Winter Whimsical
By Serena Mossgraves
Ever wonder where snowflakes come from? The faeries have a history for all of the first events, even the first snowflake. History has a mischevious little frost faery making much of what is now winter standard.
She was created from the ice that ran down the mountainside. No other was like her, as winter was quite the desolate time. Dreary cold and ice had everyone else just hiding inside.
She was named Snow after the mountain ice she came from. Oh the mountain snow was beautiful, just didn’t have the individuality we know today. The faery was gorgeous, tiny with skin like porcelin, eyes of the clearest blue. She was stunning to behold.
Snow was unlike any of her kind who had been made before. Most frost faerys were cold in nature, purposeful and driven to do what frost does…Snow was not.
She was whimsical, and enjoyed fun things. She was creative, with a mischevious streak. This led her to get in a lot of trouble with the other fae.
Snow would lay traps, build statues from ice, and generally do things to have fun. Nothing harmful, just all in fun. She found the snow too hard to use in her jokes, so she looked for a way to soften it. She wanted to throw it at people, in balls to see the look on their faces.
At first she tried to heat it, hoping it would soften. To her dismay, the ice melted, creating a slush that only got in the way. She decided that the heat was not what she needed, but was not sure what she did need.
Next, in her search, Snow thought perhaps a hammer! Let us shatter the ice to make it softer!
The snow shattered, but it was sharper and made it more difficult to use for her pranks. She didn’t want to hurt anyone after all. She needed to find a way to soften it so she could throw it easily. She searched feverishly for a way to work out this problem.
Snow tried using magic, and found that the snow went white, and opaque. Though she found it to be more lovely, it was still too hard. She tried to use an axe, to find it did the same as a hammer.
Frustrated, Snow sought out the wise owl of the forest for advice. She wanted to see if he could solve the dilemma that she faced. She was determined that she must find a way to soften the snow.
She felt desperation, and it confused her. Faeries were rarely desperate. Nature kept faeries doing what they were born to do. Snow was an aberration. She was a frost faerie with a warm personality and a Whimsical sense of humor.
Not that being an aberration was really bad. It meant that she was unique, and special. Though each faerie was unique, so many were so similar that being this different was enough to create a feeling in her of being alone.
The trip to the great owl was a scary one. Snow was small, and everything around the forest was so overpoweringly big. His home was in the great oak in the center of the forest, where even the sun had trouble being seen.
All of the faeries knew that the old owl was great and wise. He was ancient like the trees he lived in. His feathers were all gray with the years he had lived.
Faeries lived short little lives, so many did not understand age, nor the wisdom that went with. Snow understood that the owl knew things she could not. He would, she hoped, be able to tell her how to make the snow soft. She wanted to throw it.
She thought it might be fun to play in. Snow felt like the faeries were too serious. None of the other frost faeries seemed to want to play. She felt like she could bring joy by teaching them how to play.
For such a young faery Snow had a definite ideals about what was good and bad in the world around her. She saw it as a reason to be silly.
The owl was walking onto the outside branch of his home as Snow flew up. He ruffled his feathers as he settled onto the branch. Seeing the excitement in the young faery, he knew his hunt for the night would be postponed for a while.
“Who are you? And why are you here?” He hooted at her.
Snow did an overbalanced curtsy that nearly had her falling from the tree. After she caught herself and got situated on the branch, she answered the severe old owl.
“I seek your wisdom, Old master owl. I am the frost faery named Snow. I want to use the snow for fun and for play. I have tried to soften it in multiple ways. Heat only made a slush, which wasn’t fun with which to play. Hammers sharpened it, cutting anything that touches it. All then becoming too uncomfortable with which to play. I tried my magic, without hesitation or delay. It colored white, and appeared quite opaque. Still, too hard with which to form and play. Please, master owl, what advice have you?”
The Owl studiously fixed the young faery with a glare. Watching as she squirmed he answered with a knowledgeable air.
“Your magic you tried, on the outside it’s true. Try it again on the inside won’t you? Add little holes throughout the solid snow, and then I think you will find it soft enough indeed.”
With that statement, he flew off into the night. Quickly Snow found that he was nowhere in sight.
Stunned, she stammered to herself. “Magic the inside, indeed. I should have thought of that all by myself. The old owl’s wisdom that was rumored has been proven true.” With that thought, Snow flew off herself. To the mountain she flew, high into the clouds. She settled herself where the snow she was named for lay about the ground.
Snow cast her magic, to poke little holes. The white ice shattered into flakes of soft and white. Making it perfect to have a snowball fight. She taught the faeries winter play, and is the reason for the snowflakes that we see today.
Pattimouse 