Profile Monday: Jane Frost - The Prodigy's Pressure
Darkling devotees, gather 'round for a chilling tale from the frost-bitten past of our very own keyboard virtuoso, Jane Frost. Today, we delve into the icy depths of Jane's childhood, where the seeds of her cool demeanor were first sown.
Picture, if you will, a grand Victorian mansion on the outskirts of Ravenfall. Its windows gleam like eyes in the perpetual mist, and the air inside is as crisp as a winter's morning. This is where young Jane Frost, aged 7, sits ramrod straight at a massive grand piano, her tiny fingers flying over the keys with inhuman precision.
Behind her looms the imposing figure of Madame Isolde Winterbourne, Jane's piano tutor and grande dame of Ravenfall's classical music scene. "Again," Madame Winterbourne's voice cuts through the air like a glacier carving through bedrock. "And this time, try not to embarrass yourself or the Frost name."
You see, darklings, the Frost family has a legacy. For generations, they've produced some of the finest classical musicians this side of the astral plane. And Jane? She was to be their crowning achievement.
From the moment she could reach the keys, Jane's life became an endless cycle of scales, arpeggios, and increasingly complex pieces. Tchaikovsky for breakfast, Rachmaninoff for lunch, and Liszt for dinner. There was no room for error, no time for childish pursuits. Every missed note was met with a rap on the knuckles from Madame Winterbourne's ruler, every imperfect performance with a disapproving glare from her parents.
But our Jane was nothing if not resilient. She poured herself into the music, letting its icy precision flow through her veins. By age 10, she was performing Chopin's Étude Op. 10, No. 4 with the ease most children reserve for nursery rhymes. Her recitals became the talk of Ravenfall, drawing crowds that whispered in awe at the tiny girl with eyes as cold as midwinter and fingers that danced like snowflakes in a blizzard.
Yet, as Jane's talent grew, so did the pressure. The expectations piled up like snowdrifts, threatening to bury her alive. In public, she was the perfect prodigy, all poise and polite smiles. But in private, the cracks began to show.
It all came to a head on the night of Jane's 13th birthday. She was set to perform at Ravenfall's Annual Winter Sonata, the most prestigious musical event of the year. The creme de la creme of the musical world had gathered to witness the Frost family's prodigy in her element.
As Jane took her place at the piano, the silence in the concert hall was absolute. She began to play, her fingers weaving a tapestry of sound so intricate it seemed to defy human capability. But halfway through the piece, something changed. The music began to shift, morphing from the classical piece into something... else.
It was as if all the pent-up emotion, all the pressure and pain of the past years, came pouring out through Jane's fingertips. The melody turned dark, discordant, a storm of sound that sent shivers down the spines of the audience. The temperature in the hall plummeted, frost creeping across the windows.
When the last notes faded away, Jane stood, turned to the shocked audience, and delivered a curtsy so proper it could cut glass. Then, without a word, she walked off stage and out of the concert hall, leaving behind a stunned silence and a light dusting of snow on the piano keys.
From that day forward, Jane Frost was changed. The perfect prodigy was gone, replaced by the ice queen we know and love today. She traded classical concertos for synthesizers, metronomes for drum machines. And when she joined Transcendant? Well, that's when her true music began to thaw the frozen lake of her soul.
So next time you see Jane's fingers flying over her keyboard, remember this tale. For in every haunting melody, in every complex harmony, you're hearing the echo of a little girl who turned her pain into power, her pressure into passion.
Stay frosty, darklings. And remember, in Transcendant, even ice can burn.
