Ice
Just walk away those windows say; but I can't believe she's gone.
He saw her turn. He knew where she was going. It was so like her. That didn't stop the pain. Anna. She yelled, her voice strong. She was confident in this. In dying. He watched as she turned to ice in front of him, solid in the seconds it took for the sword to swing down. The thud of the blade would never leave his ears as long as he lived. He prayed. He begged. The thin line crackling down her arm did not listen. The splintering of her chest did not care. She crumbled before his eyes. He felt like an intruder as Elsa knelt over her pieces.
Everything slowed down. Somehow he ended up on Sven's back. He was far gone before he realized he was crying. The tears were freezing to his cheeks in an ice storm. No howling wind whistled through his ears. No sound distracted him from the pain in his chest.
His eyelashes were heavy with ice, his hair already stiff and frozen. His face numbed. Sven was galloping, his hide frothing with sweat. Kristoff sensed fear in his reindeer. Sven knew what Kristoff had yet to acknowledge. So Sven was taking him to the trolls. Kristoff was going home.
They waited for him, Grand Pabbie's staff towering above the heads of the others. Bulda tried to comfort him. Cliff reached for a warming hug. He passed them without a glance. His clothes were still covered in ice when he fell before Grand Pabbie, his shoulders shaking in sobs.
"Take it away. Take them away."
"Kristoff, you know—"
"I know you can do it. I've seen you do it before." Remembering caused his heart to clench. He had been so sure they could save her.
"Love doesn't work that way, son. I'm sorry." Pabbie's hand smoothed Kristoff's hair. "We can't remove pain, not even with memory."
"I don't care. I don't want to see her face or hear her voice." The words cracked in his throat. "Take them away. I'm begging you."
Bulda and Pabbie exchanged glances. Her nod was all he needed. He pulled images of Anna from Kristoff's mind, changing and twisting and cutting until no sign of her remained. Kristoff's shoulders quit heaving, his breath evened. He sat up puzzled, but did not ask. Sven grunted and whined, pulling his shirt and butting his head. Kristoff couldn't understand him.
Kristoff went to work the next day. The storm died, leaving ice on the lakes rough and crusted with fresh snow. His mind was numb, his chest frozen in apathy. He couldn't shake the feeling he'd lost something. Sven pulled the blade behind him, cutting the first line. The way the reindeer cut it irritated him. Everything was normal when he checked, so he grabbed his ice saw. He worked furiously slice by slice. Anger leaked into the motion. Up, down, up, down. Pressure knotted his back. His teeth ground together. Updownupdownupdown. He cut faster, sloppy. Nothing he cut was suitable to sell. Finally, he thrust down the saw and stared in horror at the job he did. Tears fell, rage berating his thoughts. A scream clawed up his throat, battling until it broke free.
Kristoff hated the ice. He didn't even know why.