Frozen

He stared at her from across the room. In between them, the evidence was like a slap in the face. His horrified face told her everything she had feared. The large cauldron on the left side of the room was resting over a roaring fire, spitting liquid every few seconds. The smell coming from the cauldron wasn’t unpleasant, but he still lifted his nose in disgust. The table in between them was lined with knives, bowls, animal parts, herbs, candles and plants. The pestle was frozen in her hand, the mortar forgotten as her eyes widened at his presence. Her eyes briefly flickered to the book closest to her right hand and quickly back to him; this motion didn’t go unnoticed by him.

“I did not want to believe their lies…” he started.

“You should not have come here, Peter,” she said calmly. She set the pestle down on the table and brushed her hands off on her skirt. She casually reached with her right hand to shut the book to keep his prying eyes from seeing what was written inside.

“I had to see for myself,” he defended, reaching blindly behind him to shut the door from the harsh winter weather. “I needed to make my own judgment, Rose.”

“Well, you have seen all now. What is your judgment?” He winced at her words. He’d never seen her act this cold towards him.

He knew she was mad because he had come here; her cottage was off-limits to everyone. Of course, her house that she had in the village was open… welcoming, even. Her door was never locked, she always was available to help others if they were sick or wounded with an herbal recipe. The cottage nestled in the woods, however, was a different story. She and her mother came here rarely, or so everyone thought, to gather herbs, make her special pastes, powders, and antidotes, but when she did come here it was forbidden that anyone come with her. It wasn’t her rule, just a rule in general. People were frightened of the forest, and with good authority. Bad things happen in the woods. There were dares in the younger kids to see how close they could get to the forest, with the older kids it was who could go the farthest in the woods. The one who held the record, Simon, had only gone fifty yards into the forest; none had dared to go further.

The villagers didn’t mind Rosaline, not in the least. She was very well liked, sought-after for her healing ways and for her good looks. Her black-blue hair spilled in curls down her back, well past her waist, always loose unless tied back with ribbon to do her work. Her skin was as white as the snow that fell all over Mayore; unblemished and constant white, even when one thought she would blush. Some found that envious, others thought it was devilish; everyone should blush. Her piercing white-blue eyes were wide, outlined by sooty black lashes that overlooked a pert nose that pointed slightly at the tip. That dainty nose led down to her full, luscious pale-pink lips.

She had rebuffed suitors all the time. The never-ending flow of males wanting to take her as a wife had tired her. She increasingly became annoyed with them because they were not the one she wanted. Peter was as mysterious –looking as they came. His blacker-than-night hair fell in wavy locks framing his face; dark blue eyes were always asking for secrets but never revealing any of their own. She had been attracted to him since she was a young girl in Mayore.

They had been friends, wreaking havoc on the village, until one day they both stopped. It was strange, as Rosaline looked back on that day. The day they met up to go through with the plan they had in store for the blacksmith… and neither of them wanted to do it. It was as if they suddenly became aware of each other for the first time. That was the last time they had met under those circumstances. Rosaline knew what was expected of her; Peter knew what was expected of him. They were to find mates, have families, and live peacefully. What Rosaline didn’t expect, however, was to fall for him.

“My judgment does not matter, Rose,” Peter said quietly.

“It matters to me. Do you think me a witch?”

“No, I do not think you a witch, but you know I must tell them.”

“You don’t have, to, though, Peter. You can leave it be and leave well enough alone.”

“You know I cannot.”

Tears welled up in her eyes as she watched her beloved fiancée shake his head at her. “Peter, please.”

He listened to her beg for him not to say anything. He’d always been brought up to do the right thing and now he was torn. He could do the right thing for the girl he loved, or he could do the right thing for the town and tell them she was indeed a witch.

There had always been talk before if she was a witch or not. The people always whispered about her and her mother as they walked by, with their herbs and alabaster skin that never changed, and the cottage they crept up to every once in a while. He knew that he would be the town hero for outing her. With the fear that the villagers already had of the forest, their fears would be put to rest.

“I’m sorry, Rose.”

She watched him shut the door as he walked out. She ran from behind the table and called out for him out the door. She stood there as the snow fell, blanketing the ground in a silvery-white.

Her mother came down the steps then.

“What was that about, Rose?”

She whirled around, tears brimming the ice blue eyes of hers. “He knows. He knows about us and he’s going to tell them.”

“Don’t worry, dear. We’ll figure it out,” her mother said, and they stood at the table together.

Rosaline glanced at her mother. She looked somewhat like her mother; the same hair color and skin, but her eyes were from her grandmother. Her mother wasn’t a witch; it had skipped a generation, something that Rosaline wasn’t sure if she was thankful for or regretted. Sure, she knew about the magick, but she couldn’t practice it. She was the one who taught Rosaline about the herbs and healing poultices.

They worked into the night, preparing things for the next day. Soon, they both grew weary, and retired upstairs to bed.

It was two hours after they had both fallen asleep when the attack came. Rosaline was ripped from her bed, bound and gagged, and as she was taken downstairs, she saw her mother was being treated the same. She became angry, then, knowing her mother didn’t deserve any of this treatment and struggled against her bindings.

They were thrown into a cart like wheat sacks and carted back to town. When her mother was lifted from the cart and thrown on the ground, Rosaline struggled more. She fought against her bindings until she saw it. Sitting in the middle of town, was a huge erected stage of sorts. Two huge beams stood in the middle, and all around, pyre was leaned against it.

They meant to burn them.

Rose struggled even harder, tears falling from her eyes as she watched her mother being pulled from the cart. The villagers made them both walk up the steps and stand still as they tied the two women to the huge poles.

“Please, don’t do this,” she whispered to the man tying her. She recognized him as the blacksmith’s son. She’d cured his cold not too long ago.

“I’m sorry, Rose,” he whispered and moved away.

“Rose,” she heard and she turned to see her mother looking at her.

“Rose, you must say the spell,” her mother furiously whispered.

“Are you going to do the same?” Rose asked.

“Yes, my child. Repeat it, over and over," her mother said, even though she knew she couldn't perform magic.

Rose’s eyes scanned the crowd. She locked gazes with Peter just as they set fire to the pyre below her feet. She saw him look away and she began to chant. Her body instantly grew completely cold and she felt everything start to freeze.

She continued chanting, and looked down to see the tops of her feet and ankles were turning pale blue. The spell was working, so she continued as the ice blue color travelled up her legs and into the rest of her body.

A scream broke her concentration and she looked to her right to see her mother’s skirt was on fire. The flames licked at her mother’s back and soon, her mother’s screams were of sheer agony. Closing her eyes to the horror before her, she repeated the words in her head, wishing they would work faster.

The tears fell down her face as her mother’s screams grew louder until it sounded as if she were screaming in her ear. After long, agonizing minutes, her mother began to sob, the screaming still coming from her lips. Rosaline struggled against her bindings as she tried to get free. She felt the bite of the rope into her wrists and ankles and soon after felt the trickle of blood down her hands.

The minutes turned into an hour and her mother’s voice had given out from the amount of screaming. The hoarse sobs, apologizing to Rosaline about how she’d failed her and the final prayer rang through Rosaline’s ears as she felt anger bubbling to her surface.

Her eyes scanned the crowd. Everyone was staring at the two with shock and amazement. Her mother’s voice was dying yet there she stood untouched. The whispers started then about her being a witch. A pair of emerald green eyes stood out from the rest, seemingly mocking her but her gaze was ripped from those eyes as her mother called her name.

Rose turned her head to see her mother’s scarred and barely-there face turned slightly towards her. With a last whisper of love, she watched the life fade from her mother’s body and she screamed out in agony and rage.

She lifted her tear-filled eyes and they landed on Peter. The one who’d betrayed her and caused all of this. She stared at him for what felt like an eternity before he finally turned and walked away. Anger coursed through her even more and the words rang out in her head before she could stop them.

The ropes fell away from her wrists and ankles and she was free to move from the pole she was bound to. She heard the shock and awe of the witnesses as they watched her move aimlessly around the podium unaffected by the fire.

As she gazed out to the people, she noticed something starting to happen. The fire below her was dying out, fading as if it had suddenly become too cold for the fire to continue. She felt a tingle in her hand and saw the light blue of the cold that she had brought earlier become more pronounced.

A scream from the crowd brought her out of her own thoughts and she realized she’d been pointing at one person. All around the man, the villagers were moving away as to get out of harm’s way. The man she’d been pointing at was frozen in place, his legs becoming huge blocks of ice preventing him from moving. The ice traveled up his body until the top of his head was fully encased in solid ice.

A voice rang out over the crowd, but it seemed as if she was the only one that could hear it.

“You wanted ice to save you from the fire, and so you shall have it. The ice will forever rule you, Rosaline. Anything you love will become frozen from now on. Your salvation will now be your curse. You will no longer feel anything except the burst of ice that you so deserve.”

All around her screams resonated from the villagers as blocks of ice consumed them. Rosaline watched with helplessness as the villagers who she’d come to love, that had turned on her, now became nothing but ice blue statues, forever frozen in place.

She moved to where her mother’s remains were still smoldering and she said a silent prayer before letting a tear slip down her cheek. She felt it forming on her face and lifted a hand only to come away with a snowflake. Looking at her arm, she realized her pale arm was becoming blue-tinted. She felt her entire body lose heat as the ice flew through her bloodstream. She moved from the rising and to the nearest window.

Her once bright red lips were now a pale blue, and her sooty ashes were now covered with white and tipped with ice. Her blue eyes and her raven black hair were the same; the only memory of her previous appearance.

She moved with speed towards her grandmother’s cottage, looking for comfort and warmth there. When she arrived, she saw that smoke no longer rose from the chimney and a sob escaped her lips. By the steps, Peter was standing there, looking at her.

“Peter…”

“Rose…I’m sorry—” he managed before his lips no longer worked.

She cried out and moved to him, but it was too late. His body had seized and he was frozen in his place.

She looked to the sky as a new snow started to fall and the words resonated within her.

“The ice will forever rule you, Rosaline.”