Cornelius Frostwick's Arc

Chapter 1 of 2

Cornelius Frostwick presses his hands against the frosted window of the workshop, his breath fogging the glass as he stares at the empty velvet cases lined up on his workbench. The snow globes for the duchess aren't going to craft themselves, and his fingers itch to begin. He finds the cave tucked into a hillside, its entrance glittering with icicles that catch the pale morning light and throw it back in colors he doesn't have names for. Inside, he chips away at the crystalline formations with careful taps of his smallest chisel, collecting shards that stay frozen solid in his bare palm without numbing his skin, and he knows the duchess will see her reflection in water that never clouds. The carriage waiting outside his workshop is redder than he expected, draped in pine garland and baubles that clink when he climbs in with his finished collection cradled in his lap. His heart hammers against his ribs as the horses lurch forward, carrying him toward an estate he's only imagined, and he grips the velvet cases tighter, rehearsing his introduction under his breath while the wheels crunch through fresh snow. The abbey rises ahead through the falling snow, its stone walls pristine white and its arched windows glowing with candlelight that makes his throat go tight. He steps down from the carriage, boots sinking into the untouched drifts, and carries his collection toward those massive doors where recognition waits on the other side.