"Elsa? Hey, Elsa!"

Anna had pursued her sister up three flights of stairs and from one end of the castle to the other. At first, it had seemed like fun – just another game of tag like they'd often play when the weather was too gloomy to go outside. But something wasn't right this time. Elsa's usual giddy laughter didn't come ringing back along the echoing corridors. There were no taunts of, "Can't catch me, slowpoke!" In fact, her big sister never even turned around once to look at her. She just pelted through the palace as fast as her legs could carry her.

Anna saw her sister's blonde braid whip around a corner ahead. "Elsa!" she called again as she skidded around the bend in the corridor. She stopped short, nearly losing her balance, as she tried to understand what she was seeing.

A short way down the hall, Elsa paused on the threshold of an unfamiliar doorway. For the first time since the chase began, she turned and looked back at her little sister. Their eyes met, and there was a look on the older girl's face that Anna had never seen there before. She opened her mouth to call out again. But Elsa had already slipped inside the mysterious room, closing the door behind her.

Anna stood in the middle of the hallway for a long moment, her lower lip trembling. She still didn't know what was going on. But whatever it was, she didn't like it. It scared her. She had just made up her mind to stalk over and pound on the door, to tell her sister that she wasn't playing fair and that she needed to come out and apologize, when she felt a hand settle on top of her head with just enough firmness to restrain her.

She turned and looked up at the plump face of Gerda, head of the palace's kitchen staff, and very nearly a second mother to the little princesses. Gerda wasn't looking back at Anna, however. Instead, she was gazing with an expression of deep concern at the door behind which her sister had just disappeared. "Leave her be, child," said the matronly woman, not unkindly. But the sadness in that normally cheerful voice only frightened Anna even more.

After a few silent seconds, the older woman finally did turn her eyes to her youngest charge. "Come along," she said, trying to sound a little more cheerful for Anna's sake, though without very much success. "I have a tray of freshly baked sweets just about ready to come out of the oven. I don't think anybody will notice if a couple go missing before dinner." When the freckled little girl still hesitated, Gerda added, "They're chocolate!"

Anna let Gerda take her by the hand and lead her back the way she had come a minute earlier. But as they rounded the corner, she couldn't keep from throwing a last look back over her shoulder at the strange doorway that had swallowed her sister.

When they reached the kitchen, Gerda lifted Anna up and perched her atop one of the tall wooden work stools that lined the counters. Then she bustled over to the big oven and extracted a heavily laden tray of delectably scented pastries. She carefully selected two that she knew to be Anna's particular favorites, placed them on a small plate, and brought them over to the still quiet little girl.

"Thank you," Anna said automatically, as she took the offering. She picked one up and lifted it to her mouth. But instead of devouring it with her usual gusto, she merely nibbled around the edges. Gerda sighed, and turned to remove the rest of the dainties from the cooking sheet.

"Do you know what I did to make Elsa so angry at me?" came a tiny voice from behind her back. Gerda squeezed her eyes closed, her heart aching at the quaver in a voice that normally knew neither sadness nor fear. "I've been trying to think what it could be, so I could tell her I was sorry and she'd forgive me and come back out and we could play again," Anna continued. "But I just can't figure out what it could have been. So I thought, maybe, you know..."

"I'm afraid I don't, child," Gerda replied. This was true enough. But she, along with several other members of the palace staff, had seen the king and the queen ride their horses out of the castle at full gallop two nights ago, their daughters cradled in the saddles before them. Hours had passed with no sign of their return, and it seemed they had told no one where they were bound or when they might return. The eastern sky was turning pale with predawn light before the watchers on the towers called down their report of the royal family returning on horseback along the road that led into the foothills of the distant mountains.

When the king and queen had passed through the gates into the courtyard and dismounted, the younger daughter lay sleeping in her mother's arms. But the older princess, like her parents, appeared not to have slept at all that night. Her eyes were red and puffy, and her fair skin was even paler than usual. Their highnesses spoke little, only giving orders for the care of their steeds and that they were not to be distributed for the rest of that day. Then they had retreated into their bedchambers.

They had not emerged again until late that afternoon. And if they had managed to get any sleep while they were sequestered behind their locked doors, it could not have been much, for their faces still appeared haggard and drawn. Then, the king began issuing orders, while the queen stood beside him – nervously wringing a kerchief she clutched tightly in her hands, and blinking a little too often to try to control the dampness that threatened to spill from her eyes.

Shock and disbelief ran through the castle as the word came down that most of the staff had been ordered to depart within the week. The king would, of course, provide letters of highest recommendation for all those departing. The few who remained were to seal the castle: shudder the windows, close the doors, bar the gates. It was as if the Grand Palace of Arendelle had abruptly come under siege. No explanation was given for these sudden changes. But no one, not even the most senior royal advisors, could bring themselves to question the king once they saw the haunted look in his eyes.

The final orders had come late last night. Elsa's bed and all her belongings were to be taken out of the room that she had shared with her sister and moved to a private bedroom on the other side of the castle. This was to be done while the royal family broke their fast in the dining hall the next morning. When Gerda had heard the news, her heart immediately went out to both of the princesses, but especially to Anna. The poor thing was so young, and she had barely spent more than a few hours away from her older sister her entire life. Gerda knew this might well break her heart.

So she had found every excuse she could to linger in the dining hall that morning, making a particular fuss of overseeing the clearing of the table once the family had finished their meal. And she had watched as the king had taken Elsa aside, knelt down in front of her so they were eye to eye, and began to speak to her in hushed tones. Gerda hadn't been able to hear the words, but she could guess what he was telling his daughter well enough. And she knew the princess well enough too. Knew that Elsa would be putting on a brave face for her father, because that was what was expected of her.

But as the king finished speaking, giving his daughter a smile and a tender squeeze on her shoulder, Gerda watched Elsa intently. As the princess turned and began to walk out of the room, the matron of the kitchens saw the poor girl's eyes sparkling with tears that would not be held back for much longer. And she saw the stricken look on the pale face when Anna called her sister's name and started running after her.

So Gerda had followed after the two girls as they had raced through the corridors of the palace, struggling to keep up with the rapid pace they were setting. She hadn't moved that fast in many a long year, but she had sworn to herself that she would be there to help pick up the pieces when...

"I guess I could try asking Mama." The sound of Anna's voice jolted Gerda's mind back from its reverie. She focused again on the small redheaded child. The chocolatey sweets both lay on the plate in her lap now, barely touched and completely forgotten. "If anyone would know, Mama would."

"Oh, Anna my love. I'm sure it's nothing," Gerda tried to reassure her. "Everyone has their bad days now and then, don't they? Elsa probably just needs some time by herself, and then I'm sure she'll be right as rain. I mean, we can't all be as sweet and charming as you are every single day." She tenderly chucked Anna under the chin, which finally earned her a small smile and the faintest hint of a giggle from the princess. "That's right. Now why don't you run along and play out in the gardens. It looks set to be a right beautiful day!"

"Okay." Anna clambered down from the stool and trotted towards the door. But just before she left, she turned and called back. "Please save a couple of the chocolate 'clairs for dessert, Gerda? They're one of Elsa's favorites. Maybe they'll help cheer her up!"

• • •

Elsa tried in desperation to control the silent sobs that wracked her body. Of course, she failed miserably. Failing felt like the only thing she could do anymore. She had tried to at least make it to her bed first. But she had even failed at that. She'd only gotten half way across the room when the weight of her world drove her to the floor.

And now she wept uncontrollably. She wept because this wasn't her room. No, her room was much bigger. Her room was pink and airy and beautiful. It was full of light and warmth and happiness and life. Of course it was. How could it be otherwise?

Her room had Anna in it.

For as long as she could remember, Elsa's parents had urged her to conceal her... special talents. They had tried to explain to her that some people wouldn't understand them, and that people often feared what they didn't understand. As a little girl, this didn't make much sense to Elsa. There was so much that she didn't understand. But to her, that only meant that there was so much more that she could learn! Still, she had done her best to be a good girl and obey her parents' wishes.

But Elsa had never been able to hide anything from her younger sister, even from the moment Anna was born. She could still remember how, on that day, the king and queen had left their newborn girl alone in her crib for just a few minutes. Even on such a momentous occasion, there were still matters of state that had to be seen too, after all. And they really hadn't meant to be away for long. But the baby knew none of this, of course. And when she'd awoken to find herself all alone, she began to cry.

Now it just so happened that Elsa had been hiding right outside the door to the nursery. She'd been busy all day – trying again to be a good girl and keep out of everyone's way, whilst at the same time wanting to see everything. But there had been so many grownups running about the palace, she'd never really been able to get close. So naturally, now there wasn't an adult anywhere to be seen. What was she supposed to do?

After a moment's hesitation, she had made up her mind. Nervously, she'd hurried across the room and peeked over the edge of the cradle. She really had no idea how she could possibly help the infant. She just knew that she couldn't bear to listen to her cry without trying to do something. So imagine Elsa's surprise when, the instant her eyes met those of her newborn sister, the crying abruptly stopped.

"Hello, little baby," Elsa had breathed. "You're a princess, just like me. Bet you're thinking maybe it's a pretty cool thing to be."

Elsa adored poetry. It was a love she'd inherited from her mother. During those precious hours when the queen was able to set aside the duties of helping to rule Arendelle, one of her favorite pastimes was to retreat with Elsa to the palace library. There, she would lift her daughter onto her lap and read to her from one of the many books of verse that she had collected. Elsa, for her part, drank it in like water.

She and her mother had even turned their shared love into a sort of game. They'd frequently carry on entire conversations in rhyming couplets, usually to her father's amused consternation. Somehow, it came so naturally to Elsa that she often found herself slipping into the pattern without ever thinking about it. She didn't even realize that she was doing it now.

Suddenly, she stopped and threw an anxious look over her shoulder. Had she heard someone outside in the hallway? Would she get in trouble for being in here? It was always so difficult to keep track of all the rules that she was expected to follow – especially since it so often felt like she was never told half of them until after she'd unknowingly broken one.

"But soon you'll see that everyone expects a lot from you." She spoke almost to herself. "They say that there are things a princess should and shouldn't do."

She turned back and rested her chin on the crib's railing. Once again, she looked down at her baby sister. Absentmindedly, she twirled one hand gently through the air. A wisp of white formed at her fingertips, then rose upward and shaped itself into an oversized snowflake. It hung there, suspended in midair, spinning like a frozen mobile.

Elsa had started as a sound came from the crib. It was the first sound the baby had made since it had stopped crying, a coo of pure wonder. Little Anna's wide eyes were fixed unblinkingly on the snowflake, her tiny mouth open in a smile, her face absolutely alight with joy.

Her attention was so completely taken by her baby sister that Elsa neither heard nor saw her parents return and stop just outside the nursery door. They simply stared for a moment at the sight of the two little girls, who were so obviously enthralled by one another. Then the queen looked up at her husband, and he down at her. She slipped an arm around his waist, and he wrapped his across her shoulders and pulled her close beside him. She leaned her head against his strong chest. And they both watched, blissful smiles on their faces, as their daughters got to know each other for the first time.

From that moment forward, the sisters became nearly inseparable. As she grew, Anna followed Elsa everywhere. Elsa, for her part, made it her job to teach Anna everything she knew about life in the castle. They danced in the gardens. They ran through the hallways, giggling like mad. They played hide and seek with their nanny (although they often neglected to mention this fact to Nanny first.)

And on those exceedingly rare occasions when Anna's bright and sunny disposition flagged, whenever she was sad or depressed, a small flick of Elsa's hand and a tiny flurry was all it took to bring a smile back to her sister's face.

But now, Anna had almost died because of her. The one person with whom she had always been able to be completely herself, and Elsa had nearly killed her.

She felt like she was going to be sick. She curled into a ball, trying to hold it in. Trying to hold everything in. Trying to hold the world out...

She awoke in the middle of the night to find herself tucked under the covers of her bed, with no memory of how she got there. Beneath her cheek, the pillow was cold and stiff and uncomfortable. Her frozen tears brought the pain and fear crashing back down on top of her once more. She rolled over and did her very best to pretend that she did not exist.