Table Salt

A/N: This has been swarming around my brain for quite some time now, and I knew I had to put it to paper or I would go crazy over it. Also, this is my first Frozen fic so...yeah. Enjoy (if that's even possible considering the nature of this thing...)

Disclaimer- I do not own Frozen or its characters.

~w~

It has always been easy to obtain. For as long as I've found myself looking through the never ending row of kitchen cupboards, it's become increasingly less difficult to find with every trip I've made. Stacked in pyramids of five or more, no one ever noticed me sneaking a couple of them back upstairs to my room as long as I rearranged what I considered a 3-D puzzle of secrecy to make it look as though none had been taken, like I had never been there.

I suppose I wasn't ever there, really. Not to anyone around me at least. I was treated like a chill in the air; a light breeze that carried to the next room in mere minutes. And once I passed, it was like I never came through at all. No questions asked. At least in those moments, I didn't want to be seen. After all, it would be a bit strange to see me trying to nonchalantly carry salt, of all things, up the grand staircase and into my room so I could hide it all under my bed with the rest of my secrets.

One box usually lasted me about a month. They were miniscule, small enough that I could fit them in the palm of my hand. I would always take two, every time. It was like a routine, I told myself that if this was part of my routine, then it was normal. Yes, just as normal as being isolated in my room for most of my life, just as normal as not being allowed to play with my sister, just as normal as having the power to cause uncontrollable destruction with so much as a flick of my wrist. Pilfering it, using it, pilfering it again, keeping quiet about it all, to me it was just a routine, it was normal.

It was no longer just some silly game.

~w~

That's how it started out, as a game.

When I was about twelve, my parents were hosting a party in the castle, celebrating the King's, my father's, birthday. Apparently no children were allowed in the ballroom, where the main events took place, so they had gathered outside just underneath my window, giving me a good view of them from my standing point.

It was a small group, only seven or eight children, and among them I spotted Anna. I was not surprised; she probably jumped at the chance to play with other people, especially those her age. Initially, I remember feeling a bit upset that I couldn't join my sister, but I knew it wasn't safe, or allowed for that matter, and that I would have to be okay with just watching.

A young boy with shaggy brown hair turned to face my sister, who was only nine at the time. "Did you get it?" he asked her. Anna nodded and held up the box of table salt, having probably swiped it from the kitchen when the servants weren't looking. He grinned at Anna. Right at that moment, as if timed, a little girl with blonde pigtails came running out of the castle doors towards them, holding a glass of ice water.

"Perfect," the boy exclaimed. He had the group gather around him and another boy about my age who I distinctly remember was wearing thick glasses. Carefully, Anna poured some of the table salt into the palms of both of their hands. Then, pigtails girl fished out two ice cubes from the glass and handed one to each boy. They passively glanced at each other before putting the ice cubes in their salt covered hands and closing them into fists.

Seconds ticked by, and the next thing I knew, the boys' faces were twisted up in pain as they squeezed tighter, their hands shaking and knuckles probably turning white from the exertion. That's when it clicked for me. I knew what they were doing, as I'd once learned about it in my studies. The salt and ice mixture was a natural chemical reaction; the salt dropped the temperature of the ice considerably, making it cold enough to cause some damage. It was hurting them, burning their skin like frostbite. They were trying to see who could take the pain longer.

I could tell by the look on Anna's face that she did not want to try it next, which was relieving to me. She had been hurt by the cold...me, before. I couldn't stand to see it happen again.

On the other hand, I thought differently. This game intrigued me, voluntarily receiving pain from ice and salt. I had hurt people with ice before, but never myself. I wondered what it felt like...

All of this ran through my mind in about thirty seconds, just as the brunet boy gave up, letting go of his ice cube. The other raised his still closed first in triumph, cheering about his win along with the rest of the group, before wiping the salt and half-melted ice off on his pants. They started to examine their palms. The moon shed enough light that night that I could see the welts.

The skin where the salt and ice had been held was white from the burn. The boy with glasses shook his hand around, and I noticed that the frostbitten skin was frozen, moving with less ease than the rest of the flexible skin. I watched eagerly, amazed by how in just a couple of seconds, a simple chemical reaction did that. I turned away from the view outside and paced my room, wanting to know what it was like, how I could use my powers, how I was only missing one little ingredient. I stopped in my tracks and stared at my door; I knew how easy it would be.

That was the night I made my first trip to the kitchen.

~w~

Those first two boxes I ever took stayed under my bed for a fortnight after that, untouched. I couldn't think about anything else for the entire time I left them there, waiting for me to gain enough nerve to uncover them again. I was anxious to test it out, but to be perfectly honest, I was also afraid to feel the pain that coldness could cause for the first time in my life. I kept putting it off, day after day, but the scary possibility of one of the cleaning staff finding it and showing it to my parents would seem a lot worse if I never even got the chance to experiment.

I kept this thought in mind on that first night as I found myself at the foot of my bed, not remembering when I got out of it. I was knelt in front of one of the boxes, already open and ready, which I guess I had done without registering my actions. I scooped up a large handful and let most of the white crystals sift through my bare, shaking fingers and back into its container. It will be just like how the other kids played, I thought to myself. Except I wasn't playing around, not one bit. With my free hand, I flicked my wrist and a crudely shaped ice cube formed at my fingertips. I cradled it carefully, as if it held infinite importance. In hindsight, it was a bit silly. It wasn't like I wouldn't be able to replace that one had I dropped it.

I alternated my gaze between my two hands, and sucked in a breath. It's now or never, I told myself. It was all the push I needed to press the ice into my salted hand.

At first I didn't feel a thing, and I sighed in frustration, thinking it didn't work. Then it hit me; a sharp chill pierced my skin, the worst pain I had ever felt in my life. I never knew until that moment, how painful frostbite felt.

It was so cold.

And I could feel it.

I could feel it.

It actually worked.

Suddenly the feeling of achievement in having pushed myself to do such a rash thing vanished and the void it left was filled with bitter chills and blatant disgust with myself. Now that I could really feel the cold, I didn't like it. I didn't realize how much it would hurt. The salt was digging into my skin and it was bone-chilling-

I broke away from the sirens going off in my head with a strangled yelp escaping my trembling lips. Desperate to get rid of the object causing me my pain, I hurled the cube across the room and it shattered into a million fractals against the wall. I hastily tucked my hand into my underarm in an attempt to warm it up. I guess in my panic I didn't notice the ruckus I was making. I heard a knock, startling me, followed by a voice on the other side of my door.

"Princess Elsa, are you alright in there? I heard a noise coming from your room. It sounded like you were in pain."

Thankfully it was only Gerda; she's one of our most trusted staff, but still isn't to enter my room unless I grant her permission. No one is, except my parents. Mother or Father would have barged right in to witness the scene taking place, and I couldn't let that happen, I couldn't let anyone ever know. Moving swiftly and silently, I sealed the salt and slid it under my bed, then sprinted across the room to retrieve my gloves to cover the swelling red mark on my hand. I never wore my gloves in my room, but thankfully Gerda didn't ask questions when I opened my door a crack to tell her that I was fine and I'd just stubbed my toe.

I'm a bad liar, but the darkness of my room hid my face, which I'm told gives me away, from sight. She apologized for the trouble, and left. I watched her go, my eyes peering through the door, left slightly ajar, indulging in a split-second smile as she picked up her pace at the sound of Anna's laughter coming from her own room.

I didn't go back to sleep, I was too busy hopelessly trying to stay quiet as I sobbed uncontrollably into my pillow, hopelessly attempting not to believe the terrifying whispers of my unconscious mind,

You're nothing.

You couldn't even keep yourself safe from you.

You're disgusting.

You deserve so much worse than a little chill.

You're a MONSTER.

Hopelessly straining to hear Anna's unremitting giggles over that voice while it only battled to drown her out.

~w~

Everything is frozen. My parents are frozen in time, completely still in a fast-paced life that they are no longer living. And it's my fault, It's my fault. I just know it is. That storm they were caught in... it had to be me. How could it not be? It was part of their burden as my parents, to die by the hands of their accidental monster. They wouldn't be dead if it weren't for me.

I can't tell Anna, she'd never forgive me for taking away the only family she had left. I didn't go to the funeral because I couldn't face her after I stole all that was left of her happiness and abandoned her in the dark to suffer alone like me. I couldn't bear to look at the graves, couldn't bear to see what I had done.

It's your fault.

My door's been frozen shut since I heard the news. How long it's been, I don't know anymore. The ice is layered so thick over my window, taking on the same cloudiness as my tears, that I can't even tell the time of day. All I do know, based on the distorted whispers leaking through my iced door, is that another awful snowstorm has picked up.

You're the cause of it.

Snowflakes are in the air around me, suspended in shock like the rest of my being, waiting until I don't have the strength to hold us up anymore and we fall, farther and farther until we've crashed into the warm Earth and melted six feet into its ground where we belong. Where we deserve to be. Like the snowflakes, the remnants of my father's voice hangs thick in the air, chanting over and over. Making sure I never forget. Conceal it, don't feel it. Don't let it show, don't let them know.

A small pile of salt has been dumped on the floor beside me, my hands ritually sifting the salt between my fingers as I've done for the past six years.

I sit numbly and revel in its therapeutic effect on me until I'm thoroughly calm... and then destroy the serenity as I sprinkle a handful of salt, the sole embodiment of my pain, on my arm and quickly conjure a coil of ice to follow its path, cloaking the salt not a second after it hits my skin. They're thick, intricately detailed cuffs, not unlike a shackle that has been bound too tight. I picked up the twisted skill after I accidentally froze the ballroom and my mother slipped on the ice. She was fine, but I just- I needed to be punished, and my hands were shaking so bad I couldn't hold the ice cube.

My head tips back to rest against my door as the now familiar chill settles around my forearm. I accept it, believing the words of that voice. I open my mouth, ready to scream even though I knew no sound will come. I've trained myself not to put a voice to the pain; voices are power. Instead I hold it in, and let the voice in my head do the screaming for me.

You need this.

My eyes roam over my arms, and I count the scars. Some are whiter than my hair and fading from age, others are freshly pink and ugly-looking, but not quite uglier than the one who put them there. A few welts aren't quite healed and stand swollen on my skin, irritated, sensitive, and itchy. A few peeling, a few wrinkly, but all repulsive. They're sharp and defined against my complexion, but they suit me.

I can feel my eyes spilling salty tears and freezing at random as they roll down my face. They burn as they leave my tear ducts, but I ignore it as I pull on my gloves that now stretch up to my elbows for the sake of covering the marks. Covering a secret bigger than my powers. Bigger because no one will ever know but me.

I deserve this; I deserve all of this.

~w~