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alias: Jessica
age in ##: 47
story: The Snow Queen/Frozen
gif (150x150): http://orig02.deviantart.net/1a35/f/2017/153/5/4/ezgif_1_94ea5600c2_by_mycers-dbb9zix.gif
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Ingrid

Arendelle

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Jan 31 2018, 01:10 PM
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<img src="https://orig00.deviantart.net/43b8/f/2017/273/5/b/408ofcoursenot_by_mycers-dbp0q41.jpg">
<div class="mhbox">
<div class="mhlyr1">get a warm coat</div>
<div class="mhlyr2">IT’S GOING TO GET A BIT COOLER AROUND HERE</div>
<div style="background-color: #aff0f0; padding: 2px; margin-bottom: 2px;"></div>
<div class="mhmain">
<div class="mhpb">How many months had it been now? <br><br>

Ingrid didn’t feel as guilty as she did before. Gradually the thoughts had faded. Recovery was going to take time, but she didn’t feel like she had to cringe or apologise anymore, or try to avoid people’s gazes on the street. People accepted her. Well, the important people in her life did. She couldn’t say for the whole town - and she didn’t know everyone anyway, not now there were so many more townspeople than there were before what with the portals. But the important people - they liked her, still. Anna. Elsa. Emma. Puss. A small collection of people, but she cherished them nonetheless. They were unique. Extraordinary. Wonderful. (She didn’t like using the word special. Not anymore.) It was a slow progress, just a case of getting on with life really. It was almost an anticlimax after reuniting with everyone. She got on with her life, paid her bills, worked shifts at the parlour with Puss, bought her groceries. Maybe it was boring to some people, but to Ingrid it was a slice of life she'd never had before now; it was a sign things were getting better, back to how they should be. <br><br>

But there had been one place that, for Ingrid, she hadn’t gone yet. She’d managed being back in Storybrooke, back in the parlour even. But she hadn’t once tried to go back to her old ice lair, the cave that she had found for herself off the beaten track. She’d fooled herself by trying to say that she didn’t remember where it was, that there weren’t likely to be signposts for this sort of thing. But it was a falsehood, obviously. She did know, and she didn’t even have to check where she was going as she walked through the forest towards the cave; she knew it too well, knew the winding path up to the cave where she’d once let the Spell of Shattered Sight begin before it raged over Storybrooke. <br><br>

When she opened the door and slipped inside Ingrid couldn’t help a little gasp. The white cavern was exactly how she remembered it. It’s intact. It was more than that: it was just as she’d left it, like she’d been there moments before. She looked around, taking it all in. She’d adequately domesticated the cave when she’d been here last, put effort into making it comfortable. An inside joke, she had thought; the exterior being a home of a monster, jsut as they all thought she was, and inside more civilised than their homes could ever be. And so it remained. Tables lay just as they were, rugs and white candlesticks in candelabra and fur throws over sofas exactly where she remembered them. Her hand brushed against one, soft under her touch. <br><br>

After years of living like someone ordinary in the Land Without Magic and in Storybrooke, too, it had bene like some attempt to get back to royalty status. That and a place for her and her ‘sisters’ to reside safely out of the way of the insane residents…she turned around in the space. Memories came back to her, one after the other, but this time she didn’t shy away from them, didn’t attempt to flinch from her past. Emma. Elsa. Anna. Her eyes found the place where the mirror had once hung and lingered there. <br><br>

It was the memory of the mirror that did it. It can’t stay here. It would only be a reminder. She looked around at the upholstery one last time and then she rose her hand. With a little gesture little flurries of white magic began to build around her before they began to whirl around the room. One by one all of the objects vanished, stripping the cavern one by one of the elegant upholstery. <br><br>

</div>

</div>
<div style="background-color: #aff0f0; padding: 2px; margin-top: 2px;"></div>
<div class="mhbb">ADD.: Open! | WORDS: 637 | NOTES: SET IN OLD ICE LAIR, ALL WELCOME <3 </div>
</div>
<div class="tcred"><a href="http://shine.b1.jcink.com/index.php?showuser=1892" target="_blank">♛ Ames</a></div></center>[/dohtml]
Nov 29 2017, 01:33 PM
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<img src="https://orig00.deviantart.net/f9bf/f/2017/273/0/3/407whocanhelp_by_mycers-dbp0q4m.jpg">
<div class="mhbox">
<div class="mhlyr1">get a warm coat </div>
<div class="mhlyr2">IT’S GOING TO GET A BIT COOLER AROUND HERE</div>
<div style="background-color: #aff0f0; padding: 2px; margin-bottom: 2px;"></div>
<div class="mhmain">
<div class="mhpb">Ingrid had seen lots of things. She’d known betrayal and isolation and fear and anger and rage. She’d had her family, she’d hurt her family, she’d been placed in the urn - gained, lost, gained again. She’d seen her sister almost kidnapped, her other sister killed at her hand, her niece taken away by Rumple and her spell founded on a terrible, terrible mistake. Her life was like one of those merry-go-rounds that children played on in this world - cycling but never really getting anywhere, until now. But she’d seen a lot, so much that surely this shouldn’t be a big deal.<br><br>

So how was a diner more scary than anything else she’d ever faced? <br><br>

A coffee morning. It didn’t sound intimidating, didn’t sound scary. But it was. What if Mary Margaret hated her for what she did to Emma, what she proposed to do? Ingrid was painfully aware she had been fully prepared to not only kill everyone in town but also take her daughter away from her. She’d seemed fine when they’d organised this but…but she couldn’t help thinking there was a surprise in store, that Mary Margaret really was angry and she was going to make Ingrid’s life hell. Not that she didn’t deserve to, Ingrid thought miserably. She had tried to redeem herself, had ended up stopping the spell in the end - but did that matter when for a while her sole attention had been placed on Snow’s daughter, like some twisted kind of family fantasy?<br><br>

She’d chosen to wear something normal, something more befitting of an American town - something that didn’t scream ‘ice queen’, and certainly didn’t make anyone scream. She’d also seated herself and found a table, a booth off by the wall and out of everyone’s way. Found nice clothes and a place to sit. Tick and tick. Something about Ingrid made her feel that to have this out in the open, so to speak - amid everyone else in the rabble, amid scraping chairs and wobbling tables - felt wrong, like everyone was watching. No one would be, she knew. They had their own lives and she wasn’t the most interesting person in town, her affairs just the same as everyone else’s. But she wanted to keep her head down, wanted to keep this away from prying eyes - imaginary or not….maybe because she was worried of what Mary Margaret, Snow White, mother to Emma - the real mother to Emma - would say. <br><br>

The Snow Queen checked at her watch a final time. She’d managed to find a few pictures of Emma from her time at the foster home, still lying among her things in the old snow cave that used to be her home when in town. It was, she figured, the least she could do. They lay on the table in a little brown envelope but she couldn’t help teasing one out, turning it over and just looking at baby Emma for a moment or so. It was a picture of Emma outside, maybe out on a walk in the park - beaming at the camera, dressed up warm with a hat and scarf. It must’ve been autumn, she thought faintly. Briefly she wondered what Mary Margaret would be like. Ingrid had only seen her at a distance, not wanting to concern herself with Emma’s old family - which, in her mind, hadn’t really been Emma’s family at all. Now she just had a gaping hole where Emma’s real mother was. <br><br>

She hoped Emma took after her. <br><br>

</div>

</div>
<div style="background-color: #aff0f0; padding: 2px; margin-top: 2px;"></div>
<div class="mhbb">ADD.: Mary Margaret | WORDS: 591 | NOTES: HOPE THIS IS ALRIGHT! <3 </div>
</div>
<div class="tcred"><a href="http://shine.b1.jcink.com/index.php?showuser=1892" target="_blank">♛ Ames</a></div></center>[/dohtml]
Nov 21 2017, 01:37 PM
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<img src="http://orig01.deviantart.net/8bb8/f/2017/209/7/c/rehost_2016_9_13_ce6707a6_a860_40d0_b549_9af0ca280_by_mycers-dbi081t.jpg">
<div class="iabox">
<div class="ialyr1">you can't love somebody</div>
<div class="ialyr2">you don't understand</div>
<div style="background-color: #aff0f0; padding: 2px; margin-bottom: 2px;"></div>
<div class="iamain">
<div class="iapb"> Ingrid was sure that rescues weren’t meant to go like this. <br><br>

Not that she really knew. That she was the one some people had needed to be rescued from was a truth that she was painfully aware of, sitting in the corner of her subconscious and prickling at her thoughts. She didn’t do the actual rescuing and never had, before now. But the silence was unnerving, after the rush of breaking Emma’s chains, bustling out of the prison and leaving the cells behind. Their steps echoed down the corridor, dull, quiet booms up and down the length. <br><br>

Had she - <br><br>

Yes, she’d asked how Emma was. And if she was alright, if she’d been hurt, what had happened…Ingrid could tick them off one by one, all of the questions that had immediately leapt to the fore as soon as she’d come across Emma in the dungeon. All of the questions that…that stopped the silence from setting in. She sighed a little to herself, looking down at the stone flags passing underfoot - anonymous, monotonous, a steady parade of stone after stone after stone. With the immediate things out of the way, that left almost nothing to talk about. Nothing to comment on. And yet…and yet here they were, down a deserted corridor. And she felt they had to talk. Had to say something. <br><br>

The castle was surprisingly peaceful. Maybe the zombies were off elsewhere, dealing with the other people Ingrid had seen - in momentary flashes, in glimpses of armour and swords and sometimes bare fists - as she’d made her way around trying to find Emma and bring her to safety. Since the Snow Queen heard she hadn’t come back from the castle she couldn't wait for anyone else, couldn't sit there knowing she was imprisoned. Why anyone would come here if their own accord was beyond her, and she’d been trying to stay away from the castle and its inhabitants since she’d arrived. It was only the girls that made her come here, made her step foot in this place. Only ever the girls. <br><br>

The girls. They weren’t hers, but Ingrid didn’t know what else to call them. Anna, Emma, Elsa. Maybe she’d still have a bond with them if she hadn’t gone and done the things that had led to this. <br><br>

But Anna had wanted to come in here, and what with Emma…she’d had no choice to make herself known to them. She’d had to come in, had to find some way of getting Emma out even if she wasn’t particularly welcome. The thought of them getting into trouble made her sick to her stomach. <br><br>

But now? The rescuing part was over. She stuck her hands in her jeans, her breath clouding in little puffs in the cold air. Now the corridors were empty, the zombies busy and off fighting the others - those heroes who threw themselves into danger almost effortlessly. They didn’t need to run or defend themselves, except against the odd zombie that was dispatched fairly quickly. In a way Ingrid would’ve preferred it. It would’ve covered up the unpleasant silence, would’ve given them something to do - and maybe Ingrid would’ve redeemed herself a bit. She wasn’t defenceless - and she could’ve put her magic to good use. <br><br>

But instead it was just one long walk back down a labyrinth of rooms, past storage and kitchens and rooms leading one into the other into the other. It was almost anticlimatic. Where were the hordes of zombies to fight off? The plucky adventurers going to do some noble deed and just about making it? The conveniently heartfelt speech when you needed one? There was no need to run now. A place to run to, but running would probably only gain attention from the creatures - who seemed attracted to heat and movement and the other signposts of life. It was better to got slower, to calmly find the exit...but this felt even worse. <br><br>

Maybe she was the only one feeling awkward here. Emma was a hero - she was probably used to this. Ingrid glanced to her warily out of the corner of her eye, wondering what she was thinking. She couldn’t be feeling the silence between them as much, surely. She was the save-the-world type. This was usual - rescuing, being rescued, standing up against some impossible foe until the eleventh hour. Was Emma part of all of that - the stand against the Horned King? Ingrid thought that was what the name of this particularly unpleasant character was, from what she could glean of the castle and what everyone was saying down in Storybrooke. Something about being released from the Underworld…yet she was sure she hadn’t seem him there, or had any idea about where he’d been all that time. She shivered, and not from cold. It was a good thing. She didn’t want to know about the Horned King. If only he hadn't come here...<br><br>

Emma had to be part of all of that. She was brave, and clever, and everything a hero was. But how did you say you were proud of someone who helped stop you, too? They'd talked since she'd come back but that didn't lessen the guilt. <br><br>

"Emma?" Her name came easily to Ingrid, though what didn't was what followed. She had to go on now, couldn't let it just hang there. She wanted to say something profound, something insightful, something, something, anything - <br><br>

"Emma, I...do you know the way the zombies took you? Any entrance they used?" <br><br>

Internally she kicked herself. <br><br>

</div>

</div>
<div style="background-color: #aff0f0; padding: 2px; margin-top: 2px;"></div>
<div class="iabb">ADD.: Emma Swan | WORDS: 525 | NOTES: </div>
</div>
<div class="tcred"><a href="http://shine.b1.jcink.com/index.php?showuser=1892" target="_blank">♛ Ames</a></div></center>[/dohtml]
Nov 14 2017, 01:43 PM
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<div class="iabox">
<div class="ialyr1">mirrors reflect our moods, our desires,</div>
<div class="ialyr2">our essence</div>
<div style="background-color: #aff0f0; padding: 2px; margin-bottom: 2px;"></div>
<div class="iamain">
<div class="iapb">Ingrid was just staring at the clock. <br><br>

It was bigger than she expected close up, easily dwarfing her. She hadn't realised how big it was back in Storybrooke; it had been too far away to ever really think about, just becoming part of the scenery. But she could see it now, right up close, its hands broken and still across its numbered face. She looked down, at the remnants of the tower scraped into the pavement - and the ground thrown up around it in crumbling fragments. It was like it had been driven into the ground, an open wound into the earth like a scar. Ingrid frowned and went down on her knees, hesitantly reaching out to touch it. "I don't understand," she murmured, staring at its face. She didn't know what she expected to happen - a flurry of sparks, maybe? - but it just sat there, sad old and...decaying. <br><br>

She stood up, brushing some of the dust and dirt off of her dress. Storybrooke but not Storybrooke. Ingrid had gotten used to that now, as much as anyone could, but this was the first time she'd been able to look carefully at the damage. It wasn't a war, that she was certain. She wasn't even sure who it would be a war against down here, though she'd seen her fair share of villains...people she crossed the street to avoid. Maybe it was...that? "No," she muttered. It was different. She didn't know how, didn't understand how she knew. But if it was war there would be more damaged, more buildings rather than just the clock. It was almost as if it had been worn away. Not hunted down or some trophy of war but...mindless decay. Destruction. Death, though she supposed it was fitting. What wasn't, on the other hand, was the feeling she was being watched. <br><br>

There was someone looking around the corner at her. In the red half-light of the Underworld it took a moment for her eyes to adjust - only to frown. There were children here? Children in the Underworld? Big wide eyes looked at her, barely blinking. Ingrid took a step forward. "Hello?" she ventured. The child's eyes narrowed warily, almost going to hide back around the corner. Uh oh. The Snow Queen knew what that meant. The foster children had been like that at first, wary and guarded and careful of adults. She knew how to read them - it didn't take much to piece together the signs. But this wasn't fear. This was something almost like terror. "It's alright," she called, stepping away from the clock, getting that bit closer. For a split second Ingrid took her eyes off the child to look around. What was the child so scared of? <br><br>

Her?<br><br>

There was no way the child could know Ingrid's powers, no way whatsoever, but the thought still made her distinctly sick. But as she looked around at the street she could see no one else she could be looking at. The roads were deserted, with only the rustle of curtains and the distant shut of doors to indicate anyone was here at all. It was like a ghost town, and the thought made her shiver. But if there was nothing here to be afraid of, what was the child so scared of? And what was a child doing in a place like this to begin with? She turned back, her temples furrowed with a confused frown. "There's nothing out here to - "<br><br>

The child was gone. Vanished, as if she wasn't there at all. "Hello?" Where had she got to? Worry clenching at her gut the Snow Queen rushed forward, coming off the street, onto the pavement and through the buildings into one of the little streets going off the main. Thank God it's like Storybrooke. Why this was she didn't know, and at some point she'd have to find that out. The place was easier to navigate now she knew her way around. But that didn't allay the fear, the awareness that this Storybrooke wasn't safe - that no Storybrooke was safe, really, not for a child. Not when there were people like her. <br><br>

"Oh!" Ingrid had rushed around a corner and suddenly collided with someone. She stepped back, her pulse thudding in her head. Her chest rose and fell as she recovered her breath. "Oh - I'm sorry - I - " A tumble of apologies came from the Snow Queen as she came away, trying not to trip on the length of her own dress. But as she looked up at who she'd bumped into she stopped. "Wait. You're not..." Not the child she'd spotted. This was someone else. Her words died in her mouth, suddenly aware this was someone dead. Someone in the Underworld. In other words, someone entirely like her. <br><br>

</div>

</div>
<div style="background-color: #aff0f0; padding: 2px; margin-top: 2px;"></div>
<div class="iabb">ADD.: Evanna | WORDS: 790 | NOTES:</div>
</div>
<div class="tcred"><a href="http://shine.b1.jcink.com/index.php?showuser=1892" target="_blank">♛ Ames</a></div></center>[/dohtml]
Oct 21 2017, 03:36 PM
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<img src="https://orig00.deviantart.net/bad9/f/2017/273/5/3/410sneakyingrid_by_mycers-dbp0q30.jpg">
<div class="mhbox">
<div class="mhlyr1">you’ll have to excuse us</div>
<div class="mhlyr2"> BUT THIS IS FAMILY BUSINESS</div>
<div style="background-color: #aff0f0; padding: 2px; margin-bottom: 2px;"></div>
<div class="mhmain">
<div class="mhpb">Ingrid had finally got used to being alive. Things were settling - not into the normal of before, because that hadn’t been normal at all. None of casting the spell and trying to murder 99.9% of the town was in any way usual. But a new normal, then. Work at the ice cream parlour, new friends if she could get any. And…and reunions, too. <br><br>

She’d already met Elsa. That she was happy and secure gave Ingrid happiness beyond words. Her beautiful niece, at peace with the world. After what she'd done the Snow Queen had worried maybe the girls wouldn't be the same again, that maybe she'd done something so terrible by trying to bend them to her will that maybe she'd scarred them or something. No. Of course not, the Snow Queen thought to herself. They were all too strong for that. <br><br>

But she'd only seen one of the girls. Now it was Emma's turn. <br><br>

Ingrid had to talk to her too, had to see she was as happy as Elsa was. So she found herself at the police station. It would be the best place to find Emma, right? Ingrid hoped she still had her job here at the station. Ten minutes, she told herself as she sat down. She’d only stay here for ten minutes, and if Emma didn’t show she’d go. That was a good idea, wasn’t it? Nervousness worried at her. She’d stay a little longer. Just a little. She smoothed down her clothes with slightly sweaty hands. Normal clothes - not like the icy gown she had worn when she had first been alive. Thinking of that time she cast a glance around the posters on the walls, the old familiar station. The last time Ingrid had been here she had been in handcuffs - but smug with victory. She had sent Emma over the edge and had absolutely no regrets.<br><br>

Fifteen minutes. She wore trousers and a blue blouse now. It felt strange to wear the clothes that they wore here but this wasn't the first time - she'd worn this kind of thing all the time in the World Without Magic as a foster mother. Emma had always been a bright child. Perceptive - kind, too. But guarded. Fragile, inwardly. And who would blame her? A child in the system, shuffled from place to place and let down again and again. And eventually let down by her, too. <br><br>

Twenty? Was it twenty minutes now? Time seemed to go fast and slow at the same time. She somehow wished she’d never have to see Emma, never have to confront what she did - but on the other hand she wanted the suspense over. <br><br>

Ingrid brushed the thought away, confronted by a more worrying question. Wasn’t this forcing her to talk? Backing her into a corner? After everything she had done to Emma and the other girls….Ingrid shifted in her seat. She tapped her foot - more out of nerves than impatience. The longer she sat here the longer she regretted coming. Maybe she had to wait for Emma to come to her, not the other way round. But did Emma even know she was in Storybrooke? Had Elsa told her? Would she be waiting, then, for something that would never happen - a visit that would never come? Did Emma even want to see her again? <br><br>

Someone was coming in. Ingrid stood up quickly, like a shot of electricity had just rattled through her. Was this…? "Emma?" Her name slipped out before she was fully aware - but it died on her lips. It was a random stranger, giving her a funny look and a wide berth as he disappeared off down a corridor. Her shoulders slumped, and she released a breath she didn’t know she was holding. Not Emma. She sat down again, clasping her hands. How much longer? <br><br>

Her foot tapped on the floor - less out of impatience and more out of fear. The wait was agonising, and all the time worrying about what Emma might say....maybe she’d gotten the wrong day. Could she remember when Emma worked or what her schedule was? Ingrid hadn’t spent much time thinking of anything like that last time she was here. In her mind what hours Emma kept working were completely irrelevant - especially since after she had cast the spell there would be no need for a police station anyway. Just a toy town for three sisters. She suppressed a shudder. <br><br>

Fortunately there was the sound of shoes on tile. She looked up again, her heart leaping into her throat. She craned her neck, trying to gauge who it was. Was this it? Was it her? For a moment she couldn't speak. Say something! <br><br>

"Emma?" she managed. She raised her voice, trying to prevent the shake in her words, the tremor under every line. "Is that you?" <br><br>

Last time. If this wasn’t her, she was going home. For one thing her heart couldn't stand the nerves. <br><br>

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<div class="mhbb">ADD.: Emma Swan | WORDS: 834 | NOTES: COMPLETE WITH TERRIBLE TITLE!</div>
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<div class="tcred"><a href="http://shine.b1.jcink.com/index.php?showuser=1892" target="_blank">♛ Ames</a></div></center>[/dohtml]
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