Time was infinite, and she was so cold she felt warm. Surely that was a bad sign.
She wasn't breathing, but she didn't need to. She wasn't sure she was even a person. But surely a ghost would not be so solid, and so cold. She was so cold.
Vaguely, she thought she heard someone crying. She reasoned that it could not be her, because she could not breathe. She wanted to touch her face to be sure that there were no tears on her cheeks, but she couldn't move. Okay then.
Aside from being so achingly cold and unable to move, she felt fine. Her thoughts were a little sluggish, or maybe they were too fast. She couldn't decide. She also couldn't decide if she'd been frozen for a few minutes, or several days. Time was infinite, after all. It meant nothing.
It was all very strange.
Slowly, or possibly not, she realized that she had died for nothing. She had thrown herself under Hans' sword, taken one final blow for her sister, and she had died for it. She was not even sure why she had done it. After all, when Hans had cut her down, he would simply step over her bleeding corpse and swing again at Elsa, who would not raise her hands to defend herself, because she was too weak. She weak, and pathetic—
Let it go, Anna, she told herself firmly, taking a deep breath, or trying to. Just let it go.
But why do I have to? she answered herself defiantly, almost angrily. There's nobody here to hear me. I'm dead! I died and I still can't have a minute of self-pity!
Please don't, she whispered. Please, just let it go.
I won't! her other self shouted. I won't leave until you admit it!
I can't, she said hopelessly, trying to shake her head and cover her ears. She wanted to curl into a ball. I can't do it. Please leave me alone.
You felt it before, just a minute ago. Now admit it!
She was standing in a field, in a beautiful green dress that felt lighter than air. Her hair was loose, falling over her freckled shoulders, and as she looked down she saw that there was no white streak. She was happy, and whole, and perfect. She was an adult, and even though there was no one else around, she knew that everybody she met would respect her. There was a mirror in front of her, and she twirled in front of it, laughing. She felt free. She didn't exist.
She was standing on ice, in a heavy blue skirt and pink cape. Her hair was braided, and icy white. Her fingertips were blue, and there was frost along her arms and cheeks. She was anger, and fear, and loneliness. She was grown up, but everyone treated her like a child and no one ever listened to her. Her heart was like a stone in her chest, weighed down with secrets that didn't even belong to her. She looked into the mirror, and she didn't recognize herself. She was nobody. She didn't matter.
The mirror broke, and for a brief second, her two selves looked at each other, and then they were gone. She was alone.
She was sure she heard crying, weirdly distorted.
You're so stupid, Anna, she said to herself. You can't even think of yourself now that you're dead. You know that nobody loves you. You know that.
Elsa does, she said half-heartedly, but she wasn't sure.
She had tried, for so many years, to reach out even when she could barely hold herself up, and she had been dismissed again and again. So why did she keep trying? Was it optimism, or blind hope, or childish naivete? She didn't know anymore. She didn't know anything. She didn't feel anything, except blood-boiling rage that made her feel colder still. She refused to acknowledge it. If she did, then she would have to admit that something was wrong. There was nothing wrong. She was happy. She was overreacting to nothing.
Surely, Elsa did not mean to personally hurt her; she kept everybody out. Everybody but their parents, of course. They were allowed to see Elsa. But they never spoke about her, even when Anna asked something as simple as "How is she?" For years, she had thought that Elsa may be dying, and that someday her parents would sit her down and tell her that she would have to be the heir, because Elsa couldn't. But Elsa wasn't dying. She wasn't even sick.
As the years wore on, Elsa sometimes left her room, and it was like seeing a ghost. She didn't speak to anyone, didn't even look at them. They were invisible to her, or maybe she was to them. She kept her gloved hands clasped tight in front of her, almost like a nun with her hands folded in prayer. Anna wondered what she would have to pray for, because she had everything. She had their parents' attention. She had the throne. She had beautiful, interesting white hair and pale, porcelain skin. She was quiet and serious and graceful and never said the wrong thing, because she never said anything. She was perfect. Anna loved her. Anna hated her.
No—
But it was too late. She had allowed herself to think the unthinkable thing, and it was like a dam bursting; pain welled up around her, and she was drowning in it.
She'd spent thirteen years alone in the castle.
"Do you want to build a snowman?" said a thousand fruitless times, until she had given up on rebuilding the bridge that Elsa burned.
As she grew older, she got used to it. She didn't speak to anyone but herself, and rarely to her parents. Her father tended to be busy being king, while her mother spent her time tutoring Elsa, who would be queen someday. Anna would never be queen, unless some firstborn prince came to ask for her hand. She would never matter, unless she married someone who did.
She wanted to run away. She would stare over the high stone wall, and wish to be swimming in the sea, or hiking through the forests. But she had never left, because she was too afraid. Oh, she wasn't afraid of her parents finding out and dragging her back, of the scolding and the strong possibility she would never be allowed even into the courtyard. No, she was afraid that they would never notice, that she would disappear quietly into the night and no one would ever look for her.
The thought kept her rooted in the spot every time it crossed her mind. Her family had already abandoned her. She didn't want to be forgotten, too.
But through everything, she kept up her facade. She practiced her smile in the mirror, and she thought it looked real enough. She trained herself to smile automatically whenever anyone passed her in the corridor. She told herself to let it go whenever her family brushed her off. She didn't allow herself to feel hurt by it. She was, in all appearances, the bright, cheery, chipper little princess everyone thought she should be.
She fooled them all, because they were fools. They didn't care about what was going on underneath the smile. They didn't dig any deeper when they heard her crying into her pillow at night, trying to smother the sobs. The ache of loneliness threatened to rip her apart.
She fooled herself, because she was a fool. She convinced herself it wasn't that bad, because if it was, she wouldn't be able to cope. But here she was, coping. She was just fine. Everything was fine.
But everything was not fine. It felt like a knife between her ribs, knowing that she had been lied to, that she had been locked up for what amounted to no reason at all. It wasn't her fault, and yet she was trying to find a way to blame herself. Surely, she must have done something to bring this on. She deserved to be ignored and isolated. She deserved it. It was all her fault, somehow. It had to be, because otherwise, Elsa could have told her. She could have trusted her, even if their parents didn't.
They had all kept her in the dark, and it had killed her.
She hoped, pettily, that it was Elsa she heard crying, in that odd, echoey way that sounded very far and yet far too close at once.
Even if they had loved her—her father, her mother, her sister—they had ruined her life without a second thought, and it wasn't fair.
Kristoff wasn't any better. He didn't know her. He'd derided her the whole time they were together for being engaged to Hans, and now he was rushing back to her? As if somehow he could fall in love with her over a few days. As if that was better than a few hours.
And the trolls! What did they know? They'd tried to marry her off to him within minutes of their arrival, ignoring her protests and his, and then they'd tried to give her advice about love? They didn't know anything! They—
Just let it go, Anna, she tried, but she didn't want to let it go anymore. She wanted to be angry. She wanted to be able to feel her emotions without trying to keep herself in check, because God forbid she make a scene. God forbid that she need a parent's shoulder to cry on. God forbid she need any attention at all. It was always Elsa, Elsa, Elsa. Their important daughter. Their special, magical daughter. Not the boring one who wasn't worth their time. She wasn't even worth trusting, apparently.
Elsa had kept this secret for so long, had shut her out when they had once been so close. Had she been cursed, and withdrawn? Or had she been born with these powers? Surely their parents had known—did they orchestrate the separation? But why would they?
To keep me safe, Anna answered herself, with a wave of realization that would have knocked her on her feet if she could move. They were afraid.
Afraid of their own daughter.
Anna had never been afraid. Even in the mountains, when she had known very well what Elsa was accidentally capable of, she had had every confidence that she would be safe from her. They were sisters. She knew—she thought—that Elsa loved her.
Of course she does, Anna said to herself. She was trying to protect you, too.
They could have protected me a lot better if they told me! she protested, and it was true.
She'd read a great many fairy tales, and she had liked them well enough, but she had noticed that nobody ever tells the princess what they're protecting her from. Nobody had told the sleeping beauty to stay away from spindles. Nobody had warned her. They had left her blind, and she'd fallen right into the fairy's trap and pricked her finger. She never had a chance.
If her parents had loved her, they would have told her. It was the safe thing. It was the smart thing.
So why hadn't they done it? Were they afraid to admit that there was something to be afraid of?
They hadn't loved her, then. Not really. No, if they had loved her, they would have opened her eyes; they wouldn't have left her blind and helpless, like all the maidens in the tales.
Anna was stronger than any of them had ever given her credit for.
She could see everything, every minute of her life laid out neatly like bricks in the road. She replayed every second that had led her here, to this spot, to her death. She followed the minute bricks further and further, past her parents' funeral, past Elsa shutting her out, and then stopped because she couldn't remember anymore. She turned around again, although she did not move, and she walked along the road more slowly this time, pausing and looking at the ground after each step. Some of the earliest bricks were different, shinier than others, slick with ice. She bent down to try and scrape the ice off, but it didn't work. There was no ice. There were no bricks. She wasn't even moving. It was all in her head.
Hans was right, she thought, and it didn't even hurt. Nobody loves me.
And the other her said, Can I just say something crazy?
Don't do that.
I love you, Anna said to herself. I've always loved you. I love you more than anyone.
You don't count, she sighed. Of course you'd say that.
But it's true! she continued. You're brave, and you can think on your feet, and you're just as pretty as Elsa. Maybe even prettier. Oh, well, not prettier, but definitely as pretty. C'mon, Anna! You're amazing! Listen to me!
I won't! I'm reckless and I'm stupid, and everybody knows it!
So what! You're not any stupider than Kristoff, and he's fine! You're not as reckless as Elsa—you never ran away from your responsibilities! Not that you really had any responsibilities, but still!
She wanted to shake her head. It doesn't matter!
Yes it does! You never, ever put yourself first, not even in your own head. You died and you wouldn't even throw yourself a pity party that you really, really deserved!
But I did. I gave in and I admitted I hate her, what more do you want from me?
I want you to love yourself. I want you to put yourself first.
It doesn't matter. I'm dead.
You are not dead! If you were dead you couldn't be thinking right now!
That hadn't actually occurred to her. Maybe I'm in Heaven?
Then Heaven is awfully lonely. Think about it, Anna. You're alive, somehow. You can do this.
Do what? She felt like her head was spinning.
An act of true love will thaw a frozen heart, that's what the trolls said.
But I already did it. I did it, and I froze, because I wasn't thinking about love. I was thinking about how much I h-hate her, and how weak she is, and how she could have driven a spike of ice through his eye and saved me all this trouble!
Wow, gruesome, she said, wrinkling her nose. You're right, though, you definitely froze. But you're not dead. You can get out of this.
No, I can't, she said, and suddenly she was aware of the cold again. She felt like her teeth should be chattering. There was someone crying. Who would be left to cry over her frozen corpse? Hans had killed everyone, and the ice on the fjords was splattered with crimson; she saw it clearly in her mind's eye.
You're just imagining that! Anna, listen to me. Listen to yourself. You are the only one that has always been there for you. You've held yourself up, kept your head above water, when everyone else left you alone. You love yourself. You can thaw out. I know you can.
I can't! she sobbed.
Stop that! You're not Elsa! You're stronger than her! You're better than her!
No I'm not! Anna screamed. I'm not better than anyone! Elsa is my sister, and I love her. I'm not better than her. I'm not. I love her.
Then why aren't you thawing out? Why didn't your act of true love save your life?
Because I don't deserve to be saved. I hate her and I'm horrible.
Oh, cut the crap, Anna! You've been through something really, really awful, and it's natural to have mixed feelings about it. But it doesn't mean you're bad. Can't you see that? You ran up the mountain, you risked your life, to save her, even though you've barely spoken for thirteen years. Even if you hate her, you still love her. You were ready to die for her. You have to thaw out, Anna. You can do this. I believe in you. Everything is going to be okay. An act of true love will thaw a frozen heart, if you let it. Please, Anna. You deserve to be alive. I can't believe I have to say that to you—to me—but it's true. I deserve to be alive. I'm a good person, with some bad parts. And it's okay. I'm okay.
I love Elsa, and I was ready to give my life for her. I was willing to do that because I love her. It was an act of true love, and I... I deserve to live.
Her heart felt lighter. Her heart felt warmer, and the warmth seemed to be slowly seeping into her limbs. She felt like she was on fire from the inside out, flames racing along her skin until finally she could take a breath. She was alive.
She blinked, and realized that Elsa was clinging to her, sobbing.
Elsa looked up, tears streaming down her cheeks. "Wha—? Anna?"
"Oh, Elsa," she murmured, and Elsa pulled her into a chilly embrace.
Elsa pulled back, blinking tears away. "You sacrificed yourself for me?"
"I love you," Anna told her, grasping Elsa's cold hands.
Olaf gasped. "An act of true love will thaw a frozen heart!"
But only if you let it, Anna thought.