Soft rays of moonlight crept across the carpeted hallway. The last of the servants had finished their rounds and had packed up for the night. Distant snores could be heard from the colorful pink door at the end of the corridor, and the rhythmic tick tock of the ornate grandfather clock continued ever faithfully, but all else in the castle was silent. Tick tock, tick tock, tick tock… DONG. One o'clock.
The white and blue door opened slowly. The young princess Elsa had become a master at keeping hinges from squeaking, and once again slipped out into the hallway without interrupting the orderly nighttime symphony. She padded softly down the hallway, her slippers adding an extra layer of sound-muffling protection, and made her way to the curved stairwell. Having years of practice under her belt, she deftly maneuvered past each creaky step and glided down to the first floor. It was here where she hesitated.
It wasn't as if she didn't want him to be there, but her dread continued to mount. Elsa felt her heart rate quicken as she stared at the unmoving suit of armor, feeling foolish and immature. She wrung her gloved hands nervously and tried not to think about her previous failures.
Elsa, now twelve, had been making late night visits to the solitary knight for almost three years. When her parents, her sister and the servants had all gone to bed, she would make her way silently downstairs, walk up to him, smile, curtsy, and say, "A pleasure to meet you, sir." She would then remove one of her gloves and reach for his hand with one her own, trembling. Always with a smile, mostly for her nerves, she would proceed to shake the knight's hand. A few attempts had taken longer than most, but inevitably the ice would begin to crystalize on the shining metal, and Elsa would quickly pull back. She would try her best to remove the ice, and then make a mad dash back to her bedroom. Her sanctuary.
Princess Elsa felt cautiously optimistic tonight, which was probably why she was so hesitant to approach the knight. It seemed that whenever she was in a good mood, her cold, unfeeling ice would manifest onto whatever surface her hand would accidentally graze. Feeling happy also seemed to her to be an open invitation for something unlucky to happen anyway, so she calmly repeated her father's cliff-noted mantra: Conceal, don't feel. Bringing herself up to her full height, she strode gracefully toward the knight. She looked up and wondered if it would always seem impossibly tall, and silently wished that she could hide herself completely in full body-covering armor. Plucking up her skirt, she closed her eyes and curtsied.
"Good evening," she said demurely. "A pleasure to meet you." Standing up, she gazed uneasily at the lifeless metal appendage. She imagined a warm and gentle hand nestled inside. Maybe Anna's? Elsa could picture her goofy sister climbing into one of the suits of armor and scaring anyone unfortunate enough to wander by. She smiled. Against her better judgment, she felt confident. Maybe being stoic wasn't the answer. All she had to do was believe, truly know that she had the ability inside of her to control it. Elsa beamed as she shook the knight's hand with uncharacteristic gusto. She looked up at the metal helmet and imagined her father's face smiling back down on her. Elsa would be able to see the happiness and pride radiating off of him. Her mother would emerge from behind him and place a hand on her shoulder. No words were needed; they need only look at her and Elsa would know. She had overcome the curse. Never again would she have to lock herself away. She imagined standing outside in the sun once more, feeling the familiar warmth on her back. As she thought of her sister, she glanced down at her hand. The knight's entire upper arm was encased in dangerous-looking icicles.
Elsa recoiled. She stood in frozen horror as she felt the tears begin to fall. She took a deep breath and steadied herself. No one could see this. But there was no way she could remove all of the ice, not completely. She imagined the looks of confusion and fear on the servants' faces in the morning and resolved to do as best she could. As she broke off the icicles, she chided herself. Why had she thought that she would be successful? What hope was there for a girl who couldn't even touch an effigy of a human without immobilizing it? After deciding that she had done an acceptable job, she shoved her glove back on and padded back to her bedroom where the tears flowed freely.
Nine years later, Elsa, nearly queen, strode grandly down the stairway, dreading each passing step for leading her further down towards the crowd. As she reached the bottom of the landing, she paused. Instinctively, she reached for her glove, but stopped herself almost immediately. The servants lined up against the wall hadn't noticed. Staring straight ahead, Elsa strode past the suit of armor without a sideways glance, tugging down tightly on each glove in turn.
She would get through this day without anyone's help.