Blizzard of '68
...
Lleu was really starting to regret having sought out Jack Frost that day all those years ago. At first she'd seen no harm in it – yeah she was summer and Frost was winter, but so what? But then she'd actually found the kid and in only a matter of minutes it had been clear that her actions had been a mistake. Frost was practically melting after only being in her presence for a short time. It was a shame; Lleu thought she would have really liked the kid. But fate was cruel like that.
So she'd left, thinking that would be the end of it. She'd been wrong.
The second meeting of the two seasons that should never have mingled occurred the following year; an accident this time. Neither of them had been watching where they'd been flying and crashed into each other. Lleu had made one passing comment about Jack watching where he was going, else he hurt himself. She hadn't thought much of it at the time, but from the look on Frost's face, it had meant a lot to him. Lleu wasn't ignorant – she knew the rumours about Jack Frost. How he was hated and ignored. How he was always alone. And, like their last encounter, Jack had started to show signs of fatigue and weakness after only a few short moments. She'd come up with an excuse to leave, trying hard to ignore the disappointment on the winter spirit's face.
Lleu had tried to avoid Jack Frost – much like the other spirits did. She knew summer and winter were not supposed to mix, regardless of how emotionally painful it was. Jack would feel hated and alone, and Lleu felt guilty for being the cause of that.
But then Jack had sought her out.
Lleu had found him flying through spring (looking very much like he was trying to avoid May), his forehead slick with perspiration. It was the middle of the season; the idiot should have been waiting it out at one of the poles! If this kept up, the kid was going to end up killing himself. Or, at least, make himself very, very sick.
And as much as it pained her, Lleu knew what she had to do. It was for Jack's benefit, she kept reminding herself . But that didn't make it any easier.
"Look, Frost," she snapped, trying to sound as hostile as possible whilst silently begging the winter spirit to see through her façade. "I don't know what you thought was going on, but we're not friends." Please, please don't believe me! "You shouldn't even be here! It's spring, for crying out loud. You don't belong here. So why don't you run along to Antarctica like you're supposed to?!"
Lleu would never forgive herself for the hurt and disappointment that crossed Jack's face. It was like she'd kicked a puppy or something. But just as quickly as it had come, the look was gone, covered by a hard, closed-off glare. Good, the summer spirit told herself . Now he won't come back. It's for his own good.
"Sorry to have bothered you," was the curt reply. Without another word, Jack took off, quickly disappearing behind the cloud cover.
...
...
How could I have been so stupid?!
Jack fought back the tears that were stinging his eyes. He would not let them show. He would not let Lleu see that she'd gotten to him. He should never have assumed that the summer spirit hadn't hated him like the others. After all, he was Jack Frost – irresponsible, a nuisance, unneeded.
As he flew, the emotion inside him began to boil; all the anguish and disappointment simmering down into rage. Rage at Lleu, but mostly anger at himself.
He should have known better.
And, with the anger, came power. He could feel his winter magic building up, banging against his walls, desperate for release. With a white-knuckled grip on his staff, Jack curled in on himself, his emotions and power all coming up in the form of a heart-wrenching cry. The ice billowed around him, swirling and building as the wind caught it and tumbled it around, as if sharing in his pain. In a matter of seconds, what had simply been a release of pent up emotion had become a full-blown blizzard.
Jack watched in panic as the natural force he had created spread, covering the land below with wild snow fall. And he was powerless to stop it. Through the flurry of white, he thought he saw the silhouette of the Easter Bunny looking up at him.
Oh.
It was Easter Sunday.
Jack forced himself to look away. "Wind," he whispered. "Take me home."