The Frozen Queen

High up on a snowy mountain, the Queen sits upon her throne.

Within the frozen halls of her palace of ice, she stares out the panoramic windows, out across the lands. Her cold, azure eyes gleaming with frigid malice.

Years have passed since she had used her spiteful magic to cast the land into its frozen prison, yet she has not seemed to have aged even a single day. Such was the power of the malevolence within her heart; enough to stop the world under her icy spell.

Now, she spends her days sitting atop her ice-encrusted throne, thinking only of how to exact her revenge upon the one who had crossed her so long ago.

Oh, no, the hateful ice curse she had cast upon the world was not her final act of revenge, merely only a way to give herself time to conjure an even more malicious plan.

Each day she rises from her chilly bedchamber, a beautiful, deadly storm, and stalks her way to the throne room to sit and contemplate in a fury, the same as the day before.

Each day brings countless plans and schemes that come close to the mark, but each day ends with her screeching in frustration at not be able to come up with a suitable plot which matches her cold, vengeful heart, as she stomps off to sleep a listless sleep.

Though, as she slumbers, she dreams, not of the ice and cold into which she has plunged the world, but lush, green valleys on warm summer evenings.

Strolling through the fields of pastel-coloured flowers that glowing fireflies light as they float from one petal to the next, casting their bluish glow along the winding valley in the late summer eve.

It is during these fleeting dreams that the Queen’s magic wanes ever so slightly, and for those brief moments in the night, her icy grip slips and the world thaws just a little.

Never completely, but over the years, the people and places held in their place, suspended in ice, have been coming slowly back to life.

I have been coming slowly back to life.

Such sweet, promising dreams however, always end abruptly with the sun’s piercing light, shining into the Queen’s bedchamber and flooding her light-hearted subconscious with harsh memories of the infringement maligned against her. 

Thus, she awakes with malice renewed and the world is frozen once again, cutting off any hope of escaping her icy hold.

Yet, I bide my time, having no other choice but to.

Each night, I stand watch where she left me, like a sentry statue in the corner our bedchambers, encased within the magical ice that slowly melts away a little more with each of her fanciful dreams.

Each night I too stand and stare, pondering on what wrong act I could have possibly committed to turn my Queen’s so cold against her husband and plunge the world into its deep, frozen sleep.