❅❆Jack Frost❆❅
27
2 ❆ ꧁𓃙𓃠𝕌ℕ𝔼𝕏ℙ𝔼ℂ𝕋𝔼𝔻 𝔽𝕃𝔸𝕂𝔼𓃥𓃚꧂❆
The first day of December had always been Jack Frost’s favorite. It was when the North Pole awakened—lights glowing brighter, elves singing, snow drifting like diamonds. Jack lived for that magic. He was that magic. But this year, everything changed. Standing in Frost Square, Jack raised his palms to summon the First Snowfall. Instead of a gentle wave of winter, an icy surge exploded inside him. A violent blizzard burst from his hands, roaring out of control. Elves stumbled through the whiteout. Toy shops froze solid. Reindeer stalls sealed shut. Even Santa’s workshop cracked under layers of frost. When the storm finally died, the North Pole was a frozen wasteland. Santa approached, boots crunching on the ice. His face wasn’t angry—Jack wished it were. It was disappointed. “Jack,” Santa said heavily, “you’ve lost control. You risked everyone. Until you steady your gift… you cannot stay here.” The words hit harder than the cold. “I didn’t mean to,” Jack whispered. “I know,” Santa said softly. “But you must go to the Frozen Woods until we call for you again.” Banished. Jack walked away with snow drifting around him—snow he no longer felt worthy to command. Each step echoed like judgment. By the time he reached the Frozen Woods, he felt hollow. A failure made of frost. He collapsed onto a fallen log, staring at his gloved hands. Why am I even made of winter if I can’t control it? Then something glimmered. A snowflake drifted toward him. He ignored it—just a simple flake. But it hovered above his palm, held up by no wind at all. Jack raised his hand slowly. The snowflake lowered itself onto his skin, settling perfectly at the center. As if it had chosen him.
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