𝐅𝐑𝐎𝐒𝐓𝐁𝐈𝐓𝐄.
❝ the ice that surrounds
his fingertips
is still everything that
makes his heart. ❞
𝐅𝐀𝐍𝐅𝐈𝐂𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍
𝐅𝐀𝐍𝐓𝐀𝐒𝐘 - 𝐉𝐀𝐂𝐊 𝐅𝐑𝐎𝐒𝐓
𝐂𝐎𝐕𝐄𝐑 𝐌𝐀𝐃𝐄 𝐁𝐘 @𝐩𝐞𝐩𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐨𝐧𝐲𝐬
this book sucks, i wrote it wh...
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𝐄𝐏𝐈𝐋𝐎𝐆𝐔𝐄 —𝚗𝚘𝚟𝚎𝚖𝚋𝚎𝚛 𝟷𝟺—
𝐌𝐄𝐋𝐎𝐃𝐘𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐒𝐇𝐄𝐑home after a long morning walk in the summer air, fanning her sweating face with her hands. "Mother, have you gotten the mail for today?" She runs her fingers through her blonde hair, moving to stand in front of the air conditioner for a short moment.
"No, dear, I haven't," her mother replies smoothly from the kitchen. "I knew you'd want to do it when you returned."
Melody didn't take another breath as she turned right back around and made her way down the gravel road. On her way, she couldn't help but hope for a letter from the library; one that would announce the arrival of her new books.
She glances around her, before opening the mailbox, and hoping like always. And, to her utter happiness, there was a letter for her, with a package that read her name, too. But it wasn't from the library. It was from Clark.
"'For your desire of reading books.'" Melody read the small letter aloud, smiling to herself as she clutched the package. She flipped through the other mail, before making her way back home.
But as she began her walk, her cheeks flushed from the hot sun above, something caught her eye. In the Snow Peak Mountains— now changed to the Peak Mountains, due to the sudden weather change— not too far off, there was a blossoming tree that rustled. She squinted to look closer, her eyes gazing at the peak of the mountains.
And, to her dismay, the movement had stopped.
That was peculiar.
But then again, this morning she had woken up to find a swirling pattern of blue etched into her arm, which looked something like a tattoo. She had asked her mother about it, but to no avail; there wasn't a clear answer for it, so the girl simply shrugged it off.
She shrugged off the unusual feeling that grew inside her chest, and continued her walk home. Her feet no longer crunched in the snow below her, a soothing and familiar sound that Melody had loved for her whole life. Now, there was only grass and soil, and the scent of fresh flowers.
Perhaps that rustle had been nothing but an animal, or the wind winding through the bushels. And perhaps that day, as she had saw something in the mountains, it was an old friend of hers; one that would forever come back to check on her.
