Pitch doesn't normally appear when other people are around, at least I can be thankful for that, but there have been times where he has appeared beside me in the presence of others. It's rare that he does this, and when he does he never speaks, but he's there. I've always worried about this, because even when I can clearly see him walking amongst others, creating images from black dust, they never seem to notice him, or the things he creates.
When I was younger I told my parents about him, but they didn't appear to understand what I meant. They seemed to think that he was just a little voice in my head and not a human-like image leering before me. As a result to this miscommunication my parents simply told me that it was just my conscience getting louder, and so I only thought I could hear it. I hadn't known how to explain it to them properly, so I let them believe that was the case. I dismissed their suggestion however, because your conscience tells you to do what's right, and he never has.
In the end I learned to add him to the list of things I keep to myself. It's for the best really, since the whole situation has to make me wonder about myself. If I am the only one who sees him, does that mean I am insane? Is he just some sort of guilt-ridden delusion, brought around by Anna's death? I don't feel crazy, and surely if I don't feel it then...
My thoughts trail off as I spot the sail boat outside my window. It looks tiny from the height of the tower, but I can still make out my parent's forms waiting to get on the boat. They are going to attend a coronation in Corona, and I am more than nervous about their departure. They're the ones that keep me calm when my powers start to flare up; I'm not sure how well I'll be able to pull myself together without them.
The frost in my gloves has already built to the point of discomfort, but until they come back I don't dare take them off for a second. I watch them until they disappear onto the boat, then I turn away and walk to the burning fire. I have to stand there with my hands outstretched for a while before the frost melts, and even then it only melts a little bit. When I finally return to the window the ship has detached from the snowy docks, and is sailing into the distance. The weather looks miserable and I hope that it won't pick up too much while they're at sea. Placing my forehead against the window, I give a heavy sigh, and close my eyes.
Two weeks, I tell myself, they'll be back in two weeks. The knowledge offers me little comfort. Opening my eyes again I give another sigh. Perhaps I could distract myself with chocolate, and with this in mind I head towards the kitchen.
Mama and Papa came to say goodbye to me today. It will be an adjustment for me to live only in Beatrice's company for a while, but I'll survive. Even so, I feel dreadfully ill. It's a bad day for my condition; I was barely able to give my parents their proper goodbyes.
Regardless of my ailment, I still force myself to get up and dressed. As I fasten my skirts around me in my dressing room, I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror. I step towards it and reach up to touch the white streak in my hair. I was told my hair used to be whiter, but that it wore away with time. This one particular streak though seemed to be a permanent thing. The streak was twice as thick as it used to be though, ever since I relapsed about two years ago.
I let my hand drift from my hair to my forehead, as I lean closer towards the mirror. There is a mark between my eyes, the second sign of the sickness, a white discolouration veined with blue lines. As I suspected, the blue lines are more visible today. They always get more noticeable when I'm having a bad spell.
A spike of icy pain cuts through my forehead, and travels through the rest of my body, in a violent shiver. My knees buckle beneath me and I only barely manage to keep myself from collapsing into the mirror. I move quickly to a chair and sit down before I can falter again.
I sigh and clutch at my hair before braiding it down into pigtails. There is a blizzard spinning wild outside, and its chilly winds press against the outer walls of my room. Beatrice refuses to let me go near the window while the weather is like this. There is only one window however, located in the kitchen, so Beatrice is the only one who can get food from there for now.
My head feels as if it has been stuffed with cotton. More cold pours through me from my head to my toes, as if a raincloud has found its way into my skull. The supposed water that runs through my body seems to settle and freeze inside me, making me feel heavy. The idea of getting up again is not at all appealing, but I already had to say goodbye to my parents in disarray, and it would be most appalling if Elsa happened to visit today.
I sniffled, and wiped at my nose with my wrist before forcing myself to stagger to my feet. I nearly slumped back down into the seat, but stopped myself and strained to stay upright. A pang of arctic fire went through my brow, and I stumbled and nearly fell. I sniffled again as I reached the door, and wiped at it one last time before entering the main room.
Beatrice is sitting on the couch folding clothes, and I begin to walk towards her asking, "So what are we doing today?" Before she can answer, frigid fractals burst inside my skull and splinter into the rest of my body from there. I crumple to the floor with a thud, but Beatrice is at my side just as fast. She helps me up, and guides me to the couch. She then disappears into the kitchen muttering something about cocoa.
Mercifully, the chef is off duty when I arrive at the kitchen. I move through the grand kitchen and head straight for the cupboard designated for chocolate. I pull out the ingredients for cocoa, and mix it into a pot that I set on one of the stoves. Once I've lit the interior of the stove I retrieve a tin of chocolate treats filled with caramel to nibble on while I wait for the cocoa.
It's a while later that I'm standing with my back to the stove, and staring down at the last couple of treats in the tin. I'm about to select another piece of chocolate when I catch a glimpse of black dust in the corner of my vision. Oh no, I think to myself as I raise my eyes, expecting to see Pitch. I am greeted instead with a large black horse barreling towards me.
Yelping, I drop the tin and stagger backwards away from the horse, until I'm catching myself on the hot surface of the stove. The horse disappears as pain sears up my hands, and the sound of frost sizzling on the heated metal fills my ears. I leap away and land hard against the counter. Wincing, I look down at my hands to inspect the damage. The palms of my gloves have been burnt off to reveal the blistered red skin beneath them. The pain doesn't last long because frost seeps out of the wounds like blood and sooths my injuries; still, my hands are exposed and exuding frost, and that's never good.
Clutching my hands to my chest I take a deep calming breath. It's ok, I tell myself, just put out the stove fire, and go back to your room. I nod to myself at this, yes everything will be fine. I turn to the stove and pull open the door, but a black horse leaps out at me instead. Crying out in alarm, I throw crystals of ice at the horse, but it disappears and I hit the fire instead.
What was happening? No doubt one of Pitch's antics, but no matter, I just needed to get back to my rooms, and fast. I kick the oven door closed and abandon my cocoa as I hurry out of the room. Lifting my skirts as I hurry down the hall, I feel frost growing across the thick material. Conceal don't feel, I command myself. I've almost made it to the staircase when a hefty dark horse barrels down the stairs towards me.
Gasping in alarm, I turn on my heels and quickly flee in the opposite direction. I weave through the halls at random, just trying to lose the stupid thing. I try circling back to the staircase several times, but every time I do another horse appears to block my path. Shards of ice are gathering on my skirts as confused servants glance nervously in my direction, apparently not seeing the herd of horses barreling towards me.
Finally I give up on going back to my room, and instead I focus on going somewhere my ice won't be noticed. Say, the winter storm that's already raging on outside. I grab a door into one of the courtyards and throw it open. It slams shut loudly behind me as I trudge out into the snow.
Looking up I realize that another hoard of horses are waiting for me on the other side of the courtyard. Their yellow eyes glow and there wide nostrils flare as they scrape there hooves across the ground. I spin back towards the door but find yet another hoard waiting. I look left and right but there's nowhere to go; I'm surrounded by these things no one else can see.
All at once they start charging and I'm forced to fight back the only way I can. With a loud cry of agony, I stretch out my hands and let them spit frozen magic around the courtyard. I turn back and forth trying to hit them all as they come from every angle, but for every horse I shatter ten more seem to appear. I'm not producing enough power to keep them at bay, I need more, I need more.
I bear my feet against the ground and force more of my magic to run through me. Ice spirals out from under my feet causing the horses to slip and slow their pace. I hold my arms out to either side of myself and create great curving walls of snow. I am shaking and gasping from the force of the fear that pushes the coldness out of me, and yet I still manage more than that. Spikes of ice tear out of the ground, creating ringlets like frozen ripples. More ice shards extend down from the walls until they nearly touch the ground. Snow whistles through the pillars of winter leaving no room for the horses, no room at all. They are gone, all gone, as they should be.
Then I suddenly realize what a mistake I've made. I've filled the courtyard with ice and snow that I cannot control and cannot stop. My winds have broken nearby windows. Storm clouds of my making extend far beyond the courtyard, far beyond the castle, and out to sea.
I think of my parents on their voyage and I nearly cry, but stop myself because I know it'll only make things worse. Now the icicles seem to point towards me accusingly, like the fingers of a giant condemning snowman. I need to go inside, to wait this out, but when I weave my way through the icy stalks I find that the door has a layer of slate an inch thick covering it. I reach out and gently place a hand on the door handle as if this gesture could somehow fix what I've done.
I bite the inside of my lip to keep from whimpering as I run my hands over my hair. I rock back on my heels, then turn to lean against the door. I slump slowly to the ground, ball my hands into fists that I tuck under my armpits, and place my head on my knees with my eyes closed.
I wait out the storm.
I wake some few hours later not sure when exactly I fell asleep. Cocoa sits on the glass coffee table with a note propped up against it. Of course it's from Beatrice, telling me that she went out to stock up on food. Normally my parents brought food with them during their monthly visits, but since they were gone I suppose it would make sense for Beatrice to get it herself. I take a swig of cocoa and find it to be cold; it must have been left hours ago.
I was not supposed to go into the kitchen or near the window while a storm was raging, but surely just a few minutes to heat up the cocoa would be fine, besides the stove would be on the whole time. I head into the kitchen and dump the cocoa back into the pot before lighting the stove. As I stand waiting I gaze at the window.
All I can see is the white of spinning snow that bangs violently against the window. I sneeze and rub at my nose as cold pounds in my forehead. Just a few minutes, I tell myself. Outside the window I catch a glimpse of a human form and I have to wonder, who would be out in this weather? I step forward and squint at the window and then I glimpse white hair.
Was it Elsa? It had to be Elsa. I closed the distance between me and the window and saw her. White hair tied back in a bun, blue eyes searching for something though I didn't know what. A small part of me hoped she was searching for me. I placed my hands against the cool glass of the window, and felt the cold travel up my arms to pierce me between the eyes. My teeth began to rattle together; still I did not pull away.
The storm suddenly picked up and she disappeared. No, where had she gone? I place my face against the window and wince at the colds direct contact to my forehead. I bang my hand a couple times into the glass, trying to draw her attention, but she doesn't reappear.
Outside the storm grows faster, stronger, and wilder till there's no hope of her seeing or hearing me. I remain waiting against the window anyway. The glass shakes and throbs with the wind beneath my hands and face, and like the storm the throbbing grows, faster, stronger, and wilder until it pulses against my cheek. Suddenly the wind hits the window so forcefully that it shatters in my face. Glass stabs into my cheeks and temples as I collapse to the floor.
I cry out violently as blood runs down my face, and cold pours over me. I shiver violently as numbness travels quickly through my head, then through the rest of me. Grey splotches fill my vision as I feel my quickly freezing body begin to weaken. I need help, I need...
"E-Elsa." I try to shout her name but it comes out a whimper. Desperately I try again. "Elsa!" It hisses between my teeth but doesn't get much louder. "E-e-els-s-s-sa." I hear my own voice fade with my vision.
It never felt like a dream, but it must have been since I doubt the plausibility of it actually happening. I dreamt that Elsa came through the window to save me, that she took my hands, pulled me to my feet, and that I was suddenly cured. She smiled like she did when we were kids, and spoke in the same way too. She asked me the same thing I'd been longing to ask myself, "Do you wanna build a snowman?" and of course I'd agree. We climbed out the window, and rolled about in the snow, and for once it didn't make me feel sick. We built a million snowmen, laughed until it hurt, and we embraced like we never had before. I wanted to stay in that embrace forever, but it seems I was never in it at all.
When I wake the next day it is clear that none of it was real, for if it was I would not be feeling nearly so dreadful. I would not be buried beneath a mountain of blankets and still feel cold. I would not wake up with only Beatrice at my side. No, it is clear that Elsa did not save me.
Beatrice saved me. She's the one who found me on the floor, the one who put me under the blankets, and lit the fire. She's the one who made cocoa, and sat at my side, rubbing my arms until I recovered.
I have no doubt that Elsa would have saved me had she heard my call, and I know she'll be visiting me soon. Still I am a little disappointed because it is Beatrice who saved me, and while I love Beatrice and am eternally grateful, her rescue pales in comparison to my dream.
Wistfully I wonder how much longer it'll take before I see my sister again for real.
I am not surprised when I am told that my parents are dead. I am not surprised when I am informed that it was during a storm on their voyage. No, I am not surprised because I know that I was that storm. Grief fills my heart as I sit on the floor with my back against the door. I wrap my gloved hands around my ankles, and tuck my knees under my chin.
I couldn't keep it together for a couple of weeks. They were my rocks, what kept me calm and stable. They left for just a little while and I killed them. Obviously my powers couldn't be trusted and neither could I, but how was I to keep it all under control when they were gone? What was I supposed to do now?
"I'm sorry, Elsa," Pitch says from where he stands with an arm wrapped around one of my bed posts, "I didn't mean for you to kill anyone. I was trying to make you use your powers around others. It wouldn't be the end of the world if people knew; I was just trying to show you that." He's lying, he's not really sorry, he never is.
"I hate you," I mumble, "Go away."
"There's no need to talk to me like that, old friend." He protests, "You know there's no one to blame but yourself."
I don't want to admit that he's right, so I say nothing.
When I learn of my parent's demise I am devastated. What will I do now without them? How could they have just disappeared into the sea like that? I can only imagine how Elsa must be feeling.
I want to go see her, but obviously I'm not allowed out of my room. I'm sure she'll come to see how I'm doing though. Not right away, she'll need time on her own first, but I'm certain it'll be soon. Until then I dress myself in my finest black clothes.
Whatever comes next I'm ready.
