*This might be triggering to any SIers out there, and for that I do apologize. I wrote it because it seemed to fit the character's background, and my best friend went through a similar situation of isolation. I wrote this as a way of venting because she's going through a really hard time and there's nothing I can do. So I wrote. I have a few more chapters in mind, and if anyone has any ideas, just PM me and I'll see if I can incorporate it. Also, in case it wasn't obvious, I don't own any of the characters or the setting. :)*
Cold. Bitterly frosted and icy.
The room was coated in a thick layer of ice almost as deep as the impenetrable shell around her heart. This was nothing extraordinary, nothing alarming. Only a reality in which Elsa found herself living in, completely isolated, entirely alone. Ah, but what did it matter? She wasn't one to complain about the hell in which she resided. It was her own creation, the result of her own stupid, stupid actions.
Control it. Fight it. Don't let your powers betray you. How oft she had repeated those words in her head, standing alone in her room, watching despairingly as the icy storm grew and covered her bedroom in a sheet of ice.
In another episode of grief that encompassed her being, filled her soul with self hatred and rage, Elsa had unintentionally sealed her door shut, locking her entirely from the outside. Hungry and utterly alone, she slid to the floor against the large, oak door and stared off into the distance. Across the room, through frosted glass, she could just make out the mountains, green and full of life, invitingly taunting her to go out, to be free. Of course, if she really wanted, Elsa could escape. She could break the glass, or shatter the door… she wasn't quite sure what she was capable of, if she was determined enough. But escaping wasn't the problem. How could she be so selfish and betray those she cared about, just for a day of luxury that would inevitably hurt somebody else? She had already hurt Anna, a reminder that haunted her every waking hour, taunted her essence, defied her strength and will to live. Oh, Anna. Her beautiful, reckless sister. Sometimes, Elsa would hear her knock on the door, hear her innocent voice beckoning for her sister to come out and play. It was all Elsa could do to sit, silent and frozen, and listen for the receding footsteps of her best friend leaving, wishing with all she had that she could just run out and say, "Yes, of course! Let's go, Anna. We can go out and play together. Like old times, like we used to." Words she would never be able to utter. Never.
What was she doing? What was the point? Yes, someday she would become queen, but to what ends? The last thing anyone needed was a queen who unintentionally wrought an icy destruction upon her people. Besides, if she died, Anna would just become queen, and she, being the kind and merciful girl Elsa knew her to be, would be a wonderful ruler. Much better than Elsa ever would be. Absent-mindedly, the girl created small specks of snow and ice that floated in her hands, swirling and moving as aimlessly as the waves outside.
In an instant of self anger, the frost solidified into a razor-sharp edge, a frozen knife in Elsa's grasp. Slightly alarmed, she gazed at the translucent ice, so deliberately formed by her subconscious. But why? Running her fingers along the edge of the blade, Elsa understood. That darkness against which the trolls had warned, the sharp red fractals in the sky, had wrought this. Her own mind has begot this for a darker purpose than Elsa would have ever consciously invented. Curious and in deeper loathing for her own self than she had felt in her lifetime, she ran the blade across her forearm, fascinated as the blood, so juxtaposed against the blue she was so used to, trickled down her arm and dripped to the floor, where it froze in a pool at her side. No pain, though. Again, Elsa ran the blade against her skin and was intrigued at the lack of injury she herself experienced.
She had become numb. Completely and utterly numb. She looked at the knife, whose edge had become a dark shade of crimson, and wondered at her own mind's insistence on destroying her. She let the arm bleed and tossed the knife away, where it shattered and joined hundreds of other fragmented bits of ice. A single tear, delicate as a snowflake, slowly traveled down her face, leaving a frozen path in its wake.
