Jack couldn’t believe that he had hit rock bottom so hard and so suddenly.
The lost spirit was hidden away in a snowy wood. The wind, ice, and snow was so bitter that even in a parka, the most cold-resistant person would shiver without control. Even the spirit of winter himself was shuddering, his teeth chattering. That could have been because of the blood that was freezing to his pale arm, though. It could have been because frost was collecting at the open slices he had created with the red-tinted icicle in his hand.
Jack’s cheeks were sparkling with frozen tears and his skin looked more blue than pale pink. Out of pain and weakness, he leaned back against a frost covered tree and shut his eyes, pulling his sleeve over his torn up arm. He dropped the rod of ice and let his hand fall. There were small drops of blood visible in the snow around him.
It was all right, though. Jack knew he was alone. Alone like he was meant to be. No one would find him. No one would have to see him so utterly helpless. No one would see his blood stain the magnificent snow.
Everything was fine.