Henry Frost

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Journal Entries

Dream 10/03/11
The room is opulent, mirrors reflecting gilt and marble, rich woods, and fine canvases. You stand in its center, your reflection on every side, and before you it doubles, stretching into infinite distance. The frost on your skin looks blue, your hair a shattered horror. You raise your hands, and gasp at the coldness you suddenly feel, sharply aware. You look up, tears freezing to your cheeks, and search for some sign of who you were. Your eyes are all that remain and as you cry the frost grows to cover even those. You run at the mirror, fury rising through the pain, but before you reach it you see, just for an instant, flesh in place of ice. You slow, reach out, and he takes your hand. Flesh meets ice, and you draw him through the mirror. He watches you, calm, your reflection given life, just as you remember, years ago. He laughs then, young and bubbling, and pulls away. You follow him, but the floor falls away, you scream, tumbling into darkness, and awake drenched in sweat.

Henry Frost

The Freehold of the Shaded Wing Darondric