memories this quiet town seemed determined to unearth.

As she set her mug down and reached for her scarf to venture outside, a strange glint caught her eye. It was subtle, barely noticeable, but enough to draw her attention. On the edge of the mantlepiece, something white peeked out from beneath an old photograph frame.

Curious, Eve walked over and picked it up. It was a letter, its edges frayed and yellowed as if it had been there for years. But that couldn't be possible—she'd cleaned this room countless times. Her name was scrawled on the front in a delicate, familiar hand that made her stomach twist.

Her mother's handwriting.

Eve's hands trembled as she opened the envelope, her heart pounding in her chest. The sight of the words inside pulled her straight into a memory she'd tried for years to suppress.

It had been a summer evening, the air thick with the scent of wildflowers and impending rain. Eve had just turned eighteen, desperate to leave the small-town confines of Winter Hollow and chase a life beyond the shadows of her parents' expectations.

"You're making a mistake, Eve," her mother had said, standing in the kitchen doorway. Her voice was calm but laced with sadness.

"And you're not listening to me," Eve snapped back, her frustration spilling over. "I can't stay here forever, Mom. I have to do something with my life."

Her mother's eyes softened, though her expression remained firm. "You have a life here. A family. Love. Isn't that enough?"

Eve had laughed bitterly, the sound sharp and unkind. "No, it's not. I can't breathe here, and you're suffocating me with all your rules and your—your traditions!"

Her mother had taken a step closer, her face falling as if Eve's words had physically struck her. "We've only ever wanted the best for you. You're too young to understand now, but one day, you'll see—family is what matters most."

"I'll be fine on my own," Eve had said, her voice cold. She'd stormed out of the house that night, slamming the door behind her without so much as a glance back.

A week later, the fire had taken everything.

Eve blinked, the memory fading as tears welled in her eyes. She stared down at the letter in her hands, the words blurring together.

My dearest Eve,

I know we don't always see eye to eye, and I know you think I'm too hard on you sometimes. But everything I've ever done has been out of love. You are the brightest light in my life, and all I want is to see you happy. I hope one day you'll understand that. And if you ever find this letter, know that I love you more than words can say.

The rest of the letter was smudged, the ink faded beyond recognition. Eve folded it carefully, her chest aching.

Before she could process the wave of emotions crashing over her, she noticed something else—a faint shimmer from the far corner of the room.

She approached it slowly, her pulse quickening. Another letter, tucked beneath the edge of the rug. This one was newer, the paper crisp and the ink bold.

Her name was written on it again, but the handwriting wasn't her mother's. It was unfamiliar, sharp and angular, like frost etched across a frozen window.

With growing trepidation, Eve opened it.

"Eve,

The past you run from will always catch up to you. Just as winter follows autumn, your story isn't done. Pay attention to the whispers of the snow. There's more waiting for you than what you see now."

There was no signature, no indication of who had written it, but Eve knew.

"Jack," she muttered under her breath, crumpling the paper in her fist. "I'm not in the mood for your games."

She stormed out of the room, but her frustration only grew as she found yet another letter tucked on her kitchen counter, then another on the windowsill, and one pinned to the wall above her bed. Each one contained cryptic words, riddles about her past and promises of a future she didn't understand.

Her irritation boiled over as she grabbed the stack of letters and threw them onto the dining table. "What is this supposed to mean?" she demanded, as if Jack might appear out of thin air to answer her.

The wind outside picked up, rattling the windows. Eve clenched her fists, her heart heavy with anger and confusion. These pranks, these letters—they weren't just annoying anymore. They were invasive.

"Leave me alone, Jack," she said aloud, her voice trembling.

But deep down, she knew he wouldn't. Jack Frost had a way of weaving himself into her life, no matter how much she tried to push him away.

And now, with her mother's words resurfacing after all these years, Eve felt like the walls she'd carefully built around herself were beginning to crack.