5
A Mournful Tune
Jack
Not once did I leave her side, and it wasn't because there wasn't anywhere left that I hadn't been before but because there was nowhere I wished to be without her. It was difficult to accurately explain, but there was something about her that just kept me on firm ground. It wasn't even her abilities that fascinated me so, (although I was still thoroughly mystified by them), but she as a person alone.
She guarded herself like a secret. Like a light at the end of a dark tunnel. Like words buried deep in the scratches of a script. Like a constellation hidden amidst the stars on a dark night. She only revealed what she felt was safe to from underneath this veneer of masks and gloves she wore to conceal what she was too afraid to feel.
Her every action went unnoticed, her every word unheard, and even her very presence was virtually nonexistent to the naked eye. Like me, she'd already perfected the art of invisibility. The only difference was that, unlike me, it seemed so natural to her, which was what I could neither watch nor adjust to. She was still so young after all. So young with so little to care for. So why was she as troubled as she was? Unfortunately that was a question that wouldn't be answered for awhile.
But in the meantime she sat on the edge of her bed with little knowledge of an immortal spirit hovering over her shoulder, who peered curiously down at the book she held ajar in her palms. Though I could read very little, so I wasn't studying the words so much as the arc of her brows and scrunch of her nose when she frowned at a certain part in the novel or the twinkle in her eyes when she smiled at another or the way her lips moved as she read quietly aloud to herself. Through her soft voice and vivid description she brought the story to life in my mind until Gerda, her nanny, poked her head in the door and summoned Elsa for her lessons, all of which she took seperate from her younger sister Anna for some reason that I was still ignorant to despite all I thought I'd learned about her during my extended, (and uninvited), stay in Arendelle.
And for the next few hours I would observe with distaste and irritation from a nearby corner of their luxuriously furnished and generously stocked library as a, not unkind so much as unfeeling, governess chided Elsa when she swayed in the dip of her curtsy or strained her neck under the weight of the books piled atop her head or stumbled in her Norwegian. It was only when Elsa was left alone to play through a few sheets of cello music while the governess went to inquire about tea that my fists unclenched from around my staff, returning the color to my white knuckles.
She balanced the weight of the instrument against her body as easily as her wiry fingers threaded themselves between the strings, and with such poise and beauty did they play in spite of its size that I was able to think of nothing else. I didn't recognize the melody, but I had become familiar with the cello over the years and had always considered it a sad instrument with an almost mournful tune to it. And mourn together in harmony they did as the music seemed to steal the breath from her body, which swayed with the rise and fall of the notes she plucked. And long after she lowered the bow did their desolated weeps fill the air until silenced by the governess's return, upon which the lesson soon concluded and Elsa was sent off to bed.
It was beyond those four-cornered walls that she listened to yet another evening go on without her as she lay restless in bed without even the energy to nibble at the dinner tray Gerda had delievered earlier. It wasn't until late in the night that she was finally able to drift off, but even then she was never at rest; for it was every night that all the fear and anxiety she concealed during the day came to life in the shadows of her nightmares.
For as long as she slept I'd remain utterly helpless as icicles materialized from the floor and frost was splattered against the walls in her struggle to unwind the web of her nightmares. But from the darkest corners of her mind there was no escape, and all would go on with nothing but vague whimpers and incoherent protests from her until she awakened late in the night in an entanglement of sheets and to a ceiling drizzling of snowflakes.
Moonlight streamed in through the window and cast enough light upon her ashen complexion to catch a glimpse of the vacant expression her features had contorted into, which her hollow blue eyes didn't even blink twice through at the fernlike patterns climbing up the walls around her. And it was this that frightened me most of all; not the potential danger her abilities were capable of but that there was so little of herself left that she couldn't even be bothered to be troubled by the effect her nightmares had on her anymore.
She climbed from her bed and stumbled through the darkness until she reached the bench at the window where I'd settled. She hoisted herself up and so small had she curled up at the edge that I didn't even need to shuffle over, (not that it was necessary either way because I was both intangible and invisible as far as she was concerned). So never was my presence in jeopardy of being discovered. At least until it was.
Which occurred when she began to trace images in the fogged window. From doodles of snowmen to the intricate web of snowflakes, the images seemed to come alive off the glass from her touch. But it was with a little touch of frost from the palm of my hand that the snowman danced cleanly off the window. Of course she withdrew her hand immediately while her teeth bit what little smile had formed into extinction, and only when the snowman addressed her with a slight bow and a tip of his hat did the tension bracing her body visibly subside.
She extended a cautious finger, which the snowman shook eagerly in his little stick-arms before floating off on his restless feet around the room. As she marveled at his mobility, I conjured up the snowflakes next from the window, which immediately peeled off the glass and into my palms before I blew them away to drift amid the room. Together we watched the snowflakes swirl around the snowman and his tip-tappety feet until the magic ran out, melting them instantly.
And just as quickly did the grin flee from her lips and the gleam of amusement in her eyes diminish as the moment passed. It was then that I placed my hand on hers - partly to console her but also with the deepest desire to feel another's flesh against my own. But with such force did astonishment strike me when her head quirked up and her eyes found mine that the wind was knocked from me, leaving my head reeling for a breathless moment.
The room fell still, as if everything in it was holding its breath, and I was suddenly aware of everything from her widening eyes to my cool palm draped over hers to the elevation in my heartbeat. Though what it anticipated I couldn't guess until it happened; for it wasn't her touch but rather the response of her fingers as they intertwined with mine that told me she didn't stare at me in disbelief but rather realization that I'd been there for awhile, I always was.