Frost Nightshade's Arc

Chapter 3 of 4

Frost knelt with the iced scarf still pressed to her chest. Then a low groan split the air. The stone arch behind her shuddered. A seam of light cut down its middle, sharp and white. The boundary was not fully sealed yet. It was cracking open one last time. She scrambled to her feet and ran. Beyond the arch, through the widening seam, she saw a small glass chapel on the mortal side. Its frosted panes glowed soft gold in the dusk. And there, framed in the chapel's lit doorway, stood her mortal. He was turning back. He had heard the sound too. Frost pressed her hands to the gap. The cold stone bit her palms. "Say it," she whispered. "Please. Say my name." But her voice would not carry. The gap was already narrowing. Seconds. She had seconds. She did the only thing left. She shoved the scarf through the closing seam. The wool tore. Snowflakes scattered. The scarf landed at his feet on the mortal side. He bent. He picked it up. His mouth moved, shaping a word she could not hear. The arch slammed shut. The light died. A nearby ice statue of a fairy split clean down its middle, cracked by the force of the seal. Frost stood alone in the silence, her blue fingertips numb against the stone. But he had seen her. He had the scarf. He knew, now, that she had come.