Bare
Kristoff preferred Anna bare. Not naked, not indecent. He preferred to see the feather light softness of her eyelashes He favored the unadorned flutter of her closing eyes as they kissed. He basked in the adoration of her perfect lips, unstained by harsh reds and candy colored pinks. No sticky paint leaving tattle tale outlines on his neck. He loved the sun-kissed glow of her cheeks, alive with a fire that chased his fears away.
Anna remained a princess by day, dressed and tailored and painted to look like a prim and perfect doll. He admired her beauty then, of course. Even if it was an unnecessary lie. Anna wasn't meant to be strung up with a corset. She wasn't meant to be smothered in laces and satins. Her skin wasn't supposed to clash between pales and pastels and unnatural hues. Anna was meant to look alive. She was meant to run and dance in the barn parties he snuck her into. She was meant to ride horses through the forests when they raced. She was made to listen by his side while he played the lute, her eyes bright and her hands clasped.
A part of him was glad for his coveted moments. When she snuck to his room in the night wearing her brown frock, her hair tumbling in waves over her shoulders, he was glad she only did it for him. The two of them tore up the town for all her lost moments of youth. He would bask in the sight of her unbound breasts on those nights, the feel of her soft skin in the absence of her corset's boned ribs. Other men would see her, but they didn't know. While they gawked at her in the daylight, he danced with her at night.
Yes, Kristoff preferred her bare because Anna isn't just a princess. She's Anna, and Anna is so much more.
