A/N: Thank you all so much for the wonderful reviews, my lovelies! I'm sorry this chapter is a day late - I wasn't quite happy enough with it yesterday to post it. I did get a head start on next chapter, which will be a kinda heavy one.

"Welcome back, Elsa. It's good to see you again. How are you feeling today, may I ask?"

"You just did," I grumbled, rather than give my signature response to Dr. Morrison. This was the first therapy session I'd showed up to in at least 6-8 weeks – I lost count. She was surprised by my change in tone, I could tell.

I sat down in the same beige armchair, pulling my legs up onto it and drawing them close. I had determined that my ankle was sprained rather than broken, for I could not detect any breaks or anything when I felt it, and I had been trying my best to hide my limp. If Dr. Morrison noticed, she didn't mention it.

"It's certainly been a while. How have things been?"

I shrugged halfheartedly, tugging my gloves a little tighter onto my hands. How could I possibly describe the last couple months? I didn't think I could, even if I wanted to – which I didn't.

"Mr. Carver told me the reason you said for missing your sessions, but I'd rather like to hear it from you instead, if that's alright?"

"Didn't need them," I mumbled. "Don't need them."

Dr. Morrison sighed and put her clipboard down so she could lean closer to me. "I heard there was an incident at a party last Friday night. Would you mind telling me about it?"

"I would," I said, but quickly gave in with a wince. "I went to a party with my sister. Maggie was there, and she… I don't know, cornered her or something. I just got mad. I didn't hurt her."

"But you threatened her?"

I let out a small noise of irritation and ran my hand over my braid. "I-I don't know… Yeah. Y-yeah, I threatened her. It's just empty words, though, you know? I mean… She… She had my sister cornered. What was I supposed to do?"

Dr. Morrison nodded with that peculiar expression that I hated. "How have things been since then? How did your sister react?"

"I don't know. I haven't been talking to her."

"Why haven't you been talking to her?"

The air was quickly becoming devoid of oxygen and my magic brewed underneath the surface, restless. I stood up and began limp-pacing, not even trying to hide it, and keeping my arms wrapped tightly around myself. Dr. Morrison hid the flicker of surprise on her face rather well. I had never paced during a session before.

"Because I'm dangerous! I am the cold! The cold is me! I told you that I was reckless when I was younger and it almost got her killed, and I was reckless on Friday night, and it almost got her killed again! I love her too much to let her get hurt by me…"

"Alright, Elsa. It's alright. Calm down and take a deep breath," she said slowly. You're not breathing right. I stopped and gripped the back of the chair tightly, closing my eyes and focusing on my breathing. "There you go. Now, I have a question for you. Are you up for answering a question, Elsa?"

I wrinkled my nose in frustration and laid myself across the armchair, putting one hand over my eyes and gesturing half-assedly with the other for her to continue.

"What do you think love is?"

For a long time, I didn't respond. I didn't even think. I just tried to force air in and out of my lungs and keep the ice at bay. I didn't know what I'd do if my powers acted out in front of Dr. Morrison. Part of me tiredly argued that it didn't matter. Nothing mattered anymore at this point.

But what Dr. Morrison was asking… That was a good question.

I'd never considered what 'love' actually could be. It was such a simple word – loosely thrown about, even by me. I loved Anna. I knew that. I loved my parents. I knew that. My parents loved me. I knew that, too. What would all of this connection mean, then?

"Love is… putting others' needs before yours," I settled on. "That's why I have to shut everyone out. To protect them. Even if it kills me inside, it's more important that they're safe from me, because… Because I love them. Anna. Graham. Fuck, my cats – I gave my cats away. I gave my Olaf away, because I don't want to hurt him."

"Why is it that you think you're so dangerous?"

I lifted my hand and raised an unimpressed eyebrow at her. "You mean, besides the fact that you all force me into these therapy sessions for some sort of violent act I supposedly committed?"

"You never showed any remorse for the attack," Dr. Morrison reminded me.

"Maybe because I didn't do it. Maybe because the guy was a bastard. Maybe because he hit me every day. Maybe because he locked me in the trunk of a car for two days straight after I accidentally broke a plate. I hated the man with every fiber of my being, but I didn't do it. Does a tiger feel guilty when it finds another predator's kill? Why would I?"

"You didn't answer my question, Elsa. Why is it that you think you're dangerous? If you don't think you stabbed George Streiss three years ago, then why do you think you're dangerous?"

I clenched my jaw, staring down at my gloved hands. My fingers curled themselves into fists and I lowered my head, refusing to meet Dr. Morrison's gaze. I couldn't tell her. I couldn't just tell her. It wouldn't be that simple. It couldn't.

The taste of iron filled my mouth and I realized that I'd been biting down hard on my tongue. I raised my head again, just enough to see her out of the corner of my eye. "Dr. Morrison," I began carefully, my voice a bit higher-pitched than before. "You've sworn an oath, haven't you? You can't tell anyone what I tell you. Is that correct?"

"Correct. Your word is protected under doctor-patient confidentiality. You are mandated to attend these sessions, but the courts cannot legally ask me what it is that you tell me, and ethically, I won't divulge anything you say to a third party."

Taking a deep breath, I nodded. I got up and crossed over to her door, making sure that it was locked. When I sat back down, I tugged off one of my gloves and scooted my chair closer to Dr. Morrison's desk.

"You see, the reason why I felt the need to shut everyone out – why I have continuously done so since I was little – why I was locked in a room at eight years old in the first place – why I'm dangerous – is because I can do this."

And then, I willingly summoned a few snowflakes from the palm of my hand, letting them fall harmlessly into a small pile on Dr. Morrison's desk. I moved my hand a couple inches and created a small sculpture of ice right next to it.

Her expression was unreadable as she stared at my crafts, and then back up at me. I slouched back in the chair and returned my glove to its rightful place before throwing my hands up in the air.

"I've been trying to tell you that I'm the cold. It wasn't an expression. You wanted to know why I think I'm dangerous. I could freeze someone into a sculpture, that's why. I can create deadly icicles with a wave of my hand. My magic gets out of control, you know, when my emotions aren't in check. I don't… You're not going to tell anyone about this, are you?"

Her eyes were wide, but she shook her head. She looked more shaken than I had ever seen her before – normally, she wore this façade of calmness and collection. She was a professional. If this was the first time she had ever seen magic, I wouldn't be surprised.

I sighed and looked away, working my jaw for a moment. "It all came into focus. I lost it, and then it all came into focus. Perfect clarity. There are people that deserve the world. Like Anna. She deserves everything good. She deserves love. Me, though?" I scoffed and stared down at my gloves. "I'm not one of those people."

Dr. Morrison opened and closed her mouth a couple of times, clearly unable to find the right words to say to me. After a minute, she cleared her throat and tried again. "I think… I think we're done for the day, Elsa. You've opened up a lot today, more so than you have over three years of therapy with me. I want to help you, but I'm going to need some time to process this, and… think about what it'll mean."

"Y-yeah…" I agreed anxiously. "That makes sense, just… I-I'll see you next Tuesday, then?"

She smiled – the genuine kind that she always gave me, but this one seemed… warmer, somehow, though. "Of course. I'll see you next Tuesday, Elsa."


"Are you going to tell me what's going on with you?"

I glanced up from where I was idly wiping down the counter and met Abbie's dark gaze. She quirked an eyebrow questioningly, and I quickly looked back down. I lifted my shoulders in a halfhearted shrug. When she reached out and took my rag from me, I let it slide, stepping around her to grab a different one from the sink in the back.

Abbie sighed, casting a quick look out the window to the dark night and then following me. "Come on, Elsa. Don't say that nothing is wrong, because I'd like to think that after three years, I know you a bit better than that."

She followed me to the back, but I refused to acknowledge her. I busied myself with properly soaping and wetting the rag. I couldn't deal with this. Not today. Not ever, really. I had made the executive decision to distance myself from the world again, and I had no intentions of going back on it.

"Or just straight ignore me. Why would I expect anything different?" she muttered bitterly as she trailed me back up to the front and began closing down one of the registers. "I mean, I know you have issues. I know about your autism. I've never cared about that. I'd just like it if you'd try to talk to me after three years of us working together. I don't really have many other friends, you know. I thought that I could count you as one."

You're my boss, I mused to myself. I have no friends. Still, there was an aching feeling in my chest and I had to keep my head down because I couldn't stand to look at her.

Swear me off, I urged silently. Maybe you'll be safe if you swear me off. I can't stand to hurt you any more than I could Anna. Please, just… Make it easier on me.

"I confided in you. You helped me through a tough time, about a year ago. I don't know where I'd be without you. I don't know if Thomas would have been taken away from me. You helped me, and I want to be able to help you. I can't do that if you don't open up, though. It's hard, I know, but it's just me, Elsa. It's just me. You can tell me anything. I just need you to talk to me. I know you can."

Just do it. Just swear me off…

She sighed and I saw her shake her head out of the corner of my eye. "I don't know what to do with you, Elsa," she admitted. "I can't very well make you talk to me. It just hurts that you don't think you can trust me, after all of this time. In spite of my frustrations, however… You're kinda my heart. I've been trying to look out for you, but you never let me, and there's nothing I can do about it. I just… I don't know how much longer I can put up with your bullshit angst."

I just want to keep everyone safe…


Two weeks after the night I swore off everyone in my life was the day of my recital. I stood backstage, taking deep breaths and trying to center myself. I had performed before – several times, in fact. This, though… This was nerve-wracking.

I was performing eight pieces. Four, then an intermission, and then the last four. My final piece was the one that I had stressed over picking at first, since the final piece is often the one that people most remember. The others were somewhat insignificant – "Seguidilla" by Bizet, "Konchakovna's Cavatina" by Borodin, "Abendempfindung" by Mozart… They weren't my crowning piece.

"Nacqui All'Affanno, Non Piu Mesta" by Rossini. Of course, I'm not expecting any of you to know Italian. I only know a portion of it myself because of how many diction classes I've taken and how many famed composers came from the country.

However, I shall not be translating this piece for you. I shall not even sing the words for you. The meaning of the piece is my own secret. My own lament, in a way. It's how I knew that it was going to be the piece I would end with. It would be my piece. When I picked it, though… I was in a far better position than I was the night of the recital. It's a poem about hope and recovery, and in light of the past couple of weeks – of the darkness that I had enveloped myself in – it was almost bittersweet.

I stood before the mirror in my dressing room, just ten minutes before I'd be going on. My hands were shaking as I undid and then carefully redid my braid, over and over. I wasn't really looking at my reflection – I knew I would hate what I saw.

I'd have to admit that I haven't really taken the best care of myself the past couple of weeks. Both food and sleep had become… less of a priority. It didn't help that, when I did sleep, I was plagued by the cursed nightmares, recurring with an almost admirable dedication. Sometimes they were slightly different – strains of the same virus, in a way. More often than not, though, they were the exact same. Every single time. They all ended with Anna burning and me melting.

"…cog in the machine…"

"…can't lose you again…"

"…86.4…heating pad…"

Clips. Snippets. Slivers. Hints. Incoherent. Unimportant. Unnecessary. Unconditional.

There was a knock on the door, and then Dr. Jacobs entered. I know I haven't mentioned her in a while, and the human memory is truly not the best, so I don't mind reminding you all that Dr. Jacobs was my mezzo-soprano professor. She ran the mezzo-soprano studio at Mountain Spring University. She was a fantastic woman, in both personality and voice. She knew about my disability, too, of course, but she had never, not once, treated me any differently.

"Are you ready?" she asked in a soft voice, coming up next to me. I felt her hand ghost over my shoulder and I tensed slightly, still staring at the mirror. "You look lovely."

Objectively, yes, I did. I had spent hours doing up my makeup, and then redid my braid enough times for it to be absolutely perfect. I had mastered covering up my limp, too, even as the pain got worse with the neglect of the injury. I was wearing a pretty midnight blue dress that had a leg slit and black tights underneath (partially, I admit, to hide the sprain of my ankle).

I had even gotten custom-made elbow-length black satin gloves.

"Just remember to breathe, okay?" Dr. Jacobs reminded me gently. "It's a scary performance – everyone is here to see you. Don't let the fear control you, though. Remember what I told you. The best way to get over performance anxiety is to ground yourself in the fear and establish your place. If you mess up, you keep going."

She carefully turned me so I was facing her, keeping her hands on my shoulders. I found that the touch was not altogether unwelcome. I was completely numb, but it was a lot easier to focus on her kind face.

"You are one of the brightest, most strong-willed individuals I have ever had the pleasure of teaching, Elsa. Nothing that happens or doesn't happen tonight will change that. As I said, it's a scary performance, but I have faith that you will perform exceptionally. You've never shown anything less. No matter what happens tonight, I will see you Wednesday for studio and then Thursday for your next lesson. Alright?"

I swallowed hard and nodded. Dr. Jacobs enveloped me in a hug and I almost collapsed against her right then and there. I had to blink hard to keep in the tears that threatened to fall as I tentatively returned the hug, simply because I needed it. It wasn't as warm as one from Anna, but after two weeks without a hug… It was enough to soothe my nerves a bit.

But I had spent hours (and a fair amount of money) on my makeup for today, as I mentioned before, and I absolutely refused to let some silly emotions and tears ruin it. Conceal, don't feel. Don't let it show.

After a minute, Dr. Jacobs pulled back and gently brushed back that one stubborn piece of hair near the front of my bangs that never remained pushed back for long.

"You'll do great," Dr. Jacobs promised, and then headed out of the dressing room.

I faced my mirror again and sighed. Just like any other performance, right? I had performed many times before, but I was convinced that the performance anxiety would never go away – not completely, anyway. Even professionals got nervous for their performances. It's not an easy thing, showing off all that you've worked towards to a large crowd of people.

I knew that in my chosen profession, I was going to have to do it a lot. Performing in a musical was different than performing solo, though, because at least then, I'm following a story and a character.

A worker came to get me and escorted me up to the stage, where I stood behind the curtain. I heard Dr. Jacobs step up in front of the curtain and announce me. My blood was rushing in my ears, and I kept my eyes closed and focused on my breathing – on keeping it flowing and steady. When the curtain opened, so did my eyes.

Heavens, there was a lot of people. Like. There was a lot of people. More than I'd ever performed solo in front of before.

There was so much space around me, so much space in between me and the audience, and I still failed to find any oxygen. I was standing stock-still, staring out at the rows and rows of indeterminable faces, even as the piano intro for my first piece started up. You're not breathing right. Try to breathe.

I was scanning the crowd without even realizing it, but my gaze came to an abrupt stop as I saw, within the first few rows, a series of too-familiar faces. And that's when I really forgot how to breathe.

Anna was there.

Anna had come. I hadn't asked her to, but she did. She was there. She was watching me with a small, sad smile on her face. When our gazes locked, she gave a tiny, encouraging nod. Graham was there, too. And Kristoff, and Abbie (with Thomas), and Christy. All I could focus on, though, was Anna. She had come. Even when I had torn her heart out of her chest and stomped all over it, she had taken time out of her likely otherwise busy day to support me.

That hurt, so much. I felt like a deer caught in the headlights, but then Anna's smile widened a little, even if it didn't quite reach her eyes, and she nodded again. And I somehow managed to find a sliver of courage. At least, enough to start singing right on time.

I blew threw the pieces, one right after another. I didn't feel any pain. My ankle was protesting from me standing on it for so long, and in spite of the fact that I almost felt like I was going to pass out from it, I didn't feel any pain.

That small amount of courage was enough to get me through to the intermission. I went backstage again and quickly collapsed into my seat in my dressing room. I gave a breathy laugh, putting my head in my hands (while being careful not to screw up my makeup). I still couldn't make it past the fact that Anna, and everyone else to boot, was sitting out in the audience, here to see me. To support me.

I didn't deserve it. This bubbling feeling of euphoria – I didn't deserve it. Not after how I treated them – how I still treat them. How I'll treat them tomorrow. How I'll treat them, and everyone else, for the rest of my life. I was an ungrateful monster, but for once, I didn't let that get to me. I tried to focus on that feeling of happiness that overwhelmed me when I saw Anna's face, and I let that take the forefront of my mind.

My hands were shaking, and I smiled wider than I had in weeks. When the feeling finally died down to a dull contentment, I took my hands away and looked back into the mirror, finding that I did not completely hate the face staring back at me.

Except I did. Because all of those amazing, wonderful people who had come to support her? She hurt them. Constantly. Daily. And she'd continue to do so.

Just like that, the happiness was gone.

I sighed and looked away. The pain in my ankle was acting up, and I took it delicately in my hands, folding my left leg over my right. The swelling had flared up considerably through my standing evenly on it for thirty minutes.

As my hands brought it further up my right thigh, I had to bite back a small cry of pain. Slowly, I removed one of my gloves and pressed it to the fabric covering the ankle. I let the temperature of my hand drop considerably, exhaling in relief as the cold helped soothe some of the raging fire in the injury. I knew that, when I stripped myself of my tights later, there would be a goddamn rainbow of a bruise covering it.

There was a knock at my door and I jumped, quickly putting my leg back down and returning my glove to its rightful place. I didn't even notice the rhythmic five-beat pattern of the knocking, or the fact that I knew it all too well. "Come in," I called, expecting for it to be Dr. Jacobs, visiting to give me another pep talk.

I didn't look up to see who it was as I looked into the mirror again and began to lightly touch up my makeup (feeling very grateful that I had thought to bring in my makeup kit). There was about ten minutes until I would be going back on, so I silently prayed for Dr. Jacobs to make it quick and did my best to appear disinterested and confident.

"…You sounded lovely."

I, uh. I almost ruined my makeup with how hard my hand jerked upon hearing Anna's small voice. Luckily, my hand had been far enough from my face that the mascara brush had not ended up marring my cheek.

Very quickly, I closed the cap on the mascara and put it away. I retrieved the eyeliner from inside the makeup kit and leaned in close to the mirror to put another layer on.

"Thank you," I said after a minute, though my voice did not sound like it was mine.

Anna appeared in the mirror and I paused, glancing up at her reflection. She looked nervous – and God, she looked thin, too. And tired. As if she wasn't eating or sleeping well, either. I don't think I'd actually properly looked at her in two weeks.

"You look like crap," I said before I could stop myself, and then winced. She blushed, looking away from her own reflection and down at her hands again. "I didn't mean that like…" I sighed, giving up on my eyeliner and putting that away, too. "When's the last time you've eaten?"

"You're looking like something worse than crap, most days," she retorted then, surprising me. "When the last time you've eaten?" she spat my own question back to me.

I smirked dryly and offered a shrug. "Touché."

She swallowed hard. Her face raised again to meet the questioning gaze of my reflection, and then she bravely took a step forward – a step closer.

Immediately, I stood up, too impulsive for me to have even thought about the pain it would cause my ankle. I stumbled a little, but managed to catch myself pretty quickly, though I was leaning heavily on my right side.

Anna had been taken by surprise. She stared at me with wide eyes, one hand raised slightly as if she had started to reach out for me and then stopped. A look of annoyance crossed her face. "How'd you manage to hurt yourself? I swear, you can't be alone for even two minutes, or you'll manage to – "

"Hurt someone?" I interrupted, feeling a certain fire inside of me. "Yeah. That's what Papa said, too."

"I was going to say 'hurt yourself'," Anna huffed.

"If I recall correctly, you've sustained far more unintentionally self-inflicted scraped knees and broken arms than I ever have. Don't talk to me about being left alone, Miss I-Just-Wanted-To-Pet-The-Squirrel-And-I-Didn't-Mean-To-Fall-Out-Of-The-Tree-And-Fracture-My-Leg."

Anna stared at me blankly for a minute, and then her lips twitched. She quickly broke into a grin and shook her head at me. "I didn't think you remembered that," she giggled.

"Of course I do," I said, a little defensively. "You only complained to my door about it for a week straight because Mama and Papa banned you from climbing any more trees. My point still stands, though."

She rolled her eyes. "Touché," she parroted me from earlier. The smile remained on her lips for a minute, and I almost felt the ghost of one tugging at mine, but then we both grew somber again. "Elsa, I…" she began, her voice a little strained. She sighed. "I think we need to – "

Talk. I couldn't. I couldn't talk to her. Even letting her in here, letting her get this close, was dangerous to her. I very well could have killed her if my emotions got too out of hand. The fact that I hadn't felt the ice trying to escape even once didn't matter. All that mattered is what could have happened.

Luckily, before she finished her sentence, there was a knock on the door and I abruptly started heading towards it. "You should take your seat again," I threw back over my shoulder in a cold voice. "That's my cue to go back on." I left without another word being able to be said on either side, promptly ignoring the small noise of frustration that Anna let out.

Once back on stage, I had managed to block it all out. I sang and I ignored everyone and everything besides.

As I sang out my last song, "Nacqui All'Affanno, Non Piu Mesta", I felt more mocked by it than anything else. It was fitting, wasn't it? Absolutely fitting that a piece of redemption and the finding of happiness would be the final piece in my performance.

Just like I told Dr. Morrison, I'm not meant for all of that. I never was, and I never will be. The sooner I made peace with that, the easier it would be… It was just so hard.

A/N: As always, thanks for reading and please leave a review below! :)