CW: murder, self harm (reader breaks their finger)
You are barely more than nothing.
Next to her, you are a speck of dust on the floor.
She insists you are her little snowflake. That it’s you that makes her whole. You that rules her kingdom. You that is most important and above all.
You wonder if she avoids holding your hand because she’s afraid you’ll melt.
Instead you hold onto the fabric of her dress as she glides down the halls of her winter palace. She must feel like she’s going at a snail's pace, with you by her side. Your mind sinks lower and lower with every step.
She pets your hair with the back of her hand as though she’s stroking a cat. You crane your head up and see her expressionless face.
“Would you like to play with someone?” Her deep, satin voice vibrates your whole body.
You nod and the corners of her lips tilt up for a moment. You muster up your best smile. The corners tip downward.
You stare at the floor for the rest of the trip down the hall, vaguely distracted by the feeling of fabric between your fingers.
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Columbina traces the palm of your hand while humming softly. You can feel her drawing your powers out. It looks like your hands are covered in flour. She always seems so oddly happy to be in your presence. The only other time you see her smile is when she sees the Tsaritsa.
She intertwines her fingers with yours and leans her head on your shoulder. You don't move. You just stare at the one sided hand hold.
A soft gasp leaves her lips as she watches ice start climbing up the sides of her palm and snaking over to the back. Her hand is stuck to yours. You hear a giggle and she clings to you tighter.
Her free hand comes up and holds your bicep as she nuzzles your shoulder. Your heart starts to beat fast.
The ice shatters as you rip your hand out of her grasp. You abruptly stand up and Columbina has to catch herself as your support disappears.
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“I don’t understand what you mean comrade.”
You aren’t sure if you expected him to.
You ask him to pass you the wooden mallet.
You hammer your finger on purpose.
The chisel breaks the skin and bone.
Childe rushes over and takes the tools from you and cradles your hand.
You consider healing yourself.
It’s too late. A layer of ice has already encased the fragments and secured them back into place. Your finger will heal perfectly.
You look up at Childe and tug at his sleeve.
He helps you roll it up, revealing bloody bandages. You peel them off and place your lifeless hand on the giant gash. Your comrade hisses as your power bites at his wound. When he looks down, there's only a thin, white line remaining.
"It'll fade," you mumble before turning back toward your art project.
You push the half done sculpture off the pedestal.
You smile at the shattered pieces.
You briskly walk out of the room and don't look back. You hope you were fast enough to make sure it didn't get repaired.
"Amazing," Childe breathes out. He crouches down next to the broken figure and tries to pry a piece up from the ground. It doesn't budge. As though it's been welded, the ice has frozen to the crystal floor.
Why would you ever think something is wrong with you?
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You ask Dottore why you don’t feel cold or get frostbite. There’s always caveats to having powers. Something given and something taken. Why aren’t you punished for the things you do?
He looks at you with his insane eyes, they never stop twitching or shaking.
“It’s because there’s nothing wrong with you. When someone receives newfound power, they must lose a piece of themselves to make room. But you are already perfect,” he reaches his hands towards you, letting them hover by your cheeks as though he wants to cup your face.
“You have had these abilities from the very beginning. It’s only been recently that you’re seeing the effects of them.”
You share none of his joy about your condition.
So you’ve always been like this?
You feel your eyes grow heavy, and Dottore finally places his hands on your cheeks.
“Don’t worry, snowflake. One day you will be able to see everything you are and everything you’re capable of doing.”
You feel a wet line on your face.
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The three surround you with such hopeful and happy gazes. Arlecchino says she’s proud of you, and Pantalone gives you his signature laugh and smile of approval. Even Capitano seems to radiate a new aura of positivity that permeates beyond the mask that hides his expressions.
You feel awful that all you can do in return is look at them despondently. So you look away from their faces, and instead you look at the body on the floor. As you stare, a thin layer of frost starts to bloom on it. Slowly taking it over like a pack of starving rats climbing all over their only source of food.
Why are you doing this to him? What did he do to deserve it?
Nothing. Absolutely nothing.
You don’t know who this man is. This was the first time you had ever encountered him. At least, you think it is. And...
And you killed him. Stared him down and let– no... made the ice climb all over him. Cooled the blood inside of him till it turned to slush, and then even more until it had frozen in place.
You froze his head first to immortalize his expression. You hate the idea that his last thoughts were probably about you. You prefer to think that he was afraid, and was questioning why he was blinded by white, only for everything to go dark.
The heart can live on without the head. It will keep beating. You put your hand flat over his chest, right where his heart would be, hidden inside his ribcage. You let yourself stop feeling the ice inside of him and only focused on the beating.
You smiled when you felt it finally stop.
By then the others had caught up to you. You stepped away from the frozen corpse. The three did the opposite and stepped towards it, circling and inspecting it like critics at an art show. Arlecchino and Pantalone spoke at the same time, praising you, then glaring at each other for stealing each other’s thunder. Capitano gave a strong and firm nod.
Their feelings never reach you.
You think your heart is more frozen than the man you just murdered. You have to focus to feel it beating in your chest.
The heart can keep beating even without the head. It’s an entity all its own.
“How about we go celebrate your accomplishment? We could go out and find something you want.”
“Tch. What a waste. I thought your only goal was to hoard all that mora? Come now, we should go find you a new person to hunt.”
You’re already walking away. Capitano makes sure to follow close behind. Your gloomy demeanor pulsing like waves around you, pushing them all away.
Luckily, they stopped feeling fear a long time ago.
They all fall into step beside you.
You want to go back to sleep.
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You stand on the arm rest and look down at the people who are normally taller than you. She slowly turns her head towards you, utterly uninterested in the new reports.
“I heard what you did the other day.”
You turn your head slightly to show that you’re listening, but you continue to stare down at the agent that looks like he’s going to collapse any second now. You want to make sure you see that.
“Would you be willing to do it again? I’d love to see you use your powers.”
You look at her. Concern written on your face. She’s giving you the rare, full smile. She hides her sharp teeth behind painted lips, but she still looks beautiful. She turns back to the speaking agent.
“You’re dismissed. Guards, bring the prisoner.”
Lucky bastard. You wanted to watch him fall over. Instead you watch him quickly turn heel and walk out on quivering legs as a new stranger is brought to the center of the room. Hauled with both arms around each guards’ neck, unable to stand on his own.
He’s dropped onto the floor and he sobs, clearly in agonizing pain.
“Go on then,” she whispers.
You stare down at him without any emotion. You can hear his blood rushing in your ears, but you don’t think about stopping it. Instead you let it wash over you, like a rolling wave. Letting it take you wherever it needs to go in the body. You follow veins and arteries up and down his body. From his heart to his toes, and from his lungs to his head. Most of the pain is going to his legs. He’s going to die.
“Come now. I’ll help you.”
You watch as her gloved hand comes up and she gently holds your arm between her fingers. You start to feel jittery as a fraction of her power stimulates your own. You position your hand into a pointer finger as she aims you at the crippled prisoner. You stare at him and watch as his sobs become quieter. Relief has finally come for him. You froze his legs. His nerve endings.
You can barely hear the garbled thank you come from him, you’re too far away and already too occupied with crushing his heart.
He cries out again and sounds like he’s choking. He gasps for breath and punches against his chest, trying to make it keep beating.
He screams. The icicle that’s forming inside of him, presses against his insides and pushes out. And it keeps pushing. Slowly piercing through his cells one by one in a line, until the tip finally protrudes out of his chest and back. It’s diagonal, so when he looks, he can see the expanding icicle on both sides. He screams again and passes out.
“Well done,” she says as she claps.
“I knew you could do it, my snowflake.” She looks at you with sparkling eyes.
Hope sprinkles over you and lands on your eyelashes. You close your eyes and more tears fall. Soft, gentle lips come up and kiss them away.
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It's not a matter of whether or not you're a bad person. You've always been a monster. It's only a matter of whether or not you can accept who you are.
Continue to project your suffering onto others.
Realize how strong you are and watch as others collapse, fall over in a line like dominoes.
Is this what healing looks like?
Is this really who you are?
The harbingers will all say yes.
You can’t say you share the same happiness about that.
But you no longer feel uncomfortable with the path you’re walking.
You’re the rule maker now.
There is no more right and wrong.
