"Ann. Hey, new girl. Wake up!"
Anna jerked awake. "What?"
Slowly, she came to, and took in her surroundings. The tidy bunk-room. Elin, already dressed in her uniform, stood over her with her hands on her hips. The bright light that streamed through the windows hurt her eyes.
"You sure are a heavy sleeper, Ann," Elin said.
She rubbed at her eyes. "What time is it?"
"Just past dawn," said Elin.
"Dawn?" Anna moaned. She rolled over, pulling her blanket back over her head.
"We get up at dawn every day," said Elin. "Where did you say you worked before, Ann?"
She stared into the darkness beneath the scratchy woollen blanket. Right, she thought. There was a weariness in her bones. Pulling the blanket from her, legs aching as she swung them off the bed, she blinked against the sharp new light of the day.
Princess Anna would never willingly have risen so early. But then, she was Ann, now.
The servants of the Spring Palace took breakfast together at a number of long tables. The room was loud and cramped, full of chatter and laughter. Anna wove her way through the bodies, pulling at her tight starched collar, which chafed uncomfortably. Spotting an empty seat by her room-mate, she squeezed herself in. The young women at the table looked at her curiously.
"Aren't you eating, Ann?" asked Elin.
"Huh?"
She could hit herself; she'd just naturally assumed she would be waited upon.
"R-right!" she stammered, standing quickly. In the kitchen next door, one of the cooks was doling out breakfast. He ladled her a bowl of porridge, handing her a slice of toast.
"Settling in well?" he asked.
"Sort of…" she mumbled.
When she re-joined the table, the girls were full-flow in conversation.
"—Sounds like more work to me," Helen was grumbling.
Anna squeezed in between them, taking a bite out of her toast. Someone nudged the butter dish towards her.
"—Thankss," she said, mouth full of toast, as she reached for it and picked up her knife.
"I don't know," said Elin, waving her spoon animatedly. "I'm looking forward to the leftovers."
Lucille's head lolled back in rapture. "Do you remember Edward's debut? Oh-my. That souffle."
"Those sweet-rolls." Elin's sigh was a lover's caress.
"Is something happening today?" Anna asked, taking a mouthful of porridge. It would be so much better with just a spoonful of jam.
"Haven't you heard? It's lady Elsa's debut tonight," said Elin.
Her porridge slopped off her spoon back into the bowl. "Her debut?"
"I know, right?" said Elin. "Apparently she was pretty sheltered out in the country—"
"—Locked up by the Marquis, more like it," interrupted Helen.
Elin hit her with her spoon. "I'm talking. Anyway, this will be her first ball, so they're throwing a coming out party for her."
Helen was looking very sour.
"And then next week: left over wedding cake," salivated Lucille. "This month is going to be tasty."
"I'm just not looking forward to the cleaning up," Helen grumbled.
The Marquis kept her locked up all the time. It begged the question: how many of Elsa's memories had been tampered with? Had some been left the same?
Plates cleared away, she was ready for her first full day of work. Under Evelyn's instructions, she was to shadow Elin and help prepare for the ball that evening.
It ended up being the most exhausting day of her entire life.
They dusted portraits in the ante-chamber; mopped floors; scrubbed, scrubbed, scrubbed, until Anna's hands were red and cracked, irritated by the soap powder they were using. The back of her calves were still burning from all the kneeling and bending she'd done the previous day. The acrid smell of bleach made her head spin. Still: she scrubbed, scoured, polished, swept, mopped, buffed. At noon she and Elin broke for lunch, and she'd never realised before that food could taste so delicious. With her feet up, her soles seemed to ache more than ever. But she felt Mr Christian's beady eyes upon her, watching for any sign of weakness: she swallowed down her complaints.
That afternoon, they attended some of the guest rooms to tidy and strip the beds. Elin chattered easily and ceaselessly as they worked. Her mother before her was a maid: this was all the life she'd ever known. "Though once my beau finally gets round to proposing, I'll quit," she said, whisking the sheet off the bed. "What about you, Ann? You have a sweetheart back home?"
Anna frisked out the fresh sheet, and Elin took hold of the other end. "I did, for a while," she said. "But… it didn't work out."
"What happened?" as Elin, as they made the bed together. After a dozen of them, Anna was beginning to get the hang of it.
"I don't know… at first it was fine between us. Great, even. I thought I loved him. But I…"
I didn't love him. I loved the idea of him. I loved the idea of love, she thought.
Elin clambered up onto the bed on her knees to tuck in the edges at the headboard. Anna did the other end. "You liked someone else?" Elin suggested.
The word left her in a breathy gasp: "No!"
"There's no use hiding it now. I suppose it must be obvious… how much I want you."
That night on the veranda. Her sister's icy fingers as they clutched at her. How she'd shivered under them. Wanted them to clutch her tighter.
"I…" she said.
She'd been drowning, and the thought had come to her in a moment of crystal clarity: that she loved her.
And yet, she still didn't know what love was. Her mother spun her a fairy tale out of silk, of white weddings and true love. Yet the silk threads snapped. Princes were a scam. You couldn't bottle true love. Her isolation had led to ignorance, and she was still only a child. Elsa was only a child, running away from her problems because she'd never learnt to face them.
What is love?
"Ann," Elin prompted her, startling her out of her thoughts. "You need to pull it straight. It's all wrinkly."
Maybe by the time all of this was over, she'd find out.
They were in the ballroom, far grander and larger than the one in Arendelle, Anna holding onto the ladder while Elin straightened the banners when Mr Christian came looking for her. His mouth was turned down in dissatisfaction.
"You've been asked for," he said.
"Asked for?" Anna said, holding the ladder steady.
"By Lady Elsa. She wants you to assist her in her preparations for the ball."
"Lu—cky," sang Elin, who'd been listening in from atop the ladder.
"Whatever did you say to her?" the butler asked.
"I'm sorry, sir, I don't follow?"
"Not only has Lady Elsa showed zero interest in a lady in waiting since she arrived, she's turned down all offers I've made of a personal maidservant. She's never personally asked for anybody. Except for you." Mr Christian's eyes bored into her. Anna tried her best to keep her expression passive. Inside her chest however, her heart was bursting.
She rapped on the door. Her chest expanded as she heard her sister call, "You can come in."
Inside, Elsa was sat at a table, set with a pretty tablecloth and tea and cakes. She gestured to the seat opposite her. "Come and sit with me, Ann."
Anna sat, taking an eyeful of the cakes. They were the little fancy ones: the kind Elsa had always loved.
"Mr Christian told me you wanted my assistance in preparing for the ball," she said.
Elsa waved this away. "That too. But I asked for you because I wanted to make sure you were okay after yesterday."
Elsa's concern set something inside her aglow. "I am, because of your help," she said.
Anna poured the tea, and Elsa bombarded her with a barrage of questions: was she eating well? How was she being treated? Did she have a proper bed?
"I'm flattered by your concern, my lady," she said.
"You don't need to call me that. Call me Elsa. I want us to be friends, after all."
That breath was knocked from her. About to put a cake to her lips, she paused. No need to make a repeat of yesterday's humiliation.
"Surely there's better people suited for that role," she said.
Elsa shook her head. "To tell the truth, I grew up with servants. I'm not used to," she extended her hand, "all this."
"This?"
"Court etiquette. What to say to the right people. What not to say. It's tiring."
"That's why you declined having a lady in waiting?"
"And have women paid to be my friends? I don't think so," said Elsa. "I'd rather make real ones."
"Do you… miss your home?" Anna asked.
"A little. Not the loneliness. And there was a lot of bad memories I was happy to escape. All the same, it was my home, glad as I was to leave it behind… do you miss your Arendelle?"
"I do," said Anna.
"Your sister must be very important to you." Both a question and a statement.
"She is."
The next hour she spent helping Elsa prepare for her debut.
"No ice dress today?" Anna asked, as she unlaced Elsa's gown and helped her step out of it.
"My fiance gave me a dress for tonight," she said, nodding to a wrapped package lying on the bed.
"You haven't opened it yet?"
"He's given me at least a dozen already," Elsa laughed.
Anna didn't like to think of Jareth: the thought of him made her whole body flush hot with anger. When Elsa showed no interest in doing it, she pulled off the stupid gaudy ribbons and opened the box. Pathetic slimy prince. Does he really think he can win Elsa's affection with dresses?
She shook the gown loose form its folds, making a noise at the back of her throat. As much as she'd like to deride Prince Jareth's taste, he'd chosen well. The gown was simple, and elegant in its simplicity. It was a pretty summer short-sleeved thing with a low cut back, striped in silver and blue.
"Prince Jareth has such a good fashion sense," Elsa said approvingly, as she showed it to her.
She could do without the approval, but it relieved Anna to hear her use Jareth's title. Her worst fear, that she dare not say aloud afear it might be true, was that Elsa, this Elsa, had feelings for the prince.
Yet the title inferred a respectful distance between the two. Even if memories could be altered, perhaps love could not.
She helped Elsa with the tricky hooks of her corset. Again, that sense of embarrassment from their closeness. Anna could feel the heat coming from her body. An overwhelming urge hit her: how easy it would be, simply effortless, to lean forward and wrap her arms around her, pull her into her.
"Ann?" Elsa enquired, feeling her hesitation.
"It got stuck," said Anna, hastening to fasten the silver eyelets, warmth colouring her body.
Sat at the boudoir table, Anna brushed out Elsa's hair, so beautiful and fine, silk running through her fingers.
She looked up to the mirror and saw a strange sight: Elsa-not-Elsa, beautiful and flawless, eyes closed in contentment as Anna pulled the brush through her hair. And she: Anna-not-Anna, in her unfamiliar clothes, hair scraped up into a severe bun, brushing her mistress's hair.
Her thoughts were running at full throttle: how she could bring Elsa back to the way she was; what she should say; what she should do.
And yet, there was a part of her that wasn't paying attention at all. The part inside her that just wanted to keep on brushing Elsa's hair; that expanded inside her chest, warm and glowing. Like sunshine, thawing out a winter fjord.
Just from brushing Elsa's hair.
She wondered again: What is love?
To be continued.