My Guardian Angel- Jack Frost fan fiction

Chapter 1- It begins

Little white crystals, diving, tumbling, swirling down from on high. It's amazing how insignificant one tiny little snowflake can be, but as a group they smother everything in a beautiful blanket of pure white. That was what I saw out my window that night. That wonderful, serine picture.

I live in the sort of new estate that was poured straight from a concrete mold, with little or no personality. The only time it looks even remotely nice is:

A) If it's an absolutely stunning sunset or sun rise,

B) The moon is full and the stars are clear and bright

C) If it is absolutely smothered in snow.

Just like it was now.

I sighed contentedly, breath fogging in the practically zero degrees outside my open window. The full moon's light caught these crystals of condensed water and made them glow with unnatural light. Like a little piece of my soul was carried away. The moon light bounced of the white surface below causing it to glimmer and sparkle. I often spent hours looking at the moon in this way, just in awe and wonder.

But enough of all that, my name is Natalia Morozov. I am 15 years old, have short black hair at jaw length, pale skin and pale blue eyes. All this comes from my Russian heritage, (which I am very proud of so if anyone knocks it I will hunt you down and go all Stalin on your ass :). I live with my father and (evil) step mother Joy. I am a dedicated fan girl and would much rather sit around reading a good book or watch my favorite TV programs than anything else. Well, this used to be the case, before this night. This was the night everything would change. This was the night I met him.

I had been unable to sleep. I don't know why. Maybe it was the atmospheric pressure, the weather, how much time I had been spending on Tumblr, whatever. All I knew was that I needed sleep.

I had come to the window when I saw it was snowing. I love snow. I would live in a winter wonderland if I could. I don't even mind the cold, it always makes me feel alive and yet safe. I was just watching the descending flaked of ice, letting the cold wash over my face, still grateful for my floppy mickey-mouse jumper, jogging bottoms, fluffy bunny slippers and beanie (Okay, I sleep in my beanie. Don't judge me).

It was that contented sigh that signaled the end of everything I knew. The end of my old life and the start of something so much more.

And you know what? I wouldn't change it for the world.

Something made me look to my right. I don't know what it was. A deep down premonition. Fate, destiny, a horse. Okay, maybe not a horse. Definitely not a horse. All that's important is that something did. And right there on my windowsill, barely 60cm's away from, me sat a boy.

Okay, minuet to realize how weird that is please. Or am I the only one who doesn't receive mysterious night time visitors at my window on a regular basis? Given I was on the second floor, this was made even weirder.

He could not have been much older than me. He was turned away from me so I couldn't see his face, but what was visible of him was intriguing enough. He had a blue hoodie on, decorated with swirling white patterns that glistened in the light, almost like frost. His trousers were of a strange, course material, like potato sacks. They didn't look particularly comfortable and were bound to his legs by thick cord. The fringes of the material was encrusted with spikes of ice. His feet were bare and all his exposed skin was as startling as the snow that fell. You would expect him to be shivering like hell, but he was perfectly still. Was he asleep? I asked myself, was he dead? Was it murder? No, I decided after a second. He was clutching a stick that looked like a crook or staff of some description, in his hand. If he was asleep or dead he would have dropped it, even in Riga mortise.

After a moment of just looking at him, I plucked up my courage.

"Excuse me," I squeaked.

He turned to me, with a look of complete and utter shock. His face was as pale as the rest of him, with high cheekbones and almost childlike features. His mouth was slightly open in surprise and his teeth were blindingly white. As he swept his hood back to get a proper look at me, I saw his hair was snow white and slightly spiked as if he'd jelled it. As far as I can tell, the colour of his hair was completely natural and had no jell, the spiky strings of keratin naturally giving him a 'devil-may-care' 'windswept and interesting' look. His eyebrows were dark (weird) but his eyes were what really struck me. Those eyes were frost blue and filled with the epitome of innocence. They say eyes are the windows to the soul, well if that's the case then this boy was as pure as an arctic breeze.

Then he spoke, grip tightening on his stick. "Can... can you see me." His accent was American, something you didn't hear a lot of the time in the South West of England. Regardless, I thought this a strange question to ask.

"Yes," I answered apprehensively. "Why wouldn't I be able to see you?"

He jumped to his feet, which is quite hard to do on a windowsill. "You can see me." He cried to the heavens. Okay, this was getting weird.

And then he did the most heart stopping thing I have ever been witness to.

He jumped!

It was a sustained, long moment. Time meant nothing. Sound dropped away. Even breath ceased to be. The white haired boy hung in the air...