I wake up to the feeling of burning on my fingers. I wish it would be fire before me, but instead I get nothing but snow in my own room. Frost bites my hands like a fearsome beast, and yet, it is so silent, you'd think everyone in the whole castle is far off dead.
And at times I wake up fearing for everyone. Just like that, I wake up in snow, breathing heavily, my body burning and panicking. Fear of death gets to me, fearing that my own created winter had killed everyone in the kingdom in my sleep. That's how a commotion begins, fear taking a form of screaming and concern in my parents' eyes as they barge into my room. The commotion ends with fear as well, this time fear of being destroyed rather than of destroying.
It is lonely, to live like that. The four walls I'm enslaved in do not move, nor do they change, the scenery behind the glass of my windows does not, either, for I keep the curtains down whenever summer changes winter. I feel no desire to look at something I am not worthy of. Summer is behind me.
Sometimes, though, I try to change my mind. Tiny details adorn my thoughts, and at times I like to decorate them with stories, and legends, and hopes. I've read stories of Skadi, the goddess of winter and of the hunt, who was a fierce warrior of justice. Of the god named Boreas, sheltering winter and the north wind under his wing.
I've also read about an old, foreign legend, of one who was born out of the cold season.
Jack Frost.
"Appears as an elfish creature who personifies cold winter weather." The book had stated. And upon that, at once, empathy rose in my heart.
"Those were just legends." I tell myself once more. Only myths, I repeat, staring at the frame of my window, on which a boy is standing, pale as snow, hair of the moon, ice on his shoulders. I feel like I should scream, or ask for help, but I don't. I simply don't, for even though he seems like winter, it's a season I could never actually hate.
"You're.." I begin, my voice trembling, getting more silent with each passing note.
"Jack Frost. Yeah, that's me." He ends the sentence for me, nodding. Then, he smiles. It's a kind smile. "Thank you for believing in me."
I stare at him, and he stares back. Neither of us give out a single noise, yet I feel that a little bit more of silence could turn into poison.
"I don't suppose that happens often if you're going as far as thanking me." Words leave my lips, and there's a chuckle from his side. A dark chuckle. I start feeling a bitter taste in my mouth.
"Indeed, you're right. Adults don't believe in me, either."
"Maybe I should stop believing, then."
A rough laugh escapes his lips. The sound is warm, as warm as frost can be, and it somehow reminds me of home. There is darkness in his eyes, yet, with this laugh, I see a spark slowly rising in his irises. I've read before, that a human eye can see as far as the unobstructed light can travel. Maybe that's why our eyes are so sensitive - to be able to detect the flicker of light in utter darkness.
"You're far from an adult, sweetheart." He then says, another comforting smile gracing his lips. I feel like I should retort to that, but I don't. He's right. I'm just a child. I realise, that around him, I feel like a simple child. It's relieving. Breathing is easy. "And what is your name?"
"I'm Elsa", I reply and watch as he lightly flies from one to the other corner of my room.
"Do you like snow? I have seen that you seem to have quite a few tricks up your sleeves with it, don't you?" Jack asks, enthusiasm playing on his physiognomy, figures of snow and ice appearing out of nowhere around him.
I bite my lip. He seems far too happy about winter. I shake my head for an answer, and his hands lower.
"The snow, the ice, the wind.. the light reflecting on the surface of earth. I don't like it. I don't like winter. It's too cold, and my skin hurts." As I said that, I realise that I probably should not have said it. His eagerness died with my words.
And as I am to apologise, not exactly knowing for what, my voice gets frozen in my throat, as I hear footsteps growing near the door of my chambers. I know those footsteps.
"Elsa! Elsa, are you awake?" The girl cries out from behind the doors, hope dancing in her tone. Anna. Oh, Anna. I grip the sheets on my knees tightly, biting my lip further. A subtle taste of blood enters my mouth. "Come on, Elsa, rise and shine! Will you go out today?" She keeps on talking, and my heart keeps on aching. Every morning I dread her arrivals, such as this.
I cease to answer.
"Won't you open the door?" Jack asks, concern in his voice. I don't answer. I don't look at him. I keep looking at my hands, pale white, gripping the sheets laid on my body. I can't breathe.
I close my eyes. There's no one there. No one out there. I am invisible, and so I shall be for the rest of my time. I am not there.
I feel my hands going for my head. They cover my ears, I cease to open my eyes. There is nobody there.
Darkness comes seeping into me with a screeching vortex. And there is no light anymore. There's only winter.
Once I awake from my slumber, Jack isn't there anymore. Neither is Anna.
I would always wonder if Jack is as lonely as I am. I still don't know whether he actually is real or not, but I keep thinking of him, from time to time. I don't dare to tell myself that he is just a myth for little children, but I don't dare to tell myself otherwise, either. It is some sort of a lingering on the not so existing figure of comfort. Like hoping for the moon to not hide behind the sun, or for your relatives to completely forget about your existence.
Yet, I didn't see him anymore. It's been 7 years. 7 long years of either waiting, or dreading. 7 long years of not answering to the voice behind my door, of guilt tearing my heart apart.
(I still had to ask
self whether it existed
for naught was not warm)
Sometimes I wish he'd appear in front of me like he did on that cold day of winter. I wish he'd flash that warm smile of his, or mock my attitude once more. I wish I could feel the comfort he offered for at least a moment.
The other times, I wish he hadn't appeared at all. False hopes are for children.
And I stopped being a child on a dire morning, standing by the empty graves of my parents. It was when the ground beneath my feet shook, and I lost myself to nothing for last. The whole town was grieving. And most of all, Anna was grieving. I remember clearly seeing the black on her petite body resonating with the darkness in her eyes. At that time, I imagined this would be the remote example of what my sister would look like behind my door, when her voice shushed and her feet finally gave in to walking away to her room.
And it was the moment that hope gave up on me. Instead, duty filled my mind.
"You will be queen." They said, and I took those words deeply into myself, etching and sewing them onto my sole self. That is my purpose now. I must become the queen, and rule my kingdom like my parents did before me. That is all I am now. Duty.
(yet, I could not
make myself forget
the white hair or the white skin
that flashed behind
the black and the sin)
I stand by the frame of my window as I watch the gates open. My hands are shaking ever so slightly, but I'm ready. I will fulfill my duty like I am supposed to. I have no right to do anything but that. Arendelle will be bestowed with a new queen today.
Yet, it seems, fear is always there to keep me company. I am to dread only for the worst right now.
(for fear
is your greatest
enemy, after all)
And Anna seems happy. It's refreshing to see her this alive after so long. The kingdom, my kingdom, seems to be rising from slumber as well. It's like watching life spring up under the deep coat of snow. Even though I don't let my heart acknowledge it, there is a new-found feeling rising in my chest, something that might symbolise something far stronger than faint hopes, only breathing when sun hides behind covers.
This doesn't seem like a bad start. It doesn't seem like a bad start at all.
Shattered. Broken. Fearful. Betrayed. No matter how hard I searched, I couldn't find the right word to describe Anna's eyes. And I still can't. The air is freezing my lungs as I run, fear fueling my every nerve. I feel burning in my bare hand. I don't like my skin ever being bare and unclothed - it is too much of a risk. I feel too dangerous. I always feel too dangerous.
Maybe I really a monster. A witch, born out of evil demises. I wouldn't be surprised if that was true - such power never seemed to be of good.
And so I run. I run to where my heart calls, where my legs go.
I don't care anymore. Neither should they. I'm not going to return there, they will be safer without me being there. Anna will be a great and caring queen. Summer will not leave Arendelle. Without me. All without me.
And with those thoughts, I let it go. The fear, the guilt, the pain. Up in the north, up in a labyrinth of hills and mountains, I will reside in, free from anyone else.
Here, up north, in a labyrinth of hills and mountains, is where my castle resides, and a single and lonely queen slumbers in. It was nothing but me and freedom now.
Except..
"Been awhile, Elsa." A masculine voice echoed between the walls of the castle. I turn around and a gasp escapes my throat, as what I see is the same boy I have seen in my childhood.
"Jack Frost," I say, slowly starting to approach him, a smile entering my lips. "It sure has been awhile." And I stop before him, staring into his eyes. Jack's eyes seem different now. Without observing even further, with memories, questions start to rise. "Where were you? For so long, where were you?"
He doesn't answer me. The boy turns, and looks at the setting sun. For the longest moment, the silence he created was comforting, and yet, painful to the core. When he turns his eyes back to me, there's a different tone in his eyes. "The real question is, where were you?" He asks, instead of answering to me, words silent; a pang of venom seeping into the air. And I don't understand his question.
"What do you mean? I was here. Always, I was here-" And my sentence does not end in an ending tone, for I did not let it end the way it had to. I may have been lonely, but I had not been waiting for him. He disappeared. He left without a single trace.
And now he is waiting for me to end it. He is looking at me, eyebrows slowly rising. I move my gaze away from the boy in front of me, and his shoulders slump down.
"So was I. All the time, near you. You never called back to me. You didn't even see me. You disappeared." At some point, there is a note in his voice that breaks my heart apart, and I am not cold enough to keep avoiding his gaze.
Closeness is in his eyes, and I feel Jack's hand reach for mine.
(as the sun set,
apologies spilled
like ink
on a sheet of white, still)
"Winter is the coldest season of the year in temperate climates, between autumn and spring. It is caused by the axis of the Earth in the respective hemisphere being oriented away from the Sun." That is what books state. A simple, strict-worded definition, with both precise ending and beginning. To me, though, a simple word, worth of two syllables, is so much more than you could imagine. Winter is staying up at nights wishing for a different existence. Winter is the force that takes your breath away. Winter is what stops time and water at once.
Winter is the evident pain on your sister's face as she begs you to come back home.
And winter is also the refusal that comes out of you, breaking apart your veins and bones.
"Elsa, she's your sister. You can't do that to her." He keeps on repeating that, over and over, each time getting more painful to both of us.
"I can, and I will, Jack. Anna's my sister, and I can't let her safety go below anything else. This is for her own sake." My voice is calm, I conceive lies to myself, as I press the trembling lips of my together.
"You think?" The cold of his voice is nipping at my skin, and I stand still.
I cease to break apart.
I refuse to break down so easily.
Instead, words fly out, like a bird on a seasonal change.
"I can't let myself do that, alright? I can't just go back to Arendelle and claim myself one of them - a member of their society. They've seen me, Jack. The real me. Anna, as well. If I go back, she'll get hurt again. And then, she'll disappear. She'll disappear like all of us do, like ice that melts on a day full of sun." The warmth of my tears makes my cheeks feel like burning. Fear is gripping every inch of my body.
And he is before me right now, cold skin on my cheeks, on my hair, on my back; comforting words in my ear and my mind.
"I'm here, Elsa. I'm here. I won't disappear." I can't open my eyes as his whispers reach to me, dulling every single of my senses. "I promise, I'm here, forever." I can feel his breath against the skin of my neck. It feels like a morning winter breeze, stumbling upon you as you are still not ready to face the oncoming day. It is a kind of northern wind I could live with, though.
As I feel his hands on mine, I open my eyes, and there's a deep abyss in his. That's winter.
And winter is thinking of kissing a frozen lake as I feel his lips on mine, of the growing waves as his fingers entangle with mine. Winter is the moments that seem like separate eternities.
(and how does the cold
of his hands against my skin
contrast with these hands
of mine, still from within)
And there is so much more. Emotion, movement, scenery, motive. Life. My whole life was in winter.
I do not age. I am frozen, in time, in space, in nature and in naught. Arendelle has been ruled under my hands for years now. It's been years since I came back to my homeland, sister of mine dragging me by my hand. It seems like the frost has placed its final card on the tables, revealing eternity behind a veil.
And it's all right. I am accepted. My cold changes from season to season. The city changes from decade to decade, as I stay the same. Anna is always there, by my side, safe and sound; growing with each passing year, and it seems, her heart grows with her. I can see snow taking the pigment out of her sunny locks, yet the warmth in her eyes stays the same.
(though with age she grows,
and instead, getting smaller
to which I beg you, and propose
please
stop,
for nothing might just swallow
you
whole)
And Jack is there. Always, there, by my side. None other can see him for me alone. None other believes in him. It is loneliness that binds our hands together, a feeble fire in winter that connects our gazes in one. It is a straw we grab upon drowning.
And does he whisper at nights, "Forever." Forever, I hear, and forever I reply. It is our endless solstice, endless nights; endless whispers and gasps exchanged for poison that is solitude. Our hands are cold, but there is a fire in a touch that holds on to you with roughness, and yet, with surprising gentleness, like a mother holds onto a newborn child. It is a fire that can last for winters on.
I am frozen, yet I am whole. Every piece of mine is in place, every little fraction of my mind is in order. I do not age, but that does not matter anymore.
(yet, I
beg of you:
please, don't
disappear)
Anna is no more. There is no more summer. No more sun. Only winter lingers in this city, warmth hiding beneath layers and layers of frigid cold.
Decades have passed, and Arendelle is hollow now. The wind howls upon empty grounds and dances around graves, breaking and shattering the windows from which painfully hopeful faces would be seen in dim lights of a mere candle.
(in the isolated kingdom,
I am to be a queen,
forever.)
His fingers blend in with the cold now. I can sense his smell, of pure wind and blooming mountain ash; I can see his hands on mine. But I cannot feel his touch, for cold is all the same now.
And by long nights, I wonder, what summer was like, for years and years of winter had made me forget warmth. I'd realise that I'd forgotten a lot of things by now. That does not stop me from longing for longer days and shorter nights, though.
But it's all the same now. White darkness, grim, lifeless faces, and cold lips, lingering on my body.
And "Sorry," does he say, "I can't warm you up.", his fingertips slowly lacing my skin.
"It's alright." I reply, as I feel a meek smile adorn my face, tears too light to be able to fall from my eyes. "The cold doesn't bother me anyway."
(daggers, on my skin,
burning from within
hurting, tearing,
and i
am still wondering,
how my skin
isn't
bleeding.)
And at times I wish I could at least feel a reminiscence of summer.
Others times I wish I could at least remember my summer's voice, after all those years.
(but then i remember
that after years and years
there's been too much of fear
and all of it has been forgotten)
It's pretty mirthful, how life never ceases to move in circles. How cold, going from warmth, quickly turns to cold again. How season changes the other, or how night changes day. How a kingdom, once exuding with life, is now a place covered in ice.
How a touch, once creating fire, is now only a shadow of a spark.
"Adults don't believe in me." He once said, grim and bitter, dark tunnels in his irises.
"Maybe I should stop believing, then." A whisper of mine replied to him. There was silence, and Jack was looking at the setting sun.
(in shadows, I swore
what I saw in them was
a curt nod, approving)
Mornings are buried in snow once again, waking up in an empty, ice crushed bed. There are no footsteps outside my door, yet I keep them open anyways. I keep hoping.
Days are spent on the empty streets, walking on the frozen ground and listening to the songs, echoing between the walls. The northern wind is tearing at my skin, and I can't do anything to stop it. It's meaningless. I am not the one who controls the wind, the storm does not obey me.
(yet, i remember
of how pale skin and white hair
made storms rise at once)
And sometimes, my gaze lingers on the frozen lakes, venom seeping into my mind. I think of the solid 7 years of emptiness that I felt when Jack disappeared at once. Some small part of me hopes that another 7 years pass quickly. It is for just a moment, yet it is enough.
("I had
a sister once
too",
he said.)
Nights are the most idle, when not even the stars or the moon could embrace the earth I stand on. There is nothing. I lay in bed, empty, thoughtless. All I have is the knowledge, how quickly life turns in circles, and how long I must endure these cycles. And that is my eternity.