Sitting on a huge branch, Jack Frost stared at the darkening sky, the stars slowly revealing itself.
On that small and remote village, the winter seemed to never end. Snow always covered the ground, house roofs, cars, plants and the people themselves. It was like a gentle hungry monster who longed for deposit its whitish claws on whatever was in its path, swallowing anything existent around, leaving behind a trail of icy winds. Jack particularly loved that place. It made him remember his own home.
The boy gazed at the huge moon, for a short moment holding his breath.
Jack knew that the Man in Moon probably would not answer his questions; he had tried so many times... For greater it was his hope, the only response that came in his ears was the silence. Deep, sharp, solitary silence, and once more the spirit of winter found himself clenching his fists in frustration, however... The man who inhabited the moon was the only one who could and wanted to see him.
Jack, unconsciously, had affectionate to the being that he not even knew if existed, feeding an illusion that someone in the world recognized his existence, because during countless and eternal years the boy had tried everything. Being good and helping people, being bad and doing numerous pranks, even behaving like someone neutral; Jack had tried with all forces, spent his energy, time and patience, but nobody saw, nobody believed.
The boy shifted in his seat, leaning toward the sky, wondering once more the reason of his life.
The moon glowed a little stronger, but as Jack imagined no answer came. No whisper, not even a sign.
The boy put the hood of his jacket, holding the rod closer to himself, looking for some comfort. It was in such moments that memories used to travel through his mind, reminiscences that Jack did not know and could not recognize.
Like an old movie in black and white, quiet, almost motionless. Were just cut and extremely short scenes, images that danced for a few seconds in Jack Frost's mind, bringing feelings that until then were unknown, but that apparently has always had been part of the boy.
The winter spirit settled on the branch of the huge tree, sighing low, trying to get rid of the recent pictures that were painted on his conscience, after all, they meant nothing. At least that's what the boy thought.
Jack closed his eyes and concentrated, trying to rest a little and, perhaps, fall into the arms of sleep.
Snowy day. The kids loved it.
It was snowmen on the sidewalks, throw snowballs against neighbors, ski on hills and fun, but on that year in particular, Jack Frost had never felt so alive.
The blizzard on Easter was a spectacle.
Avalanches of snow had covered the fields, towns and anywhere else that chocolate eggs could be hidden. Children even gave up from going to look for them!
Jack was proud of his work, not for ruining the Easter, but to have got attention.
People talked about the snow, some even had said his name: "it was Jack Frost", they were finally remembering the little winter spirit, but more than that, they knew his name!
A huge smile played on the lips of the icy boy, and when Bunnymund threatened him, stating that he would no longer tolerate jokes at Easter, Jack felt his chest fill with warmth. The feeling of being recognized by someone who was also a magic being.
The boy knew that he had got attention in a negative way, but he could not tolerate anymore staying hidden in the shadows of oblivion. Jack wanted to feel believed. It was what he wanted the most and what his heart desired.
Hidden amongst the gloom of night, the Nightmare King walked through the streets of a city recently covered in snow. He sought dreams, eager to transform the happiness of innocent children in terrible nightmares and feed himself out of their fears and despair.
Pitch knew that everything had been Jack Frost work, the snow, the ruined Easter. Internally the boogie man had fun with the situation. All that harmed the guardians was a joy for him.
However, every time when his thoughts were focused on Jack something inside him writhed. It was like the remnant of a memory long ago erased that insisted to return, reminiscences of a past life that rested on the back of his mind.
And when Pitch tried to remember the shadows within him moved slowly, painfully, climbing through his body, curling up in his mind, suffocating even more the fragile memories.
Finally the king of nightmares contented himself with the idea that Jack Frost was merely a naughty winter spirit. Someone who was not worth remembering.
Pitch plunged in some children rooms, plucking beautiful nightmares, feeling increasingly powerful. Soon his plan could be put into action, soon the dark ages would return to reign on Earth.