“ for as long as there are humans, they will tell STORIES. ” her eyebrow arches, trying to read his downcast face. perhaps she ought not, but the sight of him with less than the usual cockiness was quite PLEASANT, her hunger for the odd emotions of others was fed, at least for the time.
she laughs at his question. oh, what DID the mortals tell their children of the SNOW QUEEN nowadays ? that she didn’t exist? that the frost on their windowpanes was warning from her? ( that was one she loved to scoff at. as if she gave even the softest, whitest damn about the behavior of troublesome children. )
with the flick of a wrist, the flakes grew to bees about her, busying themselves until a flurry of wings was created a modest seat entirely of ice. she sat, offering another creating of the snow bees to him ( a most GENEROUS offer. ) “ I suppose the tales change over the years, but not as much as one likes to think. they are none too creative. ” a pause, to read his response, one side or her mouth lifts to a wry, half-hidden grin. “ one way or another I am mistress of the devil himself. ” now, a great laugh, “ as if I wish to have anything to do with those imbecilic little trolls that messed with the mirror. my tidings are of EARTH, not whatever they believe is above it. ”
then, she is quiet. perhaps it was too much to share. she was nothing if not a book TIGHTLY SHUT, behind lock & key. mostly, her lips never moved. she did not speak to many, & when she did, they were usually half frozen, dying by the freezing hand of a snowbank. nearly no one would believe something so sharp and harsh as she could be of comfort —- no one remembers that sometimes, to be numb is a furtive blessing.
Morozko takes the offered second seat with a polite nod of thanks, fanning his cloak around him as he sits. The fur-lined collar protects his neck from a chill that he’s unbothered by; so much of what he is, is merely appearance for the sake of it. That doesn’t bother him either. He looks out now, beyond the trees immediately in front of them, into the distance at the forest spread out in every direction, snow & frost covering every surface imaginable, a true testament to his & the Snow Queen’s power.
He sees it every winter & yet he never grows tired of looking at it.
❝ Mistress of the devil? Not a bad ring to it, I’ll admit, ❞ he says lightly, lips quirking into a smile. ❝ But you’re right, not terribly creative. Too one-note & easy to digest. ❞
He tips his head back to study the branches above them, bare & scraggly as they scratch the sky. ❝ They use me mostly as a cautionary tale, ❞ he offers in return. ❝ Respect the winter –––– respect the changing of the seasons, no matter how harsh –––– or the Frost King will come visit you on some dark night & whisk you away. ❞ Alternately, he’ll simply kill you on the spot, so it goes. It all depended on who was telling the story.
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