Xander Valentine & Selena Frost vs. The European Fiery Nation

[Konrad Raab]

Xander Valentine & Selena Frost vs. Dakon Theron & Ludvig Eriksson

2 RP Limit for singles

3500 Word Per RP

Deadline: WEDNESDAY, December 17, 2025 at 11:59:59 pm ET (NOTE THE DEADLINE – this is for both shows)

[Xander Valentine]

1 of 2 || Echoes of Trauma, Chapter 5: The Chasm in the Center

[SnowQueenSCW]

OOC: Takes place immediately following Deanna’s first roleplay.

Scars of a Fascade

”The Distance Between Us”

Eyrie Tower
New York City, New York
December 9th, 2025
6:47pm

She hadn’t meant to say it. Hadn’t even really thought of them before they had been spoken or knew where they had come from. The words had just... escaped her mouth before she could stop them, before she could weigh them, before instinct could override emotion.

“Then you can go and find something better.”

The silence that followed was immediate and crushing, settling over the room like a sudden drop in temperature. Selena stood frozen before the other two women – one her daughter, the other the woman she loved more than anything in the world. She barely felt the weight of her leather jacket on her shoulder or the aching of her muscles from training. Barely smelled the scent of sweat and rubber mats clinging stubbornly to her clothes – the proof of her drive to make the most of what was before her in SCW. Yet in that moment, the platinum-blonde could barely remember the mental tirade she had been on the last few days.

Being forced to team with Xander.
Her deserved opportunity to make the Glimmer sisters pay dependent on other wrestlers and teams.
The Vision getting a title shot... just because they had said something!

It was the last one that had pushed Selena over the edge. The Vision – Fiona Logan and Melinda Braddock – had arrived in SCW with the new season a few months ago in September and now were facing the Glimmers on Night One of Shattered Reality for the tag-team titles!

Where the hell had they come from?! Selena had asked herself over and over again. The Vision had had ZERO involvement, unlike EFN, with the war that was going on between her and the Glimmers... and yes, with Xander. And what had The Vision done to earn such a shot before her?! What contendership match had they won?! None! How many matches had they had as a tag-team? Selena had checked that too... THREE! Three matches and they were suddenly given a tag-team title shot?! It was the same BS with EFN, handed a tag-team title match after losing to Selena!

Meanwhile, she had to win her chance to fight for the tag-team titles. She had to earn her number-one-contendership status!

Earn it!

Again, those blasted two words she had heard for months had echoed around in the Snow Queen’s head, driving her frustration and anger further and further with each passing incident of the double-standard. It was BLATANT hypocrisy! How the hell did The Vision get a tag-team title shot when they had just gotten past the ‘jobbers’ of SCW? How the hell did EFN get a title shot, no hoops jumped, when they couldn’t even beat her in a handicap match? How the hell was Xander Valentine getting an Underground title shot ON TOP of meddling in her business, while she had received NOTHING in her pursuit for the World title despite her wins?

No singles title shot of any top tier division.
No contendership match till now (with the deck stacked against her with Xander as her ‘partner’).
Just those same two infernal words: Earn it.

Earn it.
Earn it.
EARN IT!

She had channelled so much of her anger and rage in her workout tonight – like the last few – that by the time she had come back upstairs to her suite, she was wired and buzzed and... and...

Completely unable to deal with the shock-bomb that had been dropped at her feet.

The silence was becoming unbearable at this point and the former world champion cast another glance towards her daughter, who had not moved from where she stood since Selena had said those words moments ago.

Elsianna didn’t cry. That was what hit Selena first, as well as the hardest.

There was no outburst from the young girl. No raised voice, no dramatic turn away, no stomping of the good foot. The girl simply stared at her, blue eyes fixed and unblinking. Like she was marking the exact second something irreparable had shifted between them.

Deanna moved almost immediately. “Selena,” she warned quietly.

There was no anger in her tone. That would have been easier to dismiss. Instead, there was disappointment— and that was so much worse! Selena could hear it plain as day. It was the kind of disappointment that didn’t fade once the moment passed. The kind of disappointment that lingered.

Selena felt her jaw tighten. She wanted to snap back. Wanted to defend herself, to explain, to point out that she was exhausted and under pressure and constantly balancing on the edge of disaster. She wanted to remind Deanna that none of this was simple, that nothing about her life had been simple for a very long time. She wanted to point that Elsianna had started it with such nonsense!

Instead, she just... stayed silent. Simply because... she knew she was wrong. But it was too late for that.

Before her, she saw Elsianna’s hands tighten into fists, a resolve Selena could not figure out seeming to coldly form across the young teenager’s features.

“You don’t mean that.” Deanna stated firmly, stepping slightly forward. Not to block Selena’s path, but to soften the impact.

“Yes, she did.” Elsianna whispered, earning a glare from both women.
“I didn’t say she wasn’t part of the family,” Selena finally spoke, eyes never leaving her daughter. “I said—”

“You said I could leave,” Elsianna interrupted. Her voice was steady - too steady for a twelve-year-old. And it made something twist in Selena’s chest as she heard it.

“I—” Selena stopped herself, inhaling sharply. “You don’t understand what that name means,” she said instead, her hand flying up to grasp at the platinum-blonde braid that was her own hair – a family genetic trait. “Frost isn’t just a name. It’s—”

“A target?” Elsianna shot back.
Selena exhaled slowly through her nose. “It’s history. It’s strength. It’s—”

“It’s why people shove me in the halls,” Elsianna said. “It’s why they whisper. It’s why they look at me like I’ve already done something wrong.”

“That’s not my fault,” Selena replied immediately, and was surprised at the regret that immediately followed. She saw Deanna out of the corner of her eyes as Elsianna’s eyes hardened.

“It IS your fault!” she stated with zero hesitation. “Because you chose this.”

There it was.

The accusation Selena had heard screamed from crowds, whispered online, debated endlessly by people who had never met her, from the commentators over and over again as they questioned everything about her, from her sanity to her abilities thanks to the neverending controversial finishes to her matches theses days... That accusation now delivered by her own daughter.

“What choice is there when the other option is nothing?!” Selena snapped, control slipping. “You think I don’t wake up every day knowing exactly how much people hate me? Knowing they want me hurt? What choice did I have? If I was to go back, the only way I could was to be hated because that’s what the FANS wanted to do! They wanted to hate me! I didn’t want to hate them! I didn’t want them to hate me! So I had to go along with it! I didn’t choose them to act that way! They did! So what choice did I have? Everyone wanted me back – including your mom!” she gestured to Deanna. “So it was either let them continue to destroy our name with my absence, or come back and be what they already saw me as!” Selena shrugged her shoulders. “What choice did I have?”

She wasn’t expecting a second of silence from her daughter – wasn’t even expecting the poor girl to completely understand – but she still got a few seconds before Elsa slowly shook her head.

“That doesn’t mean you get to hurt us,” she said quietly.
“I never wanted this for you,” Selena said, her voice lower now. “I wanted to protect you.”
“Then why does it feel like you chose wrestling over us?” Elsianna asked.

Selena eyes widened at that. That question didn’t have a clean answer. No rehearsed justification fit neatly around it. She could argue the hypocrisy of booking, management, ‘title rankings’, but this? What could she say?

“I didn’t choose wrestling over you,” she said at last, an actual attempt at unguarded honesty. “I chose survival.”

Elsianna let out a small, broken laugh. “Then why am I the one who keeps getting hurt?”

Selena opened her mouth to try and explain that too. Nothing came out.

Desperately, her mind scrambled through years of self-assurances, of late-night rationalizations whispered into mirrors and empty rooms. ‘They’ll understand one day.’, and ‘This is temporary.’, ‘I have to do this to fix SCW.’, and ‘They’ll get it when it’s all finished.’.

None of it could answer the question Elsianna had just laid at her feet.

Deanna spoke softly. “Selena… she’s not asking you to stop being who you are.”
Selena looked at her, bitterness flaring briefly. “That’s exactly what she is asking. Everyone is.”
“No,” Deanna replied. “We’re asking you to stop hurting yourself. And sometimes—to stop hurting the people who love you.”

Elsianna shifted on the couch, wincing as her cast bumped the cushion. Selena’s eyes flicked to it automatically, guilt tightening its grip.

“When I fell,” Elsianna said quietly, “you didn’t even touch me.”
“I was scared,” Selena said immediately. “I didn’t want to make it worse. I didn’t know if you were— I’m sorry.” she finally settled on saying.

The apology felt painfully inadequate to her, not the first time her words had felt hollow.

Elsianna shrugged. “That’s why I want Mom’s name,” she said, gesturing faintly toward Deanna. “Because people don’t know  ‘Springs’. They don’t expect anything from me. They don’t hate me before they know who you are.”

Selena felt something twist inside her—not jealousy, not resentment. Loss. The most profound feeling was loss. For weeks, months even, she had tried so hard to work things out with her daughter – tried patience over knee-jerk reactions. Tried understanding Elsa’s point-of-view, and, most of all, she’d tried to give her daughter whatever she needed. But what her child – her Snowflake – was asking for now?

“You think this will fix it?” Selena asked, the disbelief clear in her voice.
“I think it’ll hurt you,” Elsianna replied honestly. “And I want you to feel what I feel.”
“I see.” Selena said hoarsely. “So, that’s what it’s all about? Hurting me?”

Elsianna finally looked at her properly then, and for a brief moment Selena saw the child she remembered—the girl who once sat on her shoulders at shows, who called her a hero without hesitation.

“I don’t want to be you anymore, mother.” Elsianna said with cold finality. “I NEVER want to be the woman you are now.”

Selena felt the air ripped out of her body, leaving her speechless at her daughter’s declaration. She was sure, in that moment, she would shatter into a million pieces onto the floor, with Elsianna standing above her, looking down at her like they all did...

CHBK.
Dean.
Xander.
Cid.
The Glimmers.
EFN.
All of the SCW Universe and staff.

She didn’t see Deanna moving quickly, the redhead briskly putting herself further between the mother and daughter. “Enough.” She demanded firmly. “We are not deciding anything tonight. No paperwork. No ultimatums.”

She eyed both of them sternly, so much that, for the first time, Elsianna had to lean back in surprise and a little intimidated.

“So… I’m not allowed?” she asked hesitantly.
“I said we’ll talk about it later. When this doesn’t hurt so much.”

It clearly wasn’t the answer the child wanted, but she was old enough to know when the conversation was over. She looked back over to Selena, waiting.  And the Snow Queen knew that this was the moment she could have asserted control. Could have drawn a line as she often did in a promo. Could have demanded authority, reduced the argument to a weak statement with a counter-argument.

Instead... she just nodded.

“Fine.” Elsianna huffed, reaching over to grab her crutches. Deanna helped her and some soft words were spoken that Selena didn’t hear as the redhead helped Elsa back up to the stairs where she could go back to her room.

Selena didn’t watch them leave the room, but, instead, leaned back against the wall, suddenly aware of how badly her hands were shaking and how tired she felt. How long she leaned against that wall, she wasn’t sure, but she eventually heard Deanna returning to her side.

“I messed up,” Selena whispered knowingly.

The redhead sighed first before replying. “A definite D minus, but you’ve definitely said worse and stupider things.”

Selena gave a hollow laugh. “Thanks for sugarcoating it.”
Deanna shrugged. “I’m not here to fight you. But I won’t lie to you either.”

Selena nodded, casting a glance towards the pathway Elsianna had disappeared down. “She wants your name.” she stated the obvious.

“I don’t feel as flattered as you think.” Deanna remarked, reading her lover’s expression.
“Why not?” Selena chuckled dryly. “You’re doing everything perfectly. You’re not causing problems in SCW, you’re on your way to winning the SoA tournament! You’re so close to earning the Adrenaline title. Why wouldn’t she look up to you more than me at this point.”

Deanna didn’t answer, merely letting Selena talk, though she did move into the kitchen, the redhead knowing her way around the suite well-enough to begin making some tea.

“I don’t know how to fix this,” Selena admitted as she followed her.
“You don’t have to tonight,” Deanna said gently. “I never understand that about you. You think you have to ‘fix’ everything and fix it fast. Gotta be fixed immediately. That day! That second!” she turned her gaze towards Selena. “You realize that if it were that easy, I wouldn’t have needed 9 months off from wrestling?”

Selena met her gaze. “I knew I should have let go...”
“Don’t you fucking dare.”

The cold command stopped Selena in her tracks, the platinum-blonde meeting an even colder emerald-glare from Deanna. “We have a deal, remember? I’m okay with you making me a bride again, but not a widow.”

“But what if she’s right?” Selena tried. “What if loving me just keeps hurting her? And Amiliah? And David? And you...”

Deanna didn’t answer immediately. When she did, her voice was steady. “Then learn how to love us differently!”

Selena didn’t respond right away to that. It was such a simple-sounding answer, almost stupidly so. So why couldn’t she, who could outsmart Ravyn and Vixen Cain, say anything about it? Why couldn’t she understand such a concept?

With no answer coming, Selena returned her gaze to watching Deanna make tea. It struck her in that moment, though, how different Deanna looked lately. Not physically, though that was undeniable too. But there was something else beneath it. A steadiness. A quiet confidence...

Selena pushed herself off the wall and paced a few steps, boots heavy against the floor. Love differently... what does that even mean?

“I don’t know how to be anything but myself... except when I’m being a villain.” She admitted.
She saw Elsianna’s face again as Deanna turned to gaze at her —too calm, too composed, too disappointed.  “I don’t know how to be less than what the world expects from me,” Selena admitted. “If I let go—if I soften—they’ll all just tear me apart.”

Deanna crossed the room slowly, stopping a few feet away to hand Selena a hot cup of tea. “Your daughter isn’t the world.” she stated.

Selena swallowed hard. “But she’s watching how I survive in it.” she sighed as the statement managed to stop Deanna’s counters. “I used to think...” she continued “...that if I became something powerful enough, it would protect all of us. That if people feared me, they’d leave you alone.”

“And instead,” Deanna finished, “they aim through you to get to them.”

The admission tasted bitter, causing Selena to run a hand through her hair, undoing the tight pull of her braid. The release didn’t help. Nothing did.

“I heard what she said, you know.” Selena murmured. “About being proud of you.”

Deanna’s expression softened, guilt and pride warring quietly behind her eyes. “She loves you as much as she does me, Selena.” she stated with no doubt. “She just doesn’t know how to reach you right now. She doesn’t know who you are.”

A ittle more silence hung in the air between them, Selena sipping at the orange-pekoe tea before finally asking the new question that haunted her the most.

“What if she really does change her name?”

Deanna didn’t sugarcoat her response, nor the quickness in which it came. “Then it will hurt. But it won’t destroy you. And it won’t mean she doesn’t love you.”

Selena shook her head, a bitter laugh leaving her. “She wants to hurt me. Doesn’t feel like love. It feels like erasure.”
“It feels like survival,” Deanna corrected gently. “For her. Same way you chose it.”

Selena closed her eyes. She had erased people before. Cut them out. Burned bridges without looking back. She’d told herself it was necessary. But this was different.

This was her child.

She didn’t see Deanna near her till the warm hand was cupping her cheek. “You don’t have to stop being Selena Frost.” she said. “But you might have to decide who gets to see the parts of you that aren’t made for SCW.”

Selena laughed quietly, humorless. “You make it sound easy.”
“I didn’t say it was,” Deanna replied. “I said it was necessary.”

Deanna wasn’t asking her to retire. Wasn’t asking her to apologize to the world. Wasn’t even asking her to change overnight. She was asking her to choose.

“I told her she could leave,” Selena said again, the shame resurfacing. “What kind of mother says that?”
“One who’s drowning,” Deanna replied. “And lashed out. Just like our daughter did.”

Selena’s voice broke. “What if she believes me?”
“Then you show her she was wrong.”

“No,” Deanna said honestly. “But you don’t earn a second chance by deserving them. You earn it by trying.”

Earn it... It didn’t anger her – hearing those words – this time....

“I don’t want to lose her,” Selena said quietly, leaning into Deanna’s touch.
“Then don’t treat her like something you’re willing to gamble.”

Selena’s breath hitched at that. Gamble. Risk. She’d built her entire career on calculated risks—on knowing exactly how much pain she could endure and how much she could inflict before someone broke. But children weren’t opponents. They didn’t tap out. They didn’t stay down. They carried the damage with them like scars.

“I don’t know how to stop,” Selena whispered. “Every time I feel cornered, every time I feel like I’m losing ground, I push harder. I sharpen myself. That’s all I’ve ever known how to do.”

Deanna rested her forehead against Selena’s, grounding her. “Then start by doing nothing,” she said. “No speeches. No justifications. No ultimatums. Just… be there.”

Selena swallowed, her throat tight. “That’s not enough.”
Deanna smiled knowingly, “It is tonight.”

They stood there like that for a long moment, the hum of the heaters within the suite filling the silence, as well as the sounds of Midna and Oberon. Somewhere above them, Selena could hear the faint sound of movement—crutches against the floor, a door closing softly. Each sound felt like a reminder of the distance she’d helped create.

“You’re her mother.” Deanna whispered. “Mothers mess up. The difference is whether they double down… or they reach back.”

Selena nodded slowly. Reaching back. The idea terrified her more than any hostile crowd ever had. In the ring, vulnerability was blood in the water. At home, it was the only thing that might save her.

She set the tea aside with shaking hands. “I can’t promise I’ll get this right,” she said. “I can’t promise I won’t screw up again.”

Deanna smiled faintly. “Good. Neither can I. That’s called being human, idiot.”

Selena let out a shaky breath, then straightened. “Tomorrow,” she said. “I’ll talk to her. Not to convince her. Not to win. Just… to listen.”

“That’s all she’s asking for.” Deanna said. “And you won’t be alone.”

Selena nodded before glancing once more toward the stairs, toward her daughter’s room, where the Frost name weighed heavy and unwanted. For the first time, she didn’t see the name as a crown or a weapon.

She saw it as something she might have to set down. And if she did... she could only hope that it wouldn’t be the end of her family’s story—just the moment where she finally stopped pretending the scars didn’t hurt...

[Xander Valentine]

2 of 2 || Echoes of Trauma, Chapter 5.5: Cannon Fodder (EFN)

[The European Fiery Nation]

Getting Ginny to meet Federico for the first time before he steps into SCW as a full-time wrestler and dealing with Moaning Minnie and the violent wreakoning path.

[SnowQueenSCW]

The Royal Letter

SCW, Glimmers, Xander, and oh yes... European Fiery Nation...

Do you believe?

Oh sorry, you didn’t hear me? No—of course you didn’t. You’re too busy shouting. Too busy swinging.
Too busy bleeding. Too busy congratulating yourselves for being loud enough that no one notices how LITTLE you actually say.

Dakon. Ludvig. Normally, yes, I would go on a bit of a tirade, pointing out the latest hypocrisies of management – such as handing The Vision a title shot against the Glimmers out of nowhere. I’m sorry, when did THEY win a number one contender match like I’m being forced to?

But instead, you know what? I’m just going to jump right to the chase here because you barked my name like dogs fighting over a bone. “Moaning Minnie.” “Boring.” “Weak.” “Pussy.”

You repeated it so often I almost believed you were trying to convince yourselves of your little remarks. That’s what insecure men do. Sorry, that’s what insecure, WEAK men do. They repeat a lie until it sounds like truth.

Let me be very clear about something before we go any further. I am not offended. I’ve heard this crap from you two for years. Konrad spewed the same thing. All it has ever been is some violent thugs overcompensating that this ‘weak’, ‘nonviolent’ woman is so much better than the entire EFN. Or did you miss the part where, unlike both of you, I AM a former world tag-team champion. Unlike you, I CAN win matches. So no, I’m not mad at some little boys whining and crying the same lines about me.

I am amused.

Because for two men who “don’t give a fuck.” about losing or about me, you devoted an impressive amount of breath to talking about me. About my streak. About my approach. About how I wrestle. About how I think. How I look.

That tells me everything. And the most telling thing about you two?

You mistake silence for fear.
You mistake restraint for weakness.
You mistake control for boredom.

That’s because you don’t understand control. You don’t comprehend the notion of restraint. You all live in violence because without it, you simply disappear. You’re not good enough to be known for your wrestling which is way Kemal is leading when you two have been here longer. You’re just goons. Thugs. You can’t exist with your violence.

I can.

You say my undefeated streak doesn’t matter. That nobody cares. That it’s irrelevant. Funny how they couldn’t stop talking about it when it ended. Funny how Glory Braddock was rewarded for hers. And funny how every insult you hurled circled back to it.

I mean, If it truly meant nothing, you wouldn’t need to tear it down, would you?

Because consistency terrifies men who rely on chaos. Because discipline exposes people who can’t sustain it. Because when someone keeps winning without screaming about it, it reminds you of everything you are not.

You lose—and you laugh it off.
You fail—and you call it a message.
You fall short—and you tell yourselves it doesn’t matter.

That’s not philosophy. That’s cowardice with better branding. You don’t reject wins and losses because you’re enlightened. You reject them because you can’t control them. Because you can’t do better. You can’t be better. You can’t maintain the very initials of Supreme Championship Wrestling. So instead, you pretend they’re beneath you. And then you accuse me of whining when my standard is being suppressed. When someone that CAN maintain and do better is held back.

That’s the difference between us, boys. I speak because I expect standards. You shout because you don’t meet them. You mock me for questioning systems, for pointing out hypocrisy, for refusing to quietly accept whatever scraps are thrown my way.

Of course you hate that. Systems benefit people who understand them, while chaos benefits people who can’t compete any other way.

You say I want everything to go my way. Don’t be upset, alot of people think that’s what I want. “Selena wants to rule the world!”, “Selena wants to be world champion FOREVER!”

No. I want reality to match effort. And that alone makes me dangerous to people like you.

Because if effort matters—if momentum matters—if winning matters—then you have to look at yourselves honestly. Which is a problem because all of you in EFN despise honesty. You hide behind violence because it lets you avoid reflection.

But since you won’t rise to my level, let me talk down to yours. Let’s talk about violence.

You talk about it like it’s sacred. Like it’s proof of authenticity. Like swinging a weapon makes you warriors. It doesn’t. It makes you predictable. Violence is your identity because you have nothing underneath it. You think clean wrestling is boring because you’ve never mastered it. You think rules are cages because you’ve never learned how to weaponize precision. You say I’d freeze if weapons came into play.

Did I freeze when I was put into chamber matches time and time again? Did I freeze when I went to war with Blake Mason? Did I freeze when Regan Street brought a cat-o-ninetails of barbed wire? When Xander Valentine demanded an unsanctioned match, followed by a Last Person Standing Match?

No, I didn’t. I didn’t freeze. I adapted. Like I always have. Like I always will. You two only know how to escalate. I know how to end things. I don’t reach for brutality because I’m emotional. I don’t lash out because I’m desperate. I don’t need to scream to feel powerful.

I AM powerful. And cold power doesn’t roar. It waits... like a sleeping dragon...

You call me boring because I don’t bleed for your entertainment. Because I don’t throw tantrums. Because I don’t need to prove how “real” I am. You mistake spectacle for substance and then you wonder why people outgrow you.

But you two don’t want to face me? Not really that shocking. People who aren’t threatened don’t need to convince themselves someone is irrelevant. People who aren’t afraid don’t spend this much time explaining why someone doesn’t matter, do they?

You don’t avoid me because I’m boring.
You avoid me because I’m efficient.

Because I expose mistakes.
Because I don’t give you chaos to hide in.
Because I don’t get dragged down to your level.

But please, respect Xander Valentine. By all means. Maybe he won’t bother showing up and I can beat you two again like I did last time, only this time it will be with me pinning one of you while the other lies unconscious outside the ring.

Pfft, I’ll “hold Xander back”. I spent most of my career holding Xander down when I pin him or knock him out. But could you two be more obvious? You’re just projecting because you are held back by anyone who demands more than noise from SCW wrestlers.

You say we aren’t a real team? You’re right.

We’re not bound by tantrums.
We’re not bonded by excuses.
We’re not united by shared failures dressed up as philosophy.

But we both want the same thing. The Glimmers... and you two? Well... you’re in the way. Both of our way. And that terrifies you! Because you don’t understand how two people can stand side by side without feeding off chaos. You can’t comprehend how this could be the very storm that breaks your nation.

You claim the tag titles are the only thing you care about. And yet—every sentence you speak is an explanation for why you haven’t reached them. And here’s the truth you keep dancing around:

You need me to snap. You need me to scream. You need me to bleed. You need me to abandon who I am. You need me to turn on Xander and leave him high and dry for you two to get that easy win, because that is the ONLY way you could be either one of us, Xander or myself.

More than that, you need me to break because if I beat you as I am—cold, composed, deliberate—it shatters everything you believe about yourselves.

You’ve already promised to try and “force” me. That tells me you know you can’t out-think me. So you’ll try to drag me down.

Good luck. Ice doesn’t crack when you hit it. It breaks what strikes it.

You think this ends with you standing tall, covered in blood, shouting about messages and violence and legacy.

No... What actually happens is quieter. You make mistakes. You overreach. And you swing too hard.

And when the moment comes—when chaos stops protecting you—you’ll realize too late that you never learned how to survive without it.

And when this is over, you won’t be shouting. You’ll be silent. And you’ll finally understand the difference between noise…

…and inevitability. Whether you want to believe it... or not.

Sincerely,
Selena Michelle Frost
The Snow Queen