frostbite → JACK FROST ✓

t w o

The familiar librarian, Alana Fields, sits at her large desk, one of which she keeps stacked with book reports, category stickers, bookmarks, and scattered sheets of listed books that were kept in the library.

Alana was strange to most people; a girl that didn't make sense. Why spend your life in a quiet building alone when you could converse with friends? Why waste precious moments expanding the library when you could find a useful job? But to Melody, Alana had the best job that anyone could ever ask for.

To the townspeople, it wasn't surprising that Melody longed for such a depressing and useless job. To them, she was just another Alana Fields. But Melody had constantly dreamed of being a librarian, and envied Alana. After all, reading was basically everything Melody ever did.

"Alana?" Melody asked quietly, her eyes grazing over the librarian who was scribbling on a piece of paper.

Alana looked up at once, placing down her pen. The older girl adjusted her glasses, before giving Melody a sweet smile— one of which she oftenly offered to her favorite visitors.

"Hello, Melody," Alana said cheerfully, her dimples showing on her flushed cheeks. "What can I help you with today?"

"I was actually looking for more information on a . . . well, a myth," Melody clears her throat, stepping up in front of Alana's cluttered desk.

"Oh, my favorite!" Alana chimes, jumping to her feet. "Which one were you interested in?"

"The Tale of Frost," Melody says clearly, watching as Alana's eyes light up.

"Well, you've come to the right place, Mel," Alana gestures for her to sit. "I've got just the thing."

She disappears in the row of books that sit behind her desk, balantly rushing around. Melody silently sits down in a chair as Alana reappears, holding a stack of what looked to be newer books.

"I've actually just gotten a series of these books," Alana says, pushing her glasses farther onto her nose. "A new shipment from across the Peak. It took a few weeks because of the high demand, but they got here."

"Is this an old story?" Melody asks, looking over the cover of the book that Alana handed to her. She places down her book from Clark, skimming the pages of the one in her hands.

"Nope," Alana replies, taking a seat at her desk across from Melody. "I'm surprised you haven't asked about them before. I suppose it was only supposed to have happened a few years back."

"But I thought it was always snowing in Westbrooke," Melody glances up from the book, an eyebrow cocked in confusion,

"It's a myth, Mel," Alana chuckles, opening up a book, and setting the others aside. "And besides, that's a part of the story anyway. Says it at the end of that book, page seventy-six, I believe . . . "

Melody flipped to the page, before reading its contents out loud.

"'A tragic spell— or curse, told by some— was then set upon the small town of Westbrooke, to erase their memories of the days without snow. Only then would they not think of the myth to be true; as their minds would decieve them.'"

"See?"

Melody shakes her head, releasing a small sigh. Why had she believed it was true? Beyond her disappointment, she wanted to learn more.