#icesuffice

Dewey faltered in the middle of returning a book to a shelf. The familiar sound of a visitor arriving had startled him — sudden and loud, unsteady footsteps landing on the wooden floorboards. For a moment, he held his breath, listening for their initial response. Some guests were angry and violent as soon as they regained their bearings. Dewey preferred recognizing hostile visitors as soon as possible. It was best to approach them with more caution.

But then Tilly appeared out of thin air near him. She padded past the librarian towards the source of the commotion. Dewey’s eyes widened and he whispered, “Tilly, wait, don’t—,” but the cat ignored him. He followed her, worried she’d get hurt.

Before he knew it, they had reached the row of shelves with the Rift in the corner. Tilly sat in front of the guest and stared at him unblinking. Dewey stared as well, clutching the book in his hands nervously. The visitor looked... human? Possibly? Looks could be deceiving, though.

          “There you are.” The words that escape him are laced with relief. After checking every room in the castle it felt foolish that he hadn’t come here first. In hindsight it made more sense than finding Fannar in the gardens or the ballroom. Regardless, he had at least found him in what they called the treasure room. He should’ve figured that it would’ve peaked the other’s interest sooner or later by the name alone.

"𝕿-𝕿-𝕿𝖔𝖔𝖙𝖍𝖑𝖊𝖘𝖘 𝖌𝖔𝖙 𝖞𝖔𝖚 𝖋𝖎𝖘𝖍!"

The little green dragon, no larger than a Yorkshire Terrier, shook the water from his scales as he irreverently landed on Fannar’s snout. A little older and more used to diving in frigid waters to chase after prey, Toothless had spent the whole morning fishing to show off how good of a hunter he had become. With a gummy grin stretching from horn to horn, the young dragon looked very pleased with himself as he spat out his catch. 

Two anchovies, the size of each not even coming close to the smallest of the ice wyvern’s fangs. 

A shiver ran through the young woman, fingers tightening their hold around the leather sack that she held in her grip. A subtle gesture made not from the biting chill in the air, but a thrill of excitement. It wasn’t often that she and Fannar managed to find such a thing as this. A simple object to most, yet one that was filled with mystery and wonder to the two of them. “What do you think will be inside this time?” Elsa questioned, carefully setting the pack down before looking to her older brother.

        Although the figure standing in the corner of the long banquet hall was the very image of grace, if one looked close enough, they could tell that she was uncomfortable, out of place even. Wild strands of raven hair struggled to creep past the the folds in her braid and hair net, and her gloved hands kept adjusting her bodice and sleeves. She would much rather be anywhere else; in fact, her presence wasn’t really needed besides the occasional glance or nod of acknowledgment. The night was for her mother to intimidate and seduce politicians of neighboring lands, not for those important officials to humor a princess that was little more than an ornament. 

She worried the inside of her cheek and glanced out a stained glass window to the courtyard and forests beyond. How she wished she was out there, running and playing with the creatures of the wood. 

Snow sighed, glancing downward as she thought, and began to move towards the kitchen before a figure appeared on the very edges of her vision. She blinked and narrowly missed running into him. “Oh, pardon me, sir, I--” Her breath caught in her throat. There was no mistaking him: skin as pale as her own, with frosted hair and glacial eyes. This was Fannar, prince of the dragons. 

can you believe how mean she is