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( prologue )

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You see, Jack... There is more to being a Guardian than you may think.
We serve all children, as a whole, through the ages, forever and always.

 

But there are...
special cases.

 

Children, who are... unique.

 

Gifted.”

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What do you mean?”

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at the  c e n t e r

 


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Blue eyes stared up at him, large and round, in the bright light of the moon in the nighttime winter air—wide with wonder. Sparkling with hope.

(“Are you real?” she'd asked him, a steady whisper; a small, fragile wisp of breath curling on the frozen breeze, as tiny fingers tightened over the sill.)

But Jack Frost only grinned—a half-smirk, with heart—and leaned closer.

"That depends," he whispered, through a ghost of a smile.

Elsa frowned.

("On what?" she'd asked him, but the memory was still hazy. He was too busy, even then, thinking. Wondering.)

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Because the fun, he could tell,
was somewhere deep inside, hidden, buried, by fear.

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(Just as he'd been told.
Just as he'd been warned.)

It was waiting to come out.

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(And he could help her.)

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If she'd let him.

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