Throwback Thursday: The Ice Queen Cometh

Gather 'round, my little night creatures, for a chilling tale of how our beloved Ice Queen, Jane Frost, joined the ranks of Transcendant. Pour yourself a glass of absinthe and settle in – this one's a doozy!

Picture this: It's been three days since Evelyn's infamous Craigslist ad brought Rachael into our twisted little family. They've spent 72 hours in a caffeine-fueled haze, scribbling lyrics on napkins and debating the finer points of gothic fashion. (Evelyn insisted that more lace equals more goth. Rachael quietly disagreed.)

Our dynamic duo decided it was time to find a keyboard player to complete their unholy trinity. They'd placed a new ad, this time specifying "Must be able to make a keyboard sound like the wails of the damned." Little did they know what they were in for...

The auditions were held in the musty basement of Evelyn's family mansion. (Yes, the one with the possibly haunted chandelier. No, we still don't talk about the "incident" with the ouija board and the candelabra.)

The day had been a parade of disappointments:
🖤 A perky blonde who thought "gothic" meant wearing all black... designer labels.
🖤 A guy who brought a keytar. Evelyn nearly had an aneurysm.
🖤 Someone who could only play "Chopsticks." Badly.

Evelyn was ready to tear her perfectly teased hair out. Rachael was considering whether bass strings could be used as garrotes. (Spoiler: they can, but it's messy.)

Just as they were about to call it quits, the temperature in the room suddenly plummeted. The candles flickered, and a chill wind whispered through the room, despite there being no windows.

The door creaked open, and in walked Jane Frost.

Now, when I say "walked," I mean "glided in like the spirit of Victorian mourning given human form." Her presence was so commanding that even the dusty old portraits on the wall seemed to straighten up and pay attention.

Evelyn, never one to be outdone in the drama department, gasped theatrically. "Darling, you're making quite the entrance. Are you here about the ad, or did you mistake this for an ice sculpture competition?"

Jane, cool as ever, merely raised an eyebrow. "I'm here about Transcendant. Unless you'd prefer a xylophone player with a sunnier disposition?"

Rachael, suppressing a smirk, chimed in, "I don't know, Evelyn. Can we really trust someone who makes our coffee ice over just by looking at it?"

Jane's lips curved into the faintest of smiles. "You wanted someone who could 'make a keyboard sound like the wails of the damned,' didn't you? I assure you, my dears, I can make your audience shiver in ways you've only dreamed of."

Evelyn's eyes lit up with unholy glee. "Ooh, I like her! But we should probably test her skills. You know, make sure she can actually play and isn't just really good at dramatic entrances."

Jane glided over to the ancient keyboard lurking in the corner. She cracked her knuckles (which sounded suspiciously like icicles breaking) and began to play.

What followed was a melody so hauntingly beautiful, it made the resident ghost weep ectoplasmic tears. The song started soft as a winter's whisper, then built to a crescendo that felt like an avalanche of emotion. The chandelier trembled, the candles danced, and somewhere in the distance, a wolf howled mournfully.

When Jane finished, even the cobwebs seemed to be applauding. A raven that had been perched on the windowsill promptly keeled over. (Don't worry, it was just unconscious. Probably.)

Rachael, wide-eyed, whispered, "I think my bass strings just got frostbite."

Evelyn, for once, was speechless. After a moment, she declared, "Well, darling, it seems Transcendant has found its ice queen. Welcome to our coven of chaos!"

Jane nodded regally, a glacial smile gracing her lips. "I suppose you'll do. Now, shall we discuss your... interesting choice of decor? This room is practically begging for a touch of frost."

And just like that, our trifecta of darkness was complete. The basement temperature never quite returned to normal, the coffee in the mansion was perpetually iced, and Evelyn had to invest in thermal underwear for band practices.

Little did they know that a certain feathered guitarist was waiting in the wings, ready to ruffle their perfectly gloomy feathers. But that, my little bats, is a story for another Throwback Thursday. 🦇

P.S. Some say that on quiet nights, you can still hear the faint echoes of Jane's audition piece drifting through the mansion. Either that or it's just the pipes freezing again. With Jane, it's hard to tell the difference.