Mothers of Enchantment by Kate Wolford

Author:Kate Wolford [Wolford, Kate]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: fairy tale retellings; modern fairy tales; Cinderella; feminist fairy tales; fairy godmothers; fairy stories
Publisher: World Weaver Press
Published: 2022-04-19T06:00:00+00:00

Forgetful Frost

by Vivica Reeves

He always remembered… something. Which was odd because he did not remember much. He had been walking alone for so long, and so far, he forgot who he was. He forgot how he came to be. He forgot why he was alone. The little he did know, the call of the frost and death’s unchanging selfish ways, did not bring him any comfort. The emptiness of his forgetfulness terrified him. If it did not stop, it would consume him.

Though when he tried to remember, pain and anguish weighed heavily in him. His back hunched over, succumbing to the weight. For a moment, there would be relief as he let his crystal staff support him. That relief would quickly break with a resounding crack from his staff as he fell to the ground. Full of anger, confusion, and hurt, broken on the ground, he would roar. The wind joined him as if it could ease his pain. It only added to the never-ending cold that pierced his skin. He roared, and roared, and roared. The feelings, the pain, did not end.

Until he stopped trying to remember. Then he would be numb to the cutting cold that crawled from him. He would not care about the choked cries that froze around him. The emptiness would be so close to consuming him. Yet, his terror would be gone. Replaced with a weariness that froze him. It dragged him to his knees, the crystal staff in his hands useless and lifeless. Just like the heart in his chest. It was in those times, Spring in her splendor and beauty would shimmer before him.

“Morozko, King of the Frost.”

A name he did not remember, but he answered to it. Though he knew it was not his name. Just as he knew the call of frost. Just as he knew that Spring needed him. Just as he knew that he needed her to continue their dance. Whatever his name was before he woke up in frost, he knew not.

“I have need of you.”

Name or not, their dance continued. Slowly, his weariness would melt away in her presence. He would give a nod. With sad, familiar bluebell eyes that awakened the nerves in his cold piercing skin, Spring would ask him to go. Go to this village, preserve these plants, then keep going, and he would. He could never refuse her, just as he could never fully forget the pain and that she never stayed. She never came close to him. She would only request his help and leave. It hurt and left him colder than before; still, they would continue their dance.

Things changed when Spring came and walked with him. She stepped close to him. She changed their dance. For there was no need for her at that moment. He could keep walking, the pain of remembering having not broken him yet. Still, here she stood. It was not their dance, their routine. So, he ignored her and listened to the frost’s song. Still, she continued with him and waited for his response.

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