Perhaps the cage I live in now is nowhere as tight as the cage of feelings I made around my heart a long time ago.
My story has no beginning; I’ve been flowing around just like time itself. What’s in question is how I became a tiny wooden doll, the young boy’s souvenir. A toy that, although heartless, has felt more than I’ve ever dreamed of.
My young brother used to reprehend because of my coldness, but it was only when he -the one and only who cared- stopped coming to my house that I realized I was beyond any salvation. Days blended into nights, and so did the ice to my soul.
My servants, one by one, began to die. I wouldn’t care, I was too immersed in my own delirium to realize the dimension of what was happening. You see, I am the wizard of ice, and therefore, it is usually quite cold where I live. The weather does not matter, because I will bring snowstorms to wherever I go. And just like that, the place which has been known for centuries as a sunny land, became a desert of loneliness and death. Everything around me died, the trees, the people, and at last, myself. It wasn’t a quick death, mind you, it took centuries to transform the old Wizard into what you see now. My hair was once a pale blond color, my skin used to be firm and young… But what you see now is only a carcass of myself. The lack of mirrors in my house, though not on purpose, made me take longer to notice what happened.
In the biggest snowstorm my land has ever faced, I heard a knocking on my door. And of course I ignored it. But the knock kept on going, and being as irritable as I am, I told my servants to send the visitor off… But I had no more servants to order around. I went to the door myself and saw an old, old man. He asked for food and shelter, and in return he would suffice me a handful of wood to burn in the fireplace. I laughed. What use would I have for fire, why would the master of ice need any warmth in a perfectly frozen night? I shut the door, and the next thing I remember was being transformed into this pitiful form I am now.
The old man was not the type of man I thought he was, he was in reality the worst kind of people I could have met in my days of bitterness: a tree. Ah yes, trees back then would roam around making spells and transforming bad people into dolls, you see. It would be easier if they stopped making such jokes and just informed who they were before you could get stuck forever into a toy’s body.
That being said, here I am: the first and only magnificent Wizard of Ice being played around by an ugly adolescent full of acne. This will certainly teach me how to be kind, hm? If you are reading this, tree, perhaps you should have gifted me a son, that would teach me just as much as this terrible curse is. The only thing I have learned so far is that I hate kids. No salvation for me, just an endless story that seems more like a fanfiction written by some fat teenager girl.