A little girl with auburn hair sticking in all directions curls into her blankets. Her fingers grip onto her maroon fleece blanket like a lifeline as she fidgets in her sleep. She kicks off the corner of her blanket just as the door to the room opens.
An older child walks in, tiptoeing without so much as squeaking on the floor boards. She's been outside in the winter air for hours, yet there's hardly any flush on her face, besides her usual rosy cheeks. She carries an elegant black feather and a shining blue rock with such pride that one would think she had found a treasure chest. She observes the younger girl, still asleep on her bed, cautiously before gliding across the room to her bedside table.
Elsa smiles at the array of objects on the bedside table that really do belong to Anna. Although the room is a guest room, the two of them have sleepovers so often that the room has become their own. The original beige blankets were replaced with maroon and blue, toys litter the floor, and various chocolate bar wrappers are shoved beneath their mattresses in hiding from Elsa's parents.
She places the feather on the table with the sparkling blue rock atop. Anna doesn't have the patience to go looking for trophies, but whenever Elsa surprises her with something, the look that crosses her face is magical. Even in her sleep, it seems as if Anna's lips twitch up to form a smile.
Regarding the girl's tiny exposed foot, she pulls the blanket back over to the corner of the bed before whispering, "Goodnight, Anna," and kissing the girl softly on the cheek.
Still making as little noise as possible, although Anna is the heaviest sleeper in Arandelle, she slips into her bed. As she slides down, she pats the blankets neatly down around her. The comparison between the two is stark; like night and day.
"Elsa. Psst!"
Anna is gripping the side of Elsa's bed, smiling wildly at her. Her little head only just peaks above the bed, so she uses her well rested legs to spring up onto the bed.
"Elsa," she tries again when the blond doesn't stir, clambering onto her back and bouncing. "Wake up, wake up, wake up," she whines.
An eye opens now, Elsa can't help but grin at the bundle of energy bouncing on top of her. Still, the eight year old was up far past her bedtime to get her something to play with, so she it is without guilt when she says, "Anna, go back to sleep."
Anna sighs in a way that the two have only heard from their exhausted mothers. "The sky's away, so I'm awake, so we have to play."
Elsa can feel the little girl flailing her arms melodramatically upon her. It presents the perfect opportunity. With a small nudge, she sends the little girl onto the ground, "Go play by yourself."
The small grunt that issues when the red head lands manages to squeeze Elsa's heart, even while she was the one to put her there. Having been there Anna's whole life, Elsa has a protective instinct that rivals Anna's own mother. The adults would laugh at her as a four year old, cradling baby Anna with such tenderness that she could have been made of the most fragile sheets of ice and stayed intact.
Once on the ground, Anna views a marvelous mound of fresh snow lying on the windowsill. Her frown turns into a wide smile within seconds, and she bounds back onto the bed with sprite.
She lifts up an eyelid and notices a corner of Elsa's mouth is already turned up. "Do you wanna build a snowman?"