WARNING: badly written but a rewrite is up on my page
WORTH | When Lorna Jackson's brother is missing, she tries looking for him. But instead, she finds someone who will change her life for the better.
❝ So what is your type? ❞
❝...
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10. Snow Princess
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Lorna hoped that hanging out with Cal the hockey jock wouldn't make Leo lose any more braincells. As they climbed the icy staircase, Zethes stayed behind them, his blade drawn. The guy might've looked like a discoera reject, but there was nothing funny about his sword. Lorna figured one hit from that thing would probably turn him into a Popsicle. Then there was the ice princess. Every once in a while she'd turn and give Jason a smile, but there was no warmth in her expression.
Suprisingly, Jason took Lorna's hand. She raised her eyebrows, but she didn't let go. She had done it many times too, when she needed the assurance that she wasn't alone.
"It'll be fine," she promised. "Just a talk, right?"
At the top of the stairs, the ice princess looked back and noticed them holding hands. Her smile faded. Suddenly Jason's hand in Lorna's turned ice cold—burning cold. She let go, and her fingers were smoking with frost. So were Jason's.
"Ouch. What the crap?" Lorna exclaimed.
"Warmth is not a good idea here," the princess advised, "especially when I am your best chance of staying alive. Please, this way."
They followed the princess down a massive hallway decked in frosty tapestries. Freezing winds blew back and forth. Lorna looked at Jason. He was deep in thought, his eyebrows furrowed, his lips in a frown.
"Hey." Lorna touched his arm. "You still with me?"
"Yeah ... yeah, sorry."
The princess turned. Her brown eyes glittered.
"This is the throne room," she said. "Be on your best behavior, Jason Grace. My father can be ... chilly. I will translate for you, and try to encourage him to hear you out. I do hope he spares you. We could have such fun."
Lorna guessed this girl's definition of fun was not the same as hers.
"Um, okay," he managed. "But really, we're just here for a little talk. We'll be leaving right afterward."
The girl smiled. "I love heroes. So blissfully ignorant."
Piper rested her hand on her dagger. "Well, how about you enlighten us? You say you're going to translate for us, and we don't even know who you are. What's your name?"
The girl sniffed with distaste. "I suppose I shouldn't be surprised you don't recognize me. Even in the ancient times the Greeks did not know me well. Their island homes were too warm, too far from my domain. I am Khione, daughter of Boreas, goddess of snow."
She stirred the air with her finger, and a miniature blizzard swirled around her—big, fluffy flakes as soft as cotton.
"Now, come," Khione said. The oaken doors blew open, and cold blue light spilled out of the room. "Hopefully you will survive your little talk
