White perfection, in all its terrible fury.  The wind howled through the icy wind, screaming in agony as it cast knives of chill through all in its path.  The snow that had once piled up on the ground in a beautiful sheet had turned to treacherous quicksand, gripping her feet and sucking her down, every step more difficult than the last.  Everything in vision was a dangerous white.  A perfect sheet of utter white.

Niamh shivered, clutching her shoulders at the seams of her coat.  The wind bit at her exposed face like needles, having already yanked her chestnut hair from its bun and proceeded to play with it, tossing it side to side and slapping her raw cheeks.  She whimpered, biting her lip to keep it from going numb.

Some Christmas Eve this was turning out to be.  She had meant only to deliver a package to the next farm over… why hadn’t she accepted her neighbor’s offer to stay the night?  To return home only on Christmas Day?

She trudged through the snow, all too aware that she was hopelessly and utterly lost.

The thought terrified her, and she nearly choked as her throat tightened.  Shelter… she had to find shelter to wait out this storm.  Mentally she searched for some memory of a shed, a barn that may exist somewhere in this icy white abyss.

She wandered about, shivering and clutching her arms, the air freezing her lungs.  It was painful to breathe in all this snow… but she kept reminding herself that it would be more painful to stop.  The wind clawed her face angrily, as though infuriated by her insolent efforts.  It yanked at her scarf, casting it away.  Instinctively, Niamh grabbed for it but the wind, looking for an opening, pushed hard against her, throwing her to the ground.  She fell to her knees, resisting the urge to cry out as they came in contact with the frozen earth, biting her lips.  The metallic taste of blood crept into her mouth and stuck as her chapped lips split beneath her teeth.  The wind howled triumphantly around her, proud that it had conquered this one girl.

She choked back either a sob or cough-she was too panicked at this point to care which it was-and wrapped her arms once more around her body, shivering in the snow.  There was no way she was getting back now…

Something changed, then.  The wind seemed tamer, though still a wild raging storm around her.  Something came flying at her, and it wasn’t until it had been thrust onto her shoulder that she realized it was her scarf.  She reached for it, her gloved hands trembling for the cold, but the wind blew it around her neck before she could touch it.  Her heart beat rapidly.  Fear, curiosity… what was this?  The howling of the wind was suddenly replaced by more familiar sounds…  jingling bells… the chiming keys of a Christmas piano…  She’d heard so many times that one’s life flashed before their eyes before they died.  Could this be the start of it?

Some force touched her chin, cold as ice, forcing her head upwards to stare at the swirling snow around her.  She trembled now from excitement, some wild hope that this presence, whatever it was, would be capable of helping…  The snow swirled around her with a tremendous energy, forcing her to her feet, and still it blew, tugging at her coat, her clothes, her haphazardly wrapped scarf, her tousled chestnut hair… but this time it seemed almost gentle.  Now she could smell fresh snow and rain, the smoky aroma of cold night air, and a small part of her could detect stale cinnamon, the lingering smell in the kitchen around the holidays…  The snow swirled around her protectively, almost pleasant the way it seemed to hold her close… close to what?  This wasn’t normal.  She’d never heard of someone enjoying a near-death experience.

She narrowed her eyes, peering into the snowy expanse. Then she saw something, or someone.  Not tall or short.  Both, as though it couldn’t decide.  Always thin… spindly, inhumanly so.  Suddenly, she didn’t want the blizzard to stop.  She didn’t want the winter wind to stop blowing, because if it did, he would disappear…

Something icy seized her hand, holding it in a gentle, guiding manner and tugged slightly, and it was all she could to follow it.  Her eyes were wide, her breath uneven, unsure whether or not to be excited, frightened, peaceful, or exhilarated.  She was everything at once.  It was suddenly easy to trudge through the snow.  The terrible storm had frozen in constant motion around her.  Her very spirit was bent on remaining close to the slim man that led her through the storm, sometimes visible, sometimes not… but his icy hand never left hers, though she never saw it.

Her whole body had gone numb with the wind pounding on it, but it didn’t frighten her anymore.  She would be all right… Nothing bad could happen.  He knew what he was doing.  Her hand which held his was all pins and needles, unwilling to go numb, but unable to continue feeling.  But it didn’t matter.

At last, after what felt like a second or a century, he stopped turning to face her.  His face was pale, like ice crystals gone white as the snow.  His hair was pale and fair, almost fragile-looking like some flexible spun glass.  His top was blue as the steely winter sky, his eyes either icy sapphire or ashy silver.  She couldn’t describe them.  Something about him felt so inexplicably familiar…  He took her other hand in his long, thin one and the wind picked up, blowing gusts and torrents of air around them.  It toyed with her garments and chestnut locks, as it had all night, but for the first time she realized that it didn’t touch him.  

“Who are you?” she whispered, her voice hoarse from the cold.  He smiled down at her, too impish to be considered human and yet strangely empathetic.

“Jack,” he murmured, leaning down.  He was taller than her for now.  The wind was howling and raging, the snow and ice swirling around them in a mighty torrent.  Her face flushed, her body shivering.  She needed warmth and shelter soon but… but she couldn’t go.  Not yet…

He didn’t ask.  He didn’t need to.  Niamh never did decide who went in first.  His lips, soft and frozen at the same time, brushed against hers, tasting of ice and sweet sugar.  It was enough to stand there, their lips touching, nothing more or less…

Jack.  His name echoed in her mind again and again and again.  Jack, Jack, Jack…

Jack Frost…

Jack Winter…

Jack anything…

He eased closer and she wrapped her arms around his shoulders.  The storm had worked itself up into an impossible twister now, tame yet passionate… that was the only way to describe it.  Her feet remained on the ground, her arms around his thin, cold shoulders, his lips touching hers.  Just a simple kiss.  Nothing more or less…  Her first kiss.  Her only first kiss, her last first kiss…

He pulled away, and instinctively she did the same, staring up at him.  She had barely mouthed the words ‘Thank you’ when he smiled, as though he had already rehearsed the scenario many times. Then, his spindly, elegant form took a few steps back, fading into the white abyss of the dying blizzard.

Niamh ripped off one glove and touched her lips, feeling the frosty ice crystals that covered it, crumbling at her touch.  She was trembling again, but not from the cold.  She was beyond being touched by the winter chill…

“Niamh!” the cry echoed from nearby.  Niamh turned to see a form dashing toward her with a lantern, breaking through the white storm.  It was her sister, Marie…

She took a few steps forward, but found that she suddenly didn’t care to walk anymore.  Exhausted, expended, she collapsed on the ground, in the precious snow.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

The sweet smell of cinnamon and ham… Niamh’s nose twitched and she sat up in bed, pushing aside the antique quilt and shivering as the chill of Christmas morning hit her.  That would be mom downstairs cooking breakfast…

She should have been terribly ill, that much was obvious.  And yet, she felt fine.  Out of the corner of her eye, she caught sight of her window.  Something was etched in the morning frost, something unfamiliar, and yet she could not discern it through her curtains.  Throwing back the muslin, she saw perhaps the best thing that could have greeted her.

Aside from his usual swirls and ornate patterns, old Jack Frost had left the imprint of a long slim hand and, beside it, a kiss, etched in the thin ice.  She smiled, a comfortable chill passing through her body.  She placed one hand on the imprint left on the window, leaning forward to brush her lips against the cool glass, leaving her own kiss.  Her body heat steamed the glass from the inside, but when she pulled away, she saw her own hand and lips imprinted through the steam, touching his on the other side.

“Niamh!  Are you up?” Marie called from downstairs. “I’m coming up with soup, then you need to come down and unwrap presents.”

Niamh smiled and crept out of bed, slipping on her slippers.

“I’m coming!” she called, throwing on her robe.  Halfway to her door, she turned and smiled back at the window.  The steam had begun to fade, and her imprints were hardly visible, but judging by the wind that was blowing outside, he had seen… he knew.

“Merry Christmas, Jack,” she murmured.

~Fin~