Frostbound

Chapter five

The snowstorm had been relentless.

Eve had just gotten home after running a series of errands in town.

She was tired, frustrated, and ready for a quiet evening, away from the chaos of the holiday season.

But as she rounded the corner of her street, she stopped dead in her tracks. Her eyes narrowed in disbelief as she took in the sight of her front yard.

The snow had been piled high on her porch—delicately sculpted into what looked like a frozen throne, complete with swirling ice patterns etched into the surface. It was beautiful in its own eerie way, but it was also infuriating. She hadn't asked for any of this.

"I swear, if this is another one of his—" Eve muttered to herself, her breath clouding in the frigid air.

It was a snowstorm like no other—each flake had been carefully placed as though to make a statement, a bold, obnoxious statement. Eve's car had been covered in ice, a delicate layer of frost that shimmered in the fading light, as though the windshield had been painted with a winter scene. It was beautiful, yes.

But to her, it was just another prank in a series of irritating disruptions that Jack Frost had orchestrated.

Enough was enough.

She stalked back toward town, her boots crunching in the thick snow, making her way straight for the town square. There, in the center, was the fountain. A simple stone structure, usually covered in snow and ice this time of year, but it looked different today.

Someone had turned it into an elaborate ice sculpture, its frozen figures gleaming in the moonlight—figures that looked suspiciously like people in the town. All frozen in time. And it could only be one person who was responsible for this—Jack Frost.

Eve's blood boiled at the thought. It was time for a confrontation. She had had enough.

When she arrived in the square, she found the streets unusually quiet. The festive decorations hung from every lamppost, the lights casting a soft glow across the deep snow, but there was no one in sight.

Just the occasional flurry of snowflakes drifting down from the heavens. Eve stood by the fountain, scanning her surroundings, waiting. And then she saw him.

There, standing in the middle of the square with a mischievous grin plastered across his face, was Jack Frost. He was casually leaning against a lamppost, a playful glint in his icy blue eyes, watching her with that knowing smirk.

The snow seemed to swirl around him, an invisible force constantly at play, sending his hair and the edges of his coat rippling in the breeze.

"Of course," Eve muttered under her breath, pushing the frustration bubbling in her chest down. "There you are."

Jack straightened up, pushing himself off the lamppost with a lazy stretch. "Well, well, if it isn't the Grinch of Winter Hollow herself," he teased, his voice smooth and light like the winter air itself.

Eve's jaw clenched, her hands forming fists at her sides. "Enough of the games, Jack. I'm sick of it. I'm done with your pranks, your tricks, and your snowflakes that I didn't ask for. What do you think you're doing, messing with my life like this?"

Jack's expression didn't falter. He merely tilted his head, that same playful smile never leaving his face. "What do you mean? I'm just spreading some holiday cheer. Making sure you don't take life too seriously."

"I don't want your cheer," she snapped, stepping closer to him. "You can't just invade my life and mess everything up because you think it's funny. Do you ever stop to think how irritating this is?"

Jack laughed—loudly, freely, as though her anger didn't faze him in the slightest. It only made him more amused.

"That's the beauty of it, Eve," he said, his tone light and teasing. "You take life too seriously. If you let go for just a second, you might see that there's a lot of fun to be had."

Eve shook her head, her frustration deepening. "You think this is fun?" she asked, incredulous. "You think this is just a game to you?"

Jack's smile softened, though it didn't disappear entirely. He took a step forward, his boots crunching in the snow as he moved toward her. "It is a game. But it's not just about having fun, Eve," he said, his voice quieter now, more sincere than before. "It's about waking up. Seeing the world differently. You've been walking around like a ghost for so long. Maybe it's time you stop hiding."

Her heart skipped a beat, her breath catching in her throat. For a moment, his words hit too close to home.

"You don't know anything about me," she said sharply, but there was a tremor in her voice that betrayed her.

Jack held her gaze, his eyes calm but intense. He was no longer the playful trickster. For the first time, Eve saw the vulnerability beneath his façade. He was still Jack Frost—still the spirit of winter—but there was something more to him, something deeper.

"I know more than you think," he said, his voice low. "I know what it's like to be alone. To carry a weight you can't shake. To hide behind a mask, hoping no one will see the cracks. But you don't have to do that anymore. You don't have to hide, Eve. Not from me."

Eve swallowed hard, her chest tightening. She didn't want to let herself believe him, didn't want to acknowledge the strange warmth beginning to spread inside her. She hated how his words made her feel exposed, vulnerable.

But the longer she stood there, the more she realized something: Jack wasn't just a mischievous spirit of winter.

He was more than the playful pranks and icy tricks. He was something else. Something she couldn't quite define.

And just when she thought she had it under control, Jack smiled at her once more—a smile that was warmer than any she had seen from him before.

"Maybe," he said softly, "you don't have to be angry with me. Not forever. Maybe I can show you something else—something worth smiling about."

Eve's breath caught in her throat as his words hit her harder than she was ready for. She opened her mouth to say something, anything to push him away, but nothing came out.

She couldn't find the words to argue with him, not when something inside her stirred—something that felt dangerously close to hope.

With a final glance, Jack turned and started walking toward the street, his figure fading into the night.

"You'll figure it out," he called over his shoulder, his voice carrying on the wind. "You just need to stop fighting it."

Eve stood frozen, her mind racing. What had just happened? Why did it feel like something shifted in her—something she didn't want to acknowledge, didn't want to explore?

But before she could gather her thoughts, she realized Jack was gone, leaving nothing but the lingering chill of winter's breath.

And the faintest trace of something else.