"Anyway, Nanny cleaned off my knee (again). And scolded me for climbing the bird cherry tree (again). Then she said that I had to promise (again) that I wouldn't climb the garden trees anymore! I tried to tell her that I'd never promised any such thing in the first place, but she wouldn't listen. Luckily, I just happened to hear, um... Mama, yeah! … calling at that exact moment, and I couldn't keep Mama waiting, of course!" Anna giggled at the memory of her little white lie. She still wasn't very good at it. But it had only been Nanny, after all.

She was sitting cross-legged on the floor outside Elsa's room, her back against the door that was, as always, shut. Still, in the months since her sister had first closed that door on her, the young princess had finally been forced to accept the changes. Well, accept was perhaps too strong a word. More accurate to say that she had settled on a somewhat longer term plan for drawing her sister back out of her shell.

But patience never came easily to Anna. And of course, some days were worse than others. And though Anna had tried her hardest to keep her voice cheery and lighthearted, in her eternal effort to also keep Elsa's spirits up... Well, today had been really bad.

Anna suddenly realized that she hadn't spoken for several long minutes. She had just been sitting there, staring at her lap. Oh great, way to keep Elsa company, you ninny. And yet, the little redhead still found herself in the totally unfamiliar position of being completely unable to think what to say next. Or rather, she knew what she needed to say. She was just scared to actually put it into words.

Shifting uncomfortably, Anna finally forced herself to speak, hoping that if she could just get started, her usual talkative instincts would take over. "Um, Elsa?" Her voice, which a short while ago had been bright and bouncy, now came out hesitant and unsure. "Er, I don't know if you remembered, but… um… Well, today is Midsummer's Eve?" The last bit came out almost like a question. "And, well, we always used to have so much fun every year you know, what with the big feast for the whole castle, and then the bonfire down at the shore and… and…"

She trailed off and was silent again for another painfully long moment. Finally, she sniffled before continuing. "Well, we didn't do any of that this year. I think Mama and Papa felt it wouldn't be right to do it without… without... you." Anna's voice broke. And when she finally spoke again, it was thick with tears.

"Anyway, I just couldn't stand not doing something to celebrate this year. And if I couldn't do it with you, than I could at least do it for you." She sobbed openly now. "I know it's not much but…" She slid her gift off her lap and under the door. "I hope you like it, Elsa."

She scrambled awkwardly to her feet and bolted down the hallway, tears running thickly down her cheeks.

• • •

Elsa, sitting on her bed, just stared at the object by the door. The sun was setting now, and in the fading light from her window, she couldn't make out what it was. Slowly, she swung her legs over the side of the bed, then dropped quietly to the floor. Walking on tiptoe, as if afraid she might startle this strange apparition that had so abruptly intruded into her world, she cautiously closed the distance. Kneeling down, she reached out and tentatively brushed her fingers over the thin, flat object. Finally, she picked it up, lifted it into the fading light, and stared.

It was a book of children's poems that she had often tried to read to Anna in happier days. The younger girl had always seemed more interested in the beautifully illuminated pictures than in the cute little verses it contained. But it was something that they had always enjoyed together, even if it was for different reasons. Who knew how many afternoons they'd spent together, just turning the pages of that little book.

She opened the front cover, and was surprised once again when a slip of paper fluttered down onto her lap. She picked it up, unfolded it. It took her a moment to recognize the handwriting. Well, the big block letters were a clear giveaway that it had to have been her sister's young and inexperienced hand. But it wasn't her typical, hastily scribbled scrawl. Anna had clearly taken a great deal of time and care to ink out this note as neatly as she could. So Elsa read:

The warm summer sun

And autumn's rich hue.

The pure winter snow.

A spring morning's dew.

Mean nothing to me

If I can't share them with you.

- Love,

Anna

A speck of white drifted down and landed on the paper. Then another. And another. Elsa clutched the poem and the book tightly to her chest and began rocking back and forth silently.

As the last light faded on the longest day of the year, Midsummer's Eve, one little princess sat quietly in the middle of her own small snowstorm. Another lay curled on her bed, clinging to the covers as if her very life depended on it. Both tried with all their might to keep their hearts from breaking.

• • •

After receiving Anna's gift, Elsa read it and reread it and re-reread it until she could recite all the poems in it by heart. That little gift, "not much" in Anna's eyes, had done more than she could possibly have imagined. It had rekindled Elsa's love for poetry, which she hadn't thought about for the better part of the last year.

And so, at the end of lessons one day, Elsa finally worked up the courage to ask her mother if she could perhaps borrow one, or maybe two, of the volumes of verse from the library. You know, just to help her pass the time. It was the first time that either could remember Elsa initiating a conversation about anything besides her studies since she'd first retreated into her seclusion.

The queen had given her such a shocked look, that Elsa quickly apologized and begged her forgiveness, despite the fact that she really wasn't at all sure what she had done wrong. Her mother had simply continued to stare at her for another few seconds, then had hurried out of Elsa's room.

Feeling miserable, Elsa had collapsed onto her bed, burying her face in her pillow. Somehow, she'd messed up again. No matter how hard she tried, she never seemed able to be the good girl her parents always expected her to be. For the briefest of moments, she experienced a spurt of jealousy towards Anna, who seemed to have an uncanny ability to get into twelve kinds of mischief in less than a minute. But because she wasn't the Heir to the Throne of Arendelle, nobody ever seemed to mind too much. How was that at all fair?

Elsa had spent barely a minute or two buried deep in her own self-pity when she suddenly heard the sound of a throat being quietly cleared. It sounded like it had come from just inside her door. She pushed herself up onto her elbows and turned to look.

There stood her mother, nearly hidden behind a stack of books in her arms that had to be over three feet high. Thick tomes, thin folios, and everything in between. Elsa couldn't believe that the queen had been able to carry such a heavy pile all the way from the library. And so quickly, yet apparently without dropping a single one. Elsa could only hope to grow up to have half her mother's poise and grace.

Almost on cue, the top several books slid off the dangerously teetering pile and toppled to the floor. Just for a moment, as the queen looked down at the errant volumes, Elsa thought she caught a glimpse of an embarrassed flush on her mother's cheek, peeking out from behind the remaining stack. Despite herself, the young girl laughed. She couldn't help it.

The sound so startled the queen that half of books still in her arms suddenly followed their earlier comrades in flight. Elsa laughed again, even louder. And this time, she found that she simply couldn't stop!

The queen poked her head over the top of the (now much shorter) pile of books to stare dumbly at Elsa. The corners of her lips twitched, then curled upwards. Her lips parted in a broad grin. And soon, she was laughing too, shoulders shaking so much in her amusement that two more books fell to the floor, and the mirth was redoubled.

Their laughter rang through the room. It drifted out the open door, and down the hallway. For one shining moment, it seemed like their joy was enough to fill the entire castle.

And then the moment passed. Elsa finally managed to rein in her merriment. She quickly hopped off the bed and began to help her mother pick up the books. Together, they arranged them into several neat piles on her desk.

The queen smiled down fondly at her elder daughter. Elsa grinned sheepishly back. Then her mother, lost in the moment, reached out her hand to tuck a stray lock of blonde hair back behind her daughter's ear.

Elsa instinctively recoiled. She couldn't help herself. Ever since "That Night," she'd simply found herself intensely uncomfortable with the thought of anybody trying to touch her. And for most of the time since then, the emotional walls she'd built up around herself had kept that from being much of a problem. But here, today, when the walls had come down for that one brief moment...

She saw her mother's face fall, the look of tender kindness suddenly replaced by one of deep sadness and loss. Elsa quickly tried to recover. "Sorry, Mama," she said. "I didn't mean... I mean... What I meant was..." She sighed. "Thanks for the books?"

The queen smiled at her daughter once again. It was a smaller smile now, but a heartfelt one all the same. "You're welcome, dear."

Still, it had been a good day, all things considered. Probably the best Elsa had experienced since her self-imposed exile. Over the weeks that followed, she proceeded to read for herself all the collections that her mother had read to her when she was younger. When she finished those, she tackled new volumes. Some of these, like the great epics, were very challenging for her, and her pace slowed considerably. But this was a challenge that she felt she could handle. After all, no one had ever gotten hurt reading poetry. And no one reading poetry had ever hurt anyone else either, as far as she knew.

The verses sparked her imagination, opening worlds beyond these four walls that she thought had been closed off to her forever. They calmed her. It even seemed like her control over her powers had begun to improve since she'd started reading them. Maybe, just maybe, Elsa had finally found a path out of her darkness – a road she could follow that might eventually lead her out of her isolation. And all because of one little gift on Midsummer's Eve.

"Thank you, Anna," she whispered into her pillow one night as she drifted off to sleep. "Thank you for being my sister."