The first time Icy felt the cold as anything but an extension of herself was horrid. Horrid and frightening, though she'd never admit the second, not even to herself. It nibbled at her fingers and nose unpleasantly. It chilled her entire body so intensely that it began to burn, leaving only a void of dread.

Her powers were gone and with them, her immunity to and enjoyment of the frost.

As far as she was concerned it was no one's fault but her own. In a moment of weakness, she took up a deal. There was nowhere left to run and no chance of escape, none that she had seen anyhow. She and her sisters found themselves surrounded by some of the realms strongest military personal. Among them were some familiar faces—Griffin, Faragonda, Bloom, Stella, and a couple of men from the Fortress of Light.

That time the stakes were much higher. If captured they would be stripped of their powers, for good and banished into what was being called, 'the inescapable place.' One that has supposedly been housing the Wizards of the Black Circle for some ten years now. Icy didn't particularly want to test the claim but for a good few minutes it seemed as if she didn't have much of a choice in the matter. There was a certain anxiety to that; she was used to being imprisoned, but the possibility of escape had always been fairly high up until then. The vortex gaped before them in swirling blacks, reds, and deep purples—the air coming from within was salty and high in pressure. It was Faragonda who lifted an authoritative hand and called for them to wait. Most of what the woman had said went in through one ear and out the other—something about seeing the light, having hope, and friendship—but she got the gist of it. The headmistress was offering the trio one last chance to come around before they would be tossed to the mercy of the vortex. Icy looked to Darcy and Stormy, wondering if they were even considering the ultimatum at all. Time was growing short and neither Darcy nor Stormy gave any indication of taking Faragonda up on her offer; become a fairy or take your chances in the inescapable place. Icy had figured they were waiting on her to speak up first, so she had. That was her second mistake, her first was considering the offer at all. With her acceptance on the table she had waited for Darcy and Stormy to follow in suite. But instead they scoffed and hissed. She'd expected that from Stormy. But Darcy? She had expected Darcy to be the first to take the offer. Icy tried briefly to get them to see it her way—an act that Faragonda was more than willing to let happen—but her sisters made it clear that they were sticking to their lack of values. Perhaps for the first time in her life, Icy was completely alone and completely venerable. For the faintest moment, she had considered going back on her acceptance. But Icy was a leader, not a sheep. That was her third mistake.

.oOo.

She stared up at the billowing curtains of the aurora. The others had long since called her to come inside. But she refused, she wouldn't go inside until her body accepted the cold once again. She had stripped off her gloves some minutes ago and was already feeling the sting. The frigid breeze whipping at her eyes brought about a few involuntary tears that left a frozen trail on her cheeks. A frozen trail that should never have bothered her, but did. She was shivering now, quiet violently. But she wouldn't go inside, she absolutely refused. She was an ice witch, this was supposed to be ideal weather. Her hands and cheeks were growing red with the cold and tingled unpleasantly, she knew—from years of causing it—that she had a mild case of frostbite coming on. If she didn't cover her skin soon she'd feel its full wrath and then go numb…just like any other non-ice user.

Flora held the door slightly ajar and poked her head through it. "You should really come inside now." Icy could hear the concern in her voice. She could see it on the fairy's face.

Still she remained where Icy remained where she stood, opting to take on hypothermia before accepting defeat. And even willing to die before she accepted that the ice no longer harmonized with her. From the looks of it, even Faragonda seemed alarmed—apparently she didn't want to see Icy freeze herself solid either. She should have thought about that before she ripped away everything that made Icy who she was.

"Icy, please come inside before you hurt yourself." Faragonda suggested. The woman didn't realize that Icy already had hurt herself.

To prove her persistency, she stubbornly took a seat in the snow, feeling its cold gnawing at her bare thighs. She was breathing hard, the chill that she inhaled hit her throat in all the wrong ways, prompting a few harsh coughs. That time her shivering came from both the weather and the realization that it was affecting her so terribly. She realized that she simply could not coexist with it, the winter was rejecting her and she couldn't take that rejection. She grabbed a fistful of snow and held it until it melted in her numb palm.

She felt a pair of arms slip under her shoulders.

"No!" Icy roared. "No, leave me here!" Already beaten down by the very element that had once made her strong, she was too weak to do any more than vocalize her reluctance. But whoever it was already had her on her feet and was half dragging her into Alfea.

"Thank you, Layla." She heard Faragonda mumble. "Bloom, a little warmth if you will."

"Let me go." She demanded furiously and found the strength to pry herself out of Layla's grasp. But only enough to do that. She lie face down in the snow and hoped to stay there. But Layla had her upright again and, at last, indoors.

Bloom was already prepared, her hands glowed a soft orange. The fire fairy brought her hands to Icy's own. Slowly the warmth radiated over her. She fast became angry at how embracing her body was of the heat, how it longed for it.

.oOo.

Some days after repeating that fiasco for a third time, Icy wandered outside again. An hour with a coat or fifteen without. Those were her options after that third time. Considering she'd gotten herself a lovely case of pneumonia, she almost couldn't blame them for the new restriction. All the same, she had every intention of defying it. She would take her hour with a coat on and then strip in off during the last fifteen minutes. Already, it seemed that the frigid night was biting at her fingers and ears. Somehow it didn't bother her as much that night. With no genuine way to gauge the time, she decided to remove her coat early. The frosty wind fell upon her right away, leaping at the opportunity to lick some newly bared skin.

She lowered herself to the snow and lie down, where she stared at the northern lights until they grew blinding. The furled and unfurled twisting in and out of each other. A vibrantly alluring and ethereal display of brilliant green, striking teal, and a dash of rosy pinks and purples. She could swear that they were dipping down towards her. She extended her arm, as if to touch them. Even if she could pretend, that would be enough. They came lower and lower still. For no other reason than to humor herself, she shifted her hand up and to the right. Slowly and gracefully, the lights gravitated in that direction. And then she brought her hand to the left and watched the lights move towards it. They hung there, swaying…waiting. Furrowing her brows, she tested the notion, moving her hand in a swift spiral. With lazy elegance the lights dipped and twirled.

Icy didn't quite know what to make of the spectacle. She questioned the reality of it, she'd never heard of such a thing—the ability to move the auroras. She reversed the spiral. With her mind pleasantly absent, she idly flicked the lights from side to side for a while.

She could sense that she had company; a few sets of eyes, watching her toy with winter's curtains. It mattered not, she was going to have her moment. She held her arm still. For a moment, nothing happened at all and then the lights drooped further down until they reached her fingertips. They swirled down her fingers and palm and around her wrists, as something strangely tangible but airy all the same.

The feeling was foreign, indescribable. She didn't know how to use the auroras or what she'd use them for. But she knew with certainty that in their presence, the cold was beginning to feel inviting again.