[Prompt from http://daily-writing.blogspot.com/ .]
I never wanted it. Dreaded it, actually. But I always knew it was a possibility that the curse could sink its cold fingers into my soul.
The wind was howling all around me, a fierce display of wintry power. Yet, I could feel no cold on my bare arms and feet. I heard whisper in the wind: taunts thrown at the poor creatures stuck in the storm, intentions of cruelty and death, even foreshadowings of what was to come later in the season.
But the most unnerving aspect of all was the fact I was the center of the storm. I was the cause, the reason for its existence. Everything that was happening, every blast of wind or solidifying icicle or skydive of a snowflake was done for me. By me.
I had no control, no idea how to change the storm. I only knew that it was because of me that the storm was raging war by the brook in the woods.
I should have known when my brother laid upon the ground and watched as bursts of vivid color bloomed all around his body. I should have known when my sister walked through the orchard as thousands upon thousands of leaves curled within themselves and drifted to yellowing grass. I should have known when my brother could keep any plant alive with a simple touch of his hand.
I should have known all along that I was destined for the cold and death of winter. I was born as the embodiment of ice within a seemingly warm body.
I was the Snow Prince and would remain so until another came to take my place.