Mother used to close the windows on frosty Winter evenings.
I don't know why she bothered. It was apparent in the days after I'd attacked my sister that they kept a wider girth from me than ever before. Mother still hugged me, but Father opted for running his thick fingers through my hair. I craved the warm affection because it was clear I couldn't offer any in return. My skin, fair and soft, felt chilled to anyone who touched me. I couldn't provide the warmth of a secure hug on desolate winter days.
I was sitting in front of my vanity, eight-year-old fingers tangling endlessly to imitate the braid my mother styled her hair in. My own platinum blonde hair never grew the way I wanted it to, with choppy long locks instead of the cute, innocent fringe Anna effortlessly pulled off, braids twisted into beauty behind her head. She didn't know I knew though. It had been weeks since I'd been in the same room as her, let alone braided her hair, or felt her warmth as I summoned snowflakes before her bright blue eyes.
"Mother, why do you close the window? You know it won't make any difference."
"Just because you can't feel him, doesn't mean Jack Frost won't come to visit if you don't close your window."
Mother turned from the window to me, striding over to help me with my braid. "Your hair is such a beautiful colour."
I pouted into the mirror, seeing a very sad, quite upset girl in response. I felt too melancholy to adore my hair colour today.
"Who's Jack Frost?" I asked curiously.
She smiled, dextrous fingers pulling apart strands of hair and weaving them together into a beautiful arrangement.
"He's the spirit of Winter. He travels around the world to begin the cold season."
"Oh, are there other spirits too, for Summer, Autumn and Spring?"
Mother tilted her head, picking up some pins to secure my braid in place, "Not that I know, dear one."
"Can I meet him?"
"Elsa," she said quietly, placing a hand on my shoulder. I stared into her eyes through the mirror. I could tell by the tone I wasn't going to like the answer. "It would be better right now if no one knew of your powers. Not even a lonely spirit like Jack Frost."
I breathed out a sigh and nodded my head, "Okay."
That night I was brushing my hair out of it's knots as I passed the window and stopped to observe the night. The black trunks of trees branched out in spidery webs carrying icicles and thick blankets of tundra. The moon peeked out from behind the greying clouds to dust the mountains with glowing blue crystals of frost. I was about to go to bed when I noticed something strange between the shadows. With growing fear and wonder I made out the silhouette of young man, a shadow darting between the trees.
I should have been afraid, but instead of running to the other side of the room like my brain was telling me to, I opened the window.
I was both disheartened and relieved when I couldn't see him anymore.
About to close the window, I almost screamed when the frost on the window started manipulating itself. It was as if someone was writing on it. A slim-tipped finger wrote in block-like text, a misspelling, five characters which spelled out 'hello'.
"Hello?" I repeated into the open air.
I sat on the window sill, waiting for some response from the invisible entity. The wind of the night howled, and for a moment, I thought it whispered to me. It was a gentle caress against my ears, nipping the shell and encasing me with a sense of delight.
Hello, said the wind.
I knew it was ridiculous, but instead of fearing the talking wind I laughed because it kept mispronouncing the greeting.
"Hallo," I said again.
(Norwegian - Hello.)
The wind whispered to me again, but the sound was foreign and I couldn't understand it, unable to tell if it was the howl or because it was speaking in a tongue I couldn't understand.
Can you hear- oh wait… Kan du høre meg?
(Can you hear me?)
I couldn't understand the first half of his sentence, but I managed to catch onto the end. "Ja!" I grinned into the open night, stopping the urge to clap my hands. "Hva heter du? Er du Jokul Frosti?"
(Yes! What's your name? Are you Jack Frost?)
Ja. What's your na- ah… I mean- Hva heter du?
"Elsa," I told the foreign ghost.
What is the word for… let's see if I can remember. La oss være venner?
(Let's be friends?)
"Foreldrene mine sa 'ikke snakk med fremmede'." I said, despite being completely fascinated by the thought of a Winter ghost taking the time to talk to me.
(My parents said not to talk to strangers.)
The wind replied, somehow managing a more sombre tone compared to the words before. I'm sorry, little lady, I'm not fluent enough to understand that. Kanskje neste gang?
(Maybe next time then?)
"Yes," I said. I gripped the frame of the window, blood thrumming with so much excitement that a thin layer of frost materialised across the lacquered wood. "Goodbye, Jack Frost."
Ha de bra, Elsa, the wind rustled my hair, blowing it about playfully before letting it go.
(Take care, Elsa.)
From that point on, even on the coldest nights, I kept the window open.
a/n: I am sorry for the atrocious Norwegian, but I just couldn't believe there was no language barrier when Jackson Overland comes from Pennsylvania, and Arendelle is based of a Scandinavian kingdom.
To my new readers, hello! My name is Kacey, but you can call me Kace if you'd like. Please review, favourite and follow. I like all the things. Anyway, this my first story uploaded to a different fandom since 2011. Pretty exciting for me! I've fallen hopelessly in love with the Jelsa pairing. Sorry, not sorry.
This is an update when ready story. No specific timetable is in place.
Cheers.