hi yup im doing this

The Frost spread over everything.

White, barren, cold. That was all that was left in its wake.

Like a colossal monster of silent destruction, it roamed.

Roamed and prowled, stealing away the warmth and candle lights, sucking away the life of the land. Too unknowable, as opposite the sharp bursts of licking flame, as a sly thief to a bold, chivalrous knight.

Only, a thief would revel in the satisfaction of his deeds. But The Frost knows no such thing. It takes and eats and bears down on the helpless with nothing but a cold ruthless stare. Nothing is spared and none can escape.

This is the knowledge of the Nivea Penna, who inhabit the cold plains.

Still, some say that there is no such thing; that old tales with no basis should not be perpetuated.

But the old tales are always told for a reason. There is something out there.

If not, then how do you explain the strong fighters gone missing in the ice fields beyond the shrouded forest? What else could leave frozen husks of remote villages, once bustling markets now dilapidated ruins webbed with ice? How do you explain the call of the mighty Large White Giants, as they are known, whom stalk the dawn-strewn mountains under the cover of twilight mist?

Right. There is no way to explain away these happenings. Because it is The Frost who took them, and prowls in wait, as the rallying force behind the creaking snow giants while it grows.

Yes, so when you hear the old stories once again, scoff not, and do not ignore the warnings. Heed the Elder's words and take your precautions, because The Frost still crawls about the mountain ridges to this day, swallowing any who dare approach. Even the wise know when to listen.

For there is no final warning before The Frost strikes, no footsteps or brustling or hissing. The Frost moves smooth and swift, and consumes the horizons first. There is no escaping it.

Take caution and beware The fearsome Frost. 

Frost

Elle watched as the frost spread across her window. She knew that she could stop it, but she didn’t particularly want to. It spread, feathering into intricate patterns. Behind her, the fire went out, but she would never grow cold. It spread, making dragon breath and dove nests. Her eyes flickered, orange and yellow. It spread, creating shapes Elle never imagined. 

L watched as the frost spread across their window. They never would have imagined that they’d see frost. It spread, feathering into intricate patterns. They lived in Colombia, and it never grew cold. And yet here was the frost. It spread, making dragon breath and dove nests. L reached into their closet and pulled out a coat; the door slammed behind them. It spread, creating shapes L never imagined.

Ell watched as the frost spread across his window. He wasn’t particularly surprised, but he had never seen frost before. It spread, feathering into intricate patterns. He held his hand out in front of him, considering it. It spread, making dragon breath and dove nests. Water floated above his hand, then disappeared. It spread, creating shapes Ell had never imagined.

I may or may not have just started writing? But I kind of like where this went :) 

A Mage Contemplating the Values of Various Elemets in a Dystopian Future

It's hard to decide which one I like better.

Fire is loud, it's destructive,

makes things just the way I like them

(charred, broken, useless) 

but frost is pretty.

Since when has anyone cared about pretty?

When I use the fire I get what I want because they're too scared to face me

but the frost has a certain appeal

a quiet death

colder, colder, colder, 

ad then, you're warm, and then you die,

frost on your lips,

ice in your blood. 

Fire warms you,

makes you comfortable,

just for the night, 

but the smoke stings your eyes and scrapes your throat.

Frost feathers over precious shards of glass and makes them beautiful,

just for the night,

until the warm sun comes up and melts the designs away. 

I don't know...

It's hard to decide.

Maybe I just like the sea. 

Well, not sure how centered around the theme this is, but something random I wrote starting from this prompt that I'll enter anyway.

---

The frost covers everything. The road, the windows, the stables, even the saddles are crusted in icy white this morning. My breath steams in the cold air as I slink down the road to the stable. It's a perfect day for a ride. Well, any day is, with Dryad. My fingers reach for her well-worn saddle, but I decide I don't need it.

Carefully, so it doesn't squeak, I unlatch her stall door. "Hey, girl," I whisper. She nickers, understanding the need for silence. The mare noses at my pockets as I climb ungracefully onto her back. I've forgotten how hard it is without stirrups, but I manage, and Dryad trots out the door.

At first I steer her to the side of the road so Baracus won't hear her hooves on the cobblestones, but then I realise he'd see her prints on the icy ground better. By then we're almost to the Outs, though. I crouch low over my horse's neck and urge her into a gallop. She does so with pleasure. Her mane flies into my face, but I don't care.

I'm not sure if it's too late but I'm doing ot if itis not. Mine is more about snow, idk if that's okay.

    When I slide down the run, arcing, turning, it's almost as if the skis are a part of me. I'm really just sliding down a mountain on a pair of wooden planks, but it is so much more than that. It's an art form, a dance, all in one flowing motion.  It's like me, the snow, the skis, the mountain, are one with each other. The skis are almost living, wanting to go one way, but with careful grace I can turn it another. The snow is magical, fluffy but frozen, shapeshifting but solid. There may be some scientific way that it forms, but to me it's there by choice, waving as it comes down, waving as it melts away to make way for another summer. And though I call for it to come back, it's like a wise old man, telling me to be patient as it goes through the cycle of melting, falling, melting again.

Sometimes, however, when the icy wind whips my cheeks, and the cold, unforgiving air numbs my fingers, and the skis don't listen no matter how hard I try, I wonder why I am there in the first place. I feel like giving up, I feel like never coming back. But then, every fall without fail, I come again, happy to be there, missing it so. In summer I wish it were winter, in winter I wish it were summer, but if i've learned one thing it's this: My longing for winter is so much more than my longing for the temporary heat.

The frost, it wasn't anything out of the ordinary, I mean to the people of Auola it may even been seen as extraordinary. The frost didn't just come and go as Winter came it was always there. It was something the people used as decorations for holidays, they welded it to make what truly enlightens us on holidays. They use it for ornaments, they use it to make the stars glisten at nighttime. They use it to add the extra charm in everyone's home. But more importantly it was used to be the creator. The frost created everything they needed, it created the firm but destroyable parts to a ship or containers to freeze food. They used it to cover buildings for a protective layer that would expand with every a ice storm that would come. The frost would absorb what came and make sure it would not harm the people. The people embeded it in their clothing and added it to almost mark who they were. It was used politically and for needs.The frost came all the way back in the late time when techonology was at flying cars, awhwh.. The olden days. It came and formed like this very planet came to be. It emerged and flourished making itself grow and die. Then people starting warping it to fit their needs and millions of years passed to when we presently use it today. But now people try grasping it and making us beg to their needs, that's is why we have such a high secutity. No one has ever done because well that wouldn't end well actually I take that back it would end well for them not us. The frost was what the Auola people needed the same for water and food for humans it was frost for the Auola people. Then one day someone stole it. They defied what hadn't been done ever... for greed. For PURE hatred. Then everything for Auola started to melt.

Honorable Mentions (in no particular order): 

Dolphin! The way you explored frost from different people’s perspectives was really captivating. Your story had something just so beautiful and unique about it, and it was wonderfully written. 

Sixlets! The poem you wrote had a cool (pun intended?) concept, and the way you wrote it conveys so much emotion and backstory in just a dozen or so lines. And the last line was the perfect way to end it. 

Sunshine Summers! I absolutely love the way you worded your story, and how you showed how much the people of Auola relied on the frost. It ended in such a way that was a cliffhanger, but still left me satisfied. 

Third Place:  

Jaybells! This was just beautiful. You put such a strong image in my mind, while still leaving room for imagination. Also, I love the perspective in which the story was told. 

Second Place:

MoonKitten! Your story had a great pace, with just the right amount of description. I love the horse’s name - Dryad. It painted a beautiful picture in my mind. 

First Place:  

*cue drumroll*

Head! Ahh I love this story so much. It had a great beginning, jumping right into the action, and was expertly worded. As a skier myself, I think that you perfectly captured the feeling of being on the slope. 

Everyone did amazingly, and I had such a hard time picking a winner! Head, you get to choose the next one-word theme!