Chioniphobia

Galaxy

Jack enjoyed stargazing.

Over three hundred years, Jack Frost had memorized the name and location of every constellation, including a few he'd made up. He'd kept relatively up to date on all the latest space discoveries, and had always of the firm opinion that Pluto was a planet, regardless of its "classification." He even had a stargazing spot- a cliff several miles outside of Burgess. It was an isolated place, undisturbed by either hikers or stray animals.

So when he flew up there to find the Grim Reaper staring up at the night sky, Jack was simultaneously startled and annoyed.

Grim was stretched out on the frosted grass, hands behind her head as she studied the stars. Her eyes flickered over to him when he landed next to her, but otherwise she remained still.

"Hey," he said.

She didn't reply.

"Um...not to be rude, but this is kind of my spot," Jack remarked, somewhat petulant.

Grim turned her head, smirking. "If it's kind of your spot, could it be kind of my spot as well?"

Jack sighed. "I'd really like to be alone here."

Grim shrugged, sitting up. "Far be it for me to stay where I'm not wanted."

"It's not you, if that makes you feel better," Jack offered. "I just do this kind of thing alone."

"Oh, I understand, darling. Pray forgive my intrusion," she replied, standing and smoothing her skirts. "Should you be in want of some company that isn't the Guardians, feel free to intrude my apartment whenever you like."

Jack squinted. "You have an apartment?"

"Mm. Not everyone can have a palace or warren, as you well know. You seem a bit much of a free spirit to tie yourself down to a base of operations, but if you need a place to lay your head, I have a sleeping bag and spare blankets in the closet. Then again, perhaps you'd have more need of my electric fan than my fleeces."

Jack stuck his hands in his pocket. "Eh, I'm fine with heat. It's not like it makes me melt or anything. I mean, I'm not fireproof, but neither are the other Guardians."

Grim plucked some stray blades of grass off her robes and twirled them in her fingers thoughtfully. "Very few people are fireproof, darling. Even those like us."

The grass in her hand burst into flame.

Jack jumped back, startled at the sudden flash of fire. "Whoa!"

Grim cackled, tossing aside the still-flaming grass. "Fun party trick, isn't it?"

The Guardian of Fun examined where the grass had landed critically. "Your hair's on fire."

"Wouldn't be the first time, love. It's not as if it can kill me."

Jack waved the end of his staff over the flames. The light coat of frost melted in a cloud of steam as the fire went out.

"You take getting set on fire way too lightly," he commented.

"Is that so? Perhaps you're just taking it too seriously."

Jack grinned. "Maybe. I'd rather not be on fire, though. Personal preference."

Grim's gaze followed the cloud of steam as it dissipated. Her expression turned thoughtful.

"Have you ever put ice on a wound?" she inquired.

Jack traced circles on the ground, creating frozen puddles. "Yeah. Got my fair share of bumps and bruises when I was first learning how to fly, so having ice powers came in handy."

Grim smiled sympathetically. "I wouldn't have minded having such abilities when I was still figuring out flying."

He blinked. "Say what now?"

She turned, sweeping her hair over her shoulders, and Jack saw her robes part to reveal her back. There lay two scars, long shallow grooves carved in between the sharp blades of her shoulders, gray against the white of the rest of her skin.

"I don't have wings anymore, but I did," she explained.

Jack took a step back, then forward, then forward again. "What-?"

"It was a human," she said, her words suddenly rushed, as if she were afraid they would choke her if she didn't spit them out fast enough. "None of our kind could have clipped my wings forever. Only mortals are capable of changing us in this way permanently."

He drew in a sharp breath. "I'm human."

Her laugh wasn't bitter, but it was close to being so. "Not anymore, darling."

He stared at the hollow spaces where once wings had been set.

"Why are you showing me this?"

She glanced over her shoulder, eyes downcast. "If it's not too much trouble, could you ice a lady's old wounds? Lying on my back is murder, but I can hardly see the stars with my face in the grass."

Jack reached up, fingers hovering over her spine.

Her skin was cold. Jack was used to the cold, desensitized to it, but her skin burned with it. He was startled by it, enough so that he jerked his hand back as if from a hot stove, but his frost had already formed, was already spreading over her skin so that there was an icy film over her scars.

She let her hair spill back over her shoulders, hiding the scars.

"Thank you, dear."

Jack opened his mouth, and she vanished, leaving him with words stillborn on his tongue.