Something struck me about the image of Jack walking along those frozen power lines, as if he were teetering on the edge of something he couldn't feel. This is the result.
I found a wonderful image on deviant-art that is almost exactly what I imagined for this story, so thank you to the amazing magness_makoyana for letting me use it!
Jack's footsteps on the snow are lighter than shadows – no trace that he's walked here, no proof that he exists. The moonlight plays on his silver hair, conjuring shades of blue and rays of glittering frost, but there is no one to see.
Most can't see him. Some won't.
Jack is no longer a human – the Guardians won't protect him, and humans don't see him. But Jack is not a Guardian, so the humans won't believe in him, and the Guardians won't talk to him. Jack has the heart of a child and the sorrows of an old soul, but he is neither so neither will welcome him.
Jack walks the no-man's land between a child and a man, and thinks that it is a hard place to be – and wonders why he's the only one in there. The wind plays in his hair and whispers about snow and maybe, maybe tomorrow will make more sense than today.
Jack Frost dances on the edge between two worlds – a part of neither and ignored by both, alone save for the ice under his feet and the snow falling over his footsteps.