An Ice Queens Gambit

-Cornelia- When I was nine I walked through my room door, into the kitchen. A humble home we had. I suppose, with something so important going on I should be focusing on the main issue, but murder is familiar to me. Like an old friend almost, it is engraved in my now frozen heart. I hadn't seen it much at the time, so, like it would've anybody, murder scared me. So as Father pulled the knife out of my mothers chest I stared at her bloodied corpse. I raced to her. I cried. I blubbered over my mother's body for three hours, till my father got tired of hearing 'the ruckus' as he called it. "All this emotion. Weakness. Weakness is how your mother died. If she were stronger she would have fought back. Now get off your knees, on your feet, and to the shed. Or Perhaps you'd like to end up as your mother has?" My father is a cold hearted man. I suppose he's always been this way. Maybe he just felt like us children were burdens, or, more likely, he just enjoyed the suffering of others. To specify, the suffering of his children. Speaking of, we have yet to discuss the fact that I have brothers. Same father, different mothers. All of which were welcomed by the same fates, after meeting my father. For all of those who are a bit slow, all of our mothers they all passed at the merciless hands of my father. I never did understand how Father was never caught and charged with any of the murders. He never really hid the fact. Him and his chums even discussed it. But I suppose that's past the point. Father has always favoured them, my brothers, that is. Although we all were treated extravagantly poorly by Father, (our mother would have never harmed us purposely), I was treated the worst. If me and my brothers ever got up to some mischief, and my brothers were punished, which rarely happened to begin with, I would be punished to a farther extent. I remember once, when I was but four years of age, and knew none the wiser, my brothers brought me along with them on a hunting expedition. Mother was furious, but Father found a way to fault me for the whole ordeal. I was punished just as horrendously as my brothers. I don't know why my father favors boys. They have potty mouths. I swear, there is nothing that my brothers haven't said. Not to mention the smell of dirt follows them, like a puppy does it's owners. The worst thing about boys, is that they tease everyone who was born after them. If I dared to do anything like that, my father would call it silliness, and backhand me so hard across my face I would fall to the grond. But when the boys did something bad, they were just 'being boys'. Father cut my, hair when I turned six, and dressed me as a boy. He never wanted a daughter in the first place, so I suppose this was a way no hide his shame of having a girl child. At first I was quite adgitated with the whole situation, I had no control of it, one of the very few things that anger me. I was especially angered when his chums came over, for the most part, all they would do was mock me, calling me Cornelius. A defeminization of my name; Cornelia. I harbor hatred in my heart for very few things, but being mistaken for a boy puts me into an abnormally enraged mood. I felt stript of my feminity, another thing that will boil my blood. Words cut deeper than I knife, a lesson I got the 'joy' of learning at a disgustingly young age. My Mother wasn't thrilled with my father or with the idea either. But she feared him, and fear is in more command than respect. But, every once in a while, if Mother had deeply contimplated the situation, and Father was away on business, she dressed me In pretty yellow fabrics, and did my hair up with puffy bows that matches my outfits. It felt nice, back then, but, with time I've grown accustomed to boys clothing. It's quite comfortable. My mother looked like me. She was from London, and she had pale orange hair, which suited her well. I remember her big brown eyes, with dark green around the edges, and three specks of gold. But something far more beautiful than her looks, was her shining personalty. I feel as if she was the shining ray in the dark cave that was my life. She was a beautiful woman, both personality, and beauty wise. I miss her so. I could tell you story soon story about her, all good. But I treasured every single second I had the pleasure of spending with her. Up to the day I died. On my eleventh birthday my father took me out into the woods, alone. It gave me a very fearful feeling, for he never took me into the woods without my brothers. I had the all too familiar feeling that something horribly bad was to happen. And I had always knew when a horrible thing was to happen. But, I shook off the feeling, for at that age I had become familiar with my fathers fear tactics. Father has always been a master of manipulation, and has taken all opportunities to show it. Against my better knowledge I followed my father. I didn't realize that he was taking me to a small flower patch. As we slowly approached I realized what was to come. I struggled to take a deep breath. I couldn't focus on anything but breathing, in fear that if I took my mind off it I wouldn't be able to breathe. Drawing breath became horribly hard, and when I did manage to choke down some air it tasted as sour as a lemon smelled, and as putrid as a nasty river that's been infested with trash. Perhaps it was because the air reflected my state of mind. Or, more realistically, it was because a rotting corpse was right below my feet. This is where my mother had been layed to rest. I rember this vividly, because I had to help bury her. My father instructed me to help, and told me exactly how. He told me I was to dig a wide whole, which only doubled in length. My father had me and one of my brothers lugg the body to the flower patch. Tears streamed down my face, as I tried my best not to fall down in anguish. It was her secret place, which is why she was buried there. It was a place, she had always said, to get away from all the sensefulness of life. Here she could just dream, sometimes with me, sometimes alone. As Father and I walked through the forest, in an eerily quiet manor, my father stopped abruptly. Father said nothing. He just stood there with a blank stare. It was as though it was hard to stand. I had the appalling feeling that someone was to die. It was quite obvious that the person who was to die was me. A fact that even a child, such as myself, could have guessed. I closed my eyes, accepting my innevitable fate. I knew, no matter the struggle I put forth, that my father would end up killing me, one way or another. So, in light of that, I closed my eyes, holding them tightly together, and accepting my doomed fate. I thought that, hopefully, in the next life, I could live alone. Peacefully. Being alone. Due to the fact that I have lived with three brothers my whole life, the thought of being lonesome was funny to me. If father didn't dissaprove of any expression of happiness, I'd smile in my dieing moments. On the inside I was smiling. Then Father, realizing I had the minimal cunning to realize why we were out in the woods alone, stabbed me, in the leg. I fell over as my leg instantly bled. The red hot liquid spewed from the wound, and on Father's face layed a vengeful smile. At this rate I'd slowly die and in a pool of blood. The immense pain I felt made me cry out in pain, as my father silently watched in spiteful happiness. On my eleventh birthday nonetheless. And my father watched it all, as though it was a stage play. In those very moments, I realised, It wasn't loneliness and solitude I wanted in another life. It was vengeance. Vengeance for my late mother, vengeance for my stepmothers, who, although I didn't know very well, died innocent. Not a drop of blood on their hands. But, most of all, I wanted vengeance for myself. I wanted to be able to care about my feelings, and I felt anger, which was pouring from my wounds. I wanted my father to feel pain, the pain I had endured for all those years. I hoped, in those very moments, that in the next life I'd be stronger. Stronger than my late mothers, stronger than my elder brothers, and above all else, stronger that my jaded, unforgiving Father, who not only physically, but emotionally beat me down. After far too long father bent down over me, and, with a small but meaningful smile, slit my throat. I awoke. That isn't right. I am dead, and dead people don't awaken. Do they? No. Silliness, is what this is. I don't feel dead. But, then again, How would I know what dead feels like? I drew breath. Dead people definetly did not draw breath. The air smelt the same. I sat up. I was laying on ice, yet, I wasn't cold. Infact, I was quite normal temperature. I was one to easily under-heat. I'd have to wear jackets in the summer if the temperature dropped. I waved my hands in front of my face. I was pale as snow. I haven't been pale, not a day in my life. Normally my complexion was too bright. All the other girls were a pale tan, and compared to them I glowed, even in the dimist of hallways. My mother always told me that I had "the complexion of the sun" and "the hair of the sunrise". I got on my knees. The ice was so clear I could see my reflection in it. If my brothers were here they'd say something moronic, like, "Vanity's a sin, you know, dear sister." They always meant the best, but sometimes they were utter agitatations who got in my way. That was extremely unladylike. I wonder what mother would think. Mother. Nothing? When I think of mother I usually cry, or, at least, feel sorrow, and unending heartbreak. But now, I felt nothing. Not a single tear stained my face. Not a single gutwhenching thought crossed my mind. No agony, nor dispair. Nothing. My heart was made of ice. Forever frozen, or so it feels. If the saddest thing in my life can't bring me emotion, then, what could? My reflection glimmered. When I saw myself I couldn't help but gasp. I'm beautiful. My horrid pale orange hair (my worst feature, as my father persistently pointed out at every given chance) was white, beautiful straight pale white strands covered my face, hanging shoulder length. I've always thought that white hair was absolutely astonishing. I played with my hair. It was as soft as fresh wool of a sheep, or a satin pillow case. I was darker then my hair, but still inhumanly pale. Even a girl, whom, at the age of eleven was very well taught, couldn't comprehend how this had happened. I was pretty. More than pretty. I was astonishingly beautiful. Most girls teased me. They'd tell the new kids not to look at me, "It might hurt your eyes!" they'd say. Now I was pale. It was quite nice actually. I began to look around me. I was in an ice palace-like place. This looks like one of my crazy, unworldly dreams. I'd find a prince, or, rather, a princess, and we'd get married. We'd have two gorgeous kids, and I' d spoil them o, so rotten. Horrid silliness. Even if I were of high enough stature to meet royalty,(I'm but a commoner, to even be in the vicinity of a royal you were to be a Nobel, or, a royal yourself) what royal would marry a silly girl like me. Even if they had the heart to look past my putrid looks (I was skinny as a stick. Nobody wanted to marry a stick girl) I was a hopeful dreaming girl. I recall my mother often telling me I had "the hope to dream of going to another country, and the imagination to draw a boat there," silliness, my father called it. So, even if they could get past me being as thick as a twig and the fact I could outwit them, my silliness just couldn't be looked past. I couldn't help but stare in awe. Nobody else seemed to be here. So this was my castle. And, in a way, I was royalty. I had a castle. All I needed were some fancy purple robes and I'd be a royal. A lonely royal, but a royal nonetheless. After a while a peculiar white snowflake appeared. It wouldn't have been weird, except for the fact that it wasn't snowing. There was a flash of light, then the snowflake turned into a tiny human-looking thing. I screamed. My father would've called me pathetic, and my mother would've told me that, since the creature showed no violence, nor effort to harm me, to remain calm. But, even knowing that, I screamed. The creature looked harmless. Cute even. I looked at it. It was pale as snow, just like me. It had black hair and black eyes. It was interesting. Very interesting. "Hello," I said to the creature. I wasn't scared nor was I excited about it. I was calm, neutral even. The creature spoke, without speaking. It just... I don't even know how to describe it. For one of the first times in my life I was speechless. It was like we were one mind, sharing thoughts. It was so interesting, like, this creature was the only thing on the planet that understood how I felt. "Hello," It communicated so... so... Gracefully. "Call me Snow," the creature's voice was so elegant. "Snow.. I feel awfully inconsiderate asking this, but, are you a boy, or girl?" This was a horrid question to ask. Snow seemed fine with it, like it'd been asked a million times. "I'm a girl! Who are you, strange boy?" I must've looked like a boy. Boy clothes, boy hair, bad attitude not to mention the fact I stink of blood and the forest. I was basically a boy, except I wasn't, and I didn't want to be. "Actually," I stated, making sure to remain calm, "I'm a girl. Call me Cornelia". Cornelia was my grandmothers name. On my mother's side, or so I've been told. I always thought it was quite a nice name. "My apologies! I'm ever so sorry about the misunderstanding!" Snow was exaggerating the situation. Everybody had always mistaken me for a boy. I liked having short hair, and boys clothes. "It's nothing, really" I said, trying to calm her down. "You know, I've never had a friend before," I said, reflecting on the past. I'm the youngest child in the family, and extremely smart at that, so I never really had many friends. The girls at school only want to talk about boys. Boys are rude, and smell of manure. Disgusting, if you ask me. "We can be friends!" Snow was the kind of person you wanted to be around. She was nice, and had a heart of gold. "That would be splendid," I said. I was gazing at the ceiling. It was crystal. Shimmering beautiful crystal. Ice that didn't melt. "You're my first loyal subject!" I said, bemused with the idea. I was the queen of a kingdom. "I'm calling this 'The Ice Land!" I shared happily with Snow, whom giggled and nodded with approval. I was no longer a lonely queen, but a queen who kept good company. "I don't need civilians," I said, these word must've been controversial, for who ever heard of a people less kingdom? "The white foxes and creatures can be my subjects" Snow looked at me with a wide smile. Approval just seemed to glow from her face. "It's settled then!" I rejoiced, happiness glowing from my face, "The Ice Lands will be the first people less kingdom". Solitude insured that I could be happy, just me myself, and my snowy companion. "Are you a fairy" I ask Snow. What else would she be? Mother told me fairies were from fairy tales, but I always fancied myself the friend of fairies. "Kind of," she said, in a mixed tone, "I'm a Winter Fairy, some call us Winter Elves." "How utterly interesting! I've never seen a fairy, let alone a Winter Fairy. You see, Fairies have always intrigued me" This made me the happiest. "And humans have always intrigued," Snow said airily. "Are all fairies this pretty?" I ask Snow, "Me? Pretty? I'm the ugliest fairy in my clan," Snow was dearly mistaken. She was the pinnacle of beauty. "All the other fairies have pale pink skin, and magenta hair, or light blue skin and dark blue hair. I look atrociously colourless compared to them." I felt awful, in my past life I was extremely colourful, and gilt began to bubble inside of me. No. In this life I would never be sad. Sadness was a horrible feeling, that I felt far too much. I wasn't going to let something this trivial make my vision of a better life vanish. "Well, I think you look positively bright and beautiful!" I said, trying to cheer her up. But, in a way I feel like that was also directed at me. "Your too kind! And, just so you're aware, for a human your not lacking in looks." Snow was the one that was too kind. I then directed my attention to my clothes. My clothes were drenched in blood, and I smelt of dirt. "Is there away you could obtain some human clothes?" I tried to sound polite. I felt I was asking such a big thing of my new friend. "I think I can spare some magic, for a friend," Snow was much too kind. A bright light envoled me. It was very bright, and quick. By the time I knew what was happening it was already over. I was adorned with pure white robes fit for a prince. Boy robes, but very sheek and comfortable. "I love them, thank you so much Snow!" I giggled. -Hours Later- "It's quite boring here, is it not?" I ask. I've gotten quite bored of counting the crystals on the ceiling. I always loose count at fourteen. "Well, if you're really bored," Snow's tone was so enticing, it seemed she was about to say something so amazingly peculiar it would bring a large smile to my face, "You can look at what is happening anywhere on earth." That was the most interesting thing I'd heard in my life. Ordinary old me, having magic? Magic, I've been told, is nonexistent without participating in witchcraft. But, here I was, definitely not a witch but, still using magic. "Show me" I yelled with delight. This I was most passionate about. I wanted to see my brothers. I missed them. Not to the point of tears, but, nonetheless I missed my dear brothers. My eldest brother, Elion, was the most cheerful. When I was five he would toss me up and down, and tell me I was flying. He was my favourite brother, all though, I'd never admit it. He was the kindest, and was the only brother I would let dream with me. My other two brothers, Quinn and Jacobson, weren't bad brothers. They had just played into fathers mind control, and had become closed minded. It wasn't a bad thing, but, often they would crush others dreams to prove a point. They never had the time to play with me, and never wanted to dream of a life other then the one they had. "There's no point in devoting your life to something that will never happen" they'd say when I asked them to take a seat under the stars. Then they would reprimand me for staying up late. I remember a particular night when I was seven. The stars that night shone as brightly as the sun had that morning. My mother was away on a trip, and I was imaging being with her. Exploring wild forests, or meeting kings and queens of the highest stature. I asked Quinn, the youngest of my three elder brothers, to come enjoy the beautiful stars and dream with me. He fowly declined, telling me that I was acting far too childish to be seven years of age. He told me the only reason I should be outside so late at night was to plow the fields, or silence the chickens. He then dragged me to bed, and told me that dreams were for the weak, and that I should toughen up. I was so utterly saddened that I cried myself to sleep that night, and made sure to only dream in my head. "Can you show me how to see my brothers?" I ask Snow. I had told her so many tales of my brothers it was like they'd already met. "I would like to see these courageous brothers that you've told me of" Snow said, in an excited tone. She seemed to be bursting to meet my brothers, even though it wasn't in person. "How do I see them?" I ask. I didn't even know I had powers. "Just channel all of your strength into the palm of your hand, then think of your brothers," she said. It seems that this was going to be harder then I had anticipated. Channeling all of your energy into one part of your body sounded like an easy feat, until you actually had to do it. "It might take some time," Snow was trying to put me at ease. I had failed so many times I lost count. I must've looked pathetic, I felt pathetic. I had my arm outstretched, trying to channel every ounce of energy I had into my fingertips. It was exhausting. Not only was I physically tired, but I was mentally tired as well. I'd been thinking of what my father would think. He'd probably tell me that I looked stupid on account of his limited vocabulary. The last time I saw him use a word above the vocabulary of a below average six year old... Well, I don't think he ever has. "What have you been thinking about?" Snow's question was so random, I was at a loss to answer. "W-what?" It was such an abrupt question. "It will never work If you're thinking of something negative," she seemed to be able to read my mind. I was exhausted, but I wanted to continue. "You need to take a break, try again tommorow" Snow was definitely reading my mind like an open book. "No," I insisted. I was going to learn this today. "Yes, lay," Snow was about to do something, I knew it. She outstretched her own small arm, and in a gust of freezing wind, pushed me down. "Down." She knew I wasn't going to sleep unless somebody forced me. Not only was she a pretty fairy, she was a smart one too. I giggled, and the rested. -One week later- I stood, my arm outstretched. Today was the day. I was, without a shadow of a doubt, going to do this. I thought about Elion. His bright smile, how open-minded he was, and how we used to dream together. I didn't even really focus on the power flowing into hand. I smiled as I tried to channel the power, and Snow supervised. There was a bright flash of light, that soared to the wall the inner of my hand was pointed at. A bright portal opened. I ran to it. Inside it I saw Elion and Quinn. They were having a disagreement of sorts, par usual. They often disagreed, Elion nearly always being right, about petty things. Before father killed me they fought about me. "She dreams far too much, it's time she gets some sense," Quinn would argue over dinner when I'd left. Elion would always defend me, no matter how right Quinn was. I never thought he was right, but I suppose that makes since. "How am I to close this portal?" rehashing the past was not the best thing to do when starting a new life. "Think of something negative" Snow advised, and I thought about my father. What else was I to think of? My father was the only person that angered me. Although my brothers sometimes indulged in his insulence I still loved them. But that fowl man had stripped my ability to love him when he brutally killed me. Within seconds of me reminding myself of my father the portal closed. Snow looked at me ask struggled to calm myself. When all was good Snow looked at me, as though she knew something I didn't. "Would you like to learn more?"