Disclaimer: Frozen and all its characters are © to Disney. No profit made, no infringement intended.

A/N: Great thanks for elsasolqueens!

"This makes sense," the boy on the screen whispered ecstatically. Elsa raised her brows in disbelief and then closed her eyes.

No.

Nothing makes sense. Nothing at all. Everything is empty and shallow. No emotions. No enthusiasm. No satisfaction. As if my emotionality was located in this stupid leg.

Every new day is exactly the same as the one before. Jesus, how could that have happened? Why did this happen? To teach me something? Or to fucking kill me, make my dreams impossible, make my life colorless, monotonous…

Or maybe this happened without any particular reason? Just for fun? Yeah, it was fun, huh? To make the man in that car fall asleep so he missed the red light and then he… Then he… Fuck, then he…

It was 3:14 AM and Elsa hadn't been able to fall asleep yet. She was sitting on a chair by her desk. Her face was visible because of the bluish glow emanating from the screen of her laptop. Her fingers were motionlessly lying near her keyboard and she was absentmindedly staring at her screen where some movie was being played, but she didn't have any idea of what was going on or what it was about. She was forcing herself to watch, wishing that this would take her mind off her tragedy or at least make her fall asleep.

But she knew one thing. The people in this movie had two legs. Two strong, healthy, beautiful, soft, warm, and mobile legs. Able to do a vast variety of movements. Made of flesh, with nerves, muscles, skin, veins, blood, and bones. With knees, feet, and toes.

And the strength needed to be able to do any sport. Being able to walk long distances with very little fatigue.

And the lack of the pain and suffering while making the simplest moves.

And the accessibility to walk around fast, changing directions easily and effortlessly without having to fall down face first at least ten times a day. No need to exercise so hard just to be able to pretend to have two legs and walk like a normal human being.

And not being fucking terrified by some illusion that there's itching or pain in the left leg. That something is touching it. Whether it be cold, warmth, or pressure. But it's all impossible because there is no such a thing as left leg for me.

Elsa sighed heavily.

The movie started to annoy her. Hot tears were running down her cheeks as she looked with envy at the protagonists' muscular thighs and calves.

They have normal, human legs. They are complete. Like everyone else.

Jesus Christ. Why do they have them both and I don't? They haven't got the slightest idea of what treasure they possess and the many possibilities they have.

Ughh… I hadn't had any idea about it exactly one month, three weeks and 6 days ago either. We don't appreciate the things that we have until they're gone, huh?

Who would think that all I've lost weighs about 5 kg?

The majority of humanity wakes up every day with it and they don't even notice it. Don't even notice it for their whole fucking life. Don't have any idea how fucking happy they should be.

Why do I have to know this? Why the fuck was I chosen to be enlightened about this?

Why me? Just, why me?

Elsa felt how the sadness and envy suddenly transformed into rage. She wanted to yell as loud as she could.

WHAT THE FUCK HAVE I DONE!? IT MUST HAVE BEEN SOME FUCKING MISTAKE! I HAVEN'T DONE ANYTHING SO BAD TO BE PUNISHED LIKE THIS! WHY DO I HAVE TO SUFFER SO MUCH?!

She fiercely closed her laptop. The room suddenly was lit only by the full moon. Elsa stood up rapidly. It was a very bad idea. She lost her balance and an overwhelming pain shot through her stump. She had fallen on the soft carpet that her parents had bought for her recently.

FUCK! WHY CAN'T I EVEN STAND UP LIKE A NORMAL PERSON!? The emotional pain was more intense than the physical one.

She was lying on the carpet and crying quietly for a couple of minutes. She wanted to scream and hit the walls with her fists, but she couldn't wake up her parents again. They were worried enough about her without her night time outbursts.

Crying helped and she managed to calm down a little. She stood up carefully and walked slowly to her mirror.

She was dressed in her karate kimono again, in the dead of night, when no one was watching. She knew she would somehow upset her parents if they saw her dressed in it. They encouraged her every day to try and let it go, to try to forget the accident, leave it behind, as if it were as easy as putting the light out. The lack of some understanding from her parents was painful for her, but she knew they wanted the best for her and the whole situation was still a shock to them.

She needed time. She needed to say goodbye to something which used to be the most important part of her life. She didn't want to argue or defy so she pretended to "bury" all her karate stuff in a box and hide it in the wardrobe.

But during restless nights she dressed up in it and imagined she was again training on the mat. Fighting, doing kata, improving her technique, exercising, working on the boxing bag. That's what she loved. That's what she needed. That's how she expressed herself. That's what she was best at.

That's who she is. Or, actually, was.

If you saw her during her training you would say she's a professional. Not many things are as impressive as Elsa on the mat. She was fighting with a great and elaborate technique unmistakably. Nothing was able to distract her. After years of training she was able to predict moves and react without any hesitation. Blocking and attacking in the right moments. She also never neglected her physique so she was in great condition. As a result she hit, kicked, blocked and jumped so lightsomely like with no effort at all. Her moves were fast and meticulous. And she fought with great grace, not aggression.

It was art. Virtuosity made of hard work, strengh, love, determination and spirit. There was nothing surprising in the fact that she was winning competitions regularly and she was one of the best girls in the country.

Her passion and devotion was almost palpable.

And now it was all gone. If you saw her now, in her room, standing in front of her mirror, you would have difficulty believing it.

Elsa was gazing at her reflection in the mirror. Despite the fact that only her silhouette was visible in the moonlight, it was unable to hide the fact that she looked ill. She had lost a lot of weight since the accident and now the jacket was hanging on her a little and the brown belt on her waist seemed to be too long. The trousers were always loose and nothing seemed to be wrong. But if you looked closely you would see that Elsa's left foot was… just perfect. Too perfect.

Who the fuck am I now?

She frowned. The (miserable in her opinion) girl in the mirror looked at her with sullen eyes and with a mix of anger and pity on her face.

I can hardly recognize myself. It can't be me. Who the hell is this pale, distraught, insomniac, skinny girl with bags under her eyes and this fucking piece of plastic instead of a left leg?

I used to be healthy and strong, didn't I? I went through much pain. I faced stronger and bigger opponents and I always fought. Even when my failure was certain.

So what the fuck happened to me? Was my strength, my personality, my attitude destroyed in this… this…

For goodness sake! Why the fuck am I not able to face it even in my mind?

New tears started to gather in her eyes. She gritted her teeth nervously.

SAY IT. FACE IT YOU HOPELESS WEAKLING. IF YOU CAN'T FACE WHAT HAPPENED HOW DO YOU WANT TO FACE THE RESULTS?

JESUS.

In this… THIS FUCKING CAR CRASH WHERE THIS SLEEPING BASTARD HIT THE SIDE OF OUR CAR AND SMASHED MY LEFT LEG.

The sound of her heart pounding was everything she heard. Again she was crying bitterly and almost unable to breathe. Anger was burning under her skin. She was panting quietly willing to smash the mirror with her fist. Instead of it she bit her lip as hard as she could until she felt a metallic taste.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuuuck..." she whispered with her trembling, weak and hoarse voice.

Elsa slumped on her bed. She had lost to her emotions once again.

Again too weak to cope with this situation and fall asleep without taking this shorty drugs. She reluctantly opened the drawer of her bed closet and took a small pill from its package. Then she swallowed it with a sip of water from the bottle lying next to her bed. She took a couple of deep breaths and started to undress.

Firstly the belt. She untied it carefully and put into a box. Then her jacket. She untied some strings on her waist and then slowly took it off. She folded it carefully into a perfect square and put it on top of the belt. She quickly dressed into a big T-shirt which she used as pajamas. And now the trousers, the worst part.

She gently took off her prosthesis and special stump sock. She found no pain but a strange numbness. Christ, this is so creepy. To take off a leg before going to sleep. She placed it near the bed and finally, with some difficulty, she took off the trousers and put them in the box with the rest of her uniform.

After cleaning her hands with moist towelettes, she started her routinely stump massage. Her face was tense with unwillingness, strange fear and sadness. She still didn't accept it completely and didn't get used to it even though 44 days had passed. Despite her being a fighter who had accidentally broken some ribs or kicked some people's noses, she was the gentle girl who was afraid of the sight of blood, wounds and injuries. Sometimes she still shivered while touching uneven surfaces of her skin where stitches had been present once.

Christ, Elsa. It's your own body. Yeah, what you have left of your left leg is not the most gorgeous thing in the world, but you shouldn't be disgusted.

She stood up on one leg, which was usually far easier than standing up with her artificial one, and jumped to the wardrobe where she hid the box. Then she got back into bed.

Covered with the duvet, Elsa realized that she had started to calm down and become sleepy. Too sleepy to be angry or sad. Tensed muscles begun to loosen up.

She took a couple of deep, calming breaths and closed her eyes. The warmth of the duvet was very comforting. She lay in bed for a couple of minutes absentmindedly.

Suddenly and unexpectedly she felt some kind of remorse.

Jesus, I shouldn't have cursed this man so badly. Maybe it was his fault. Maybe he was the one to blame. But he paid a higher price for it than I did.

I shouldn't have insulted the deceased.

I didn't lose everything. He did.

I shouldn't complain and bewail so much. I should be grateful and happy that I lost only one leg and that I'm still alive. I can still move on my own and do many other things. But no, it's better to cry, and resent, isn't it, Elsa?

I act like a spoiled, immature kid.

But fuck, I lost a leg! My behavior is natural and justified. Just because some people have it worse, it doesn't mean I shouldn't be sad.

God, why is everything so fucking difficult?

Elsa fell asleep. Her alarm would go off in 3 hours.