Closure
or, Circuity

Chapter One

Fragmentation

There are no happy endings . . . because nothing ever ends.
—Peter S. Beagle, The Last Unicorn

The Queen . . . Did she ever come back?

That is a story, my dear, for another time . . . For tonight . . .

The worst part of being pregnant, Anna thought to herself, is waking up in the middle of the night. Again. And again. And again!

She didn't need to open her eyes to know that morning was hours away; the sound of her husband's deep, rhythmic breathing as he lay next to her, along with the babe within her womb's impeccable sense of timing, was enough. Anna groaned to herself as she covered her face with her pillow, hoping against hope that the pattern that had established itself over the past month would finally be broken, that the child would allow her a welcome respite and let her drift back into blissful slumber. Holding still, she breathed slowly, her inhalations and exhalations aligning themselves with the light-yet-steady pitter-patter of the late autumn rain against the bedroom window. It will be winter soon, Anna thought to herself, her eyes growing heavy as she allowed the rain to lull her back to the precipice of unconsciousness. Winter . . . El—

The sharp kick within her womb forced the princess of Arendelle back to the realm of the awake. For as far as the baby was concerned, Anna had slept enough; it was time for movement.

Even the twins weren't this restless, she thought as she forced herself—ever-so-reluctantly—out of bed, taking care not to lose her balance from the ever-increasing swell of her abdomen and its effect on her center of gravity. Stifling a yawn—or was it five yawns?—she glared down at her husband's slumbering form, blissfully unaware of her plight.

When this baby is born, you're getting up in the night for a whole month, Kristoff, she thought, lighting a candle as she opened the bedroom door. And you're shaving that beard off. I hate it!

"'But Anna,'" she said to herself as she began making her way down the corridor, her voice modulating to her best impression of her husband's voice. "'Valanda says it makes me look distinguished!'"

"Well, she's wrong!" she fired back in her own voice. "And Alúvelin agrees with me. So, there you . . ."

Her voice trailed off as she mentally kicked herself for being so critical of her husband, her heart sinking into her queasy stomach as she reflected upon just how much he had changed over the past few years as the result of their adventures. While he was most certainly a loving husband and a wonderful father—and she loved him more at that moment than she had on her wedding day—her spirit ached at how protective he felt he needed to be of her, of their children, of even Alúvelin and Valanda. She had long since forgotten the last time he had slept without his knife beneath his pillow, since he had made love to her without being embarrassed—in spite of her many protestations that she didn't care in the slightest—by the patchwork of scars etched into his torso from the many enemies their family had faced over the years. And while he would never acknowledge while he was awake that the strain and fear had taken its toll on him, always brushing aside her concerns with a laugh and a toss of his shaggy head, she knew from the murmurs, the tossing and turning, the grimaces of pain he expressed in his sleep on occasion that he was—

She inhaled sharply as another flurry of activity emanated from her belly. "All right, all right!" she whispered, her gaze directed downward. "We're going, sweetness. Mama's going . . ."

As had become her custom over the past month, Anna gingerly tiptoed to the room across the hall, careful to be as quiet as she could. Soundlessly, she pushed open the door, her gaze peering upon the slumbering forms of her six-year-old twins. A smile tugged at her lips of its own accord as she watched Célebron and Élsaweth, taking care not to disturb them, to bother their peace in the slightest. After everything they've had to suffer through in their lives already, they deserve as much peace as they can get.

A soft laugh escaped Élsaweth's throat, the product of what Anna hoped was a pleasant dream, a gentle flurry of snowflakes cascading about her as she rolled herself onto her side. One of the snowflakes drifted, as if drawn to Anna's presence, toward the doorway, coming to rest upon the soft fabric of Anna's nightgown before melting into nothingness.

That had gotten the baby's attention. Despite her discomfort from the infant's excited movement, Anna found herself beaming with joy as she soundlessly closed the door. "You liked that, didn't you, sweetness?" she whispered, her free hand caressing her belly. "Your brother and sister . . . They can't wait to meet you!"

Anna cocked her head, pondering as she absentmindedly continued down the silent corridor toward the staircase, her feet moving of their own accord, her mind elsewhere. "Will you be like me and your daddy?" she asked softly, her heart already knowing the answer to her query. "Or will you be like your siblings and cause all sorts of trouble with ice and snow?" The candle in her hand flickered excitedly, its tiny flame dancing, casting shadows, bringing light to darkness, forcing Anna from her reverie.

"Your mama's not been paying attention, sweetness," Anna whispered, taking care not to draw the attention of the palace's night watch. The guards had meant well when they had met her upon her midnight rounds before, but she had grown tired of being asked if she was feeling all right, if she needed anything, as if she, a grown woman who had faced more dangers than most men had faced in five lifetimes, were incapable of navigating her way around a palace that held no absolutely secrets from her.

Blinking, she frowned, her eyes widening as she realized just where her feet had taken her—whether by chance or through unconscious desire, she did not know—as she raised the candle to eye level. A thick, heavy door stood before her, dark, ominous in the nighttime shadows. A door that had not been opened since . . . since . . .

Not now, she told herself, swallowing the lump forming within her throat. It's been a year already. Not now . . .

"We'd better get back to bed, little one," she said, preparing to turn back, to make her way back up the stairs to bed. "That's enough for one night. No more. No—"

She gasped as she felt her child leap forward within her womb, the sudden motion causing her to lose her balance, to lean forward to steady herself. Except she wasn't steadied in the slightest, for the door, impossible as it was for her to believe—I thought this had been locked since she—creaked open, taking the pregnant princess with it into the chamber beyond.

Anna shrieked involuntarily as she tumbled forward, fear rising within her heart as she saw visions in her mind of herself tumbling forward, landing awkwardly upon her abdomen, crushing her baby to death. Hands flailing wildly, she managed to take hold of the bookcase lining the wall within the darkened room, her fingers tightening around the shelf as she fought the inertia of her pregnant form until, after what seemed an eternity, she steadied herself.

"Are you all right, sweetness?" she whispered, pressing her hands to her belly. Her plea was answered before the words left her lips as a series of elated kicks emanated from her womb. Exhaling in relief, she swallowed, her eyes trying to adjust to her surroundings. The inky blackness of the room seemed to swallow her in its embrace. Shuddering in spite of herself, Anna ever-so-carefully reached down to retrieve her candle from the floor, astonished to discover that somehow its flame still burned after the near disaster that was her entrance to her current location.

She brought the candle to the level of her eyes, inhaling sharply as she beheld the large desk that stood like a silent sentinel before her. Coated in dust, the furnishing nevertheless seemed to radiate an aura of power, of an authority stretching back centuries to time immemorial. Anna swallowed as she stepped forward, her fingers brushing away a year's worth of grime and cobwebs as they made their way across the wooden surface.

She was in the palace study, the office that had, by venerable tradition, been the sole providence of the reigning monarch of Arendelle. Anna felt her hand tremble as her fingers caressed the aged wood, her eyes fixated, even in the dim illumination of the candle, upon the empty chair resting astride the desk. Alúvelin—God bless her—had not protested in the slightest when Anna a year earlier had insisted the study be sealed from intrusion, from disturbance, even though it would have been her right, as queen pro tempore of the 'Delle, to use the study as her place of business, just as it had been the right of—

Anna felt her lip begin to tremble of its own accord, her teeth bearing down upon it in an instance, ceasing its involuntarily motion. The taste of blood cascaded over her tongue as she felt her stomach churn, and this time she knew this was not from the motion of her unborn child. I need to go, she told herself, turning toward the door, her cheeks burning in shame. I promised I would leave it just as she left it, so when she comes back, everything will be . . . just as she—

"Ah!"

The princess of Arendelle yelped in astonishment as the candle slipped from her grasp, its flame landing upon the desk. Quickly, Anna snatched the candle back into her hand, thankful that the dust-encrusted papers before her had not become an out-of-control conflagration. Inhaling deeply, forcing herself to calm down, Anna leaned forward, her gaze fixated upon the papers. Maybe . . . just maybe, she left something . . . anything that would explain why she left. More than what she told us . . . me, at least . . .

Memories flickered in her mind, darting about in the same manner as the light from the candle she clutched within her palm. Her sister's voice echoed through the recesses of her consciousness—Anna, please! Try to understand! There are some places even you cannot accompany me to . . .—as, in her mind's eye, she conjured the last memory she possessed of her sister's face. The sadness, the regret, the pain of loss after countless loss compiled over the years emanated from her sister's eyes, just as she remembered. Yet, Anna was certain that beneath the sadness, she could sense, for the first time, that there was something more behind her sister's desire to leave Arendelle, to venture forth into the world . . . alone . . . without her . . .

Her cautious hope turned to ash as she quickly skimmed through the documents. Official decrees, notes regarding what had a year earlier been forthcoming events on the royal calendar, and so forth were all Anna could find amidst the papers and parchments. Anna's eyes widened as she realized none of the papers were written in her sister's hand; they were all prepared by the men who had drafted them, awaiting a royal signature that had never come.

Anna slammed the papers down on the desk in frustration, momentarily forgetting what time it was, that she had no desire for anyone in the palace to discover she had broken her own rule and entered the royal study. As her fist made contact with the wood, she felt something depress ever-so-slightly, the nearly imperceptible triggering of, well, something made manifest by the sudden dislodging of a compartment mere inches from her swollen belly.

Anna jumped in spite of herself in surprise. Curiosity overwhelming her, she leaned forward, silently willing the candle to increase its illumination. A thin drawer had almost exploded forth from the wood just below the desk's surface, a drawer that Anna was certain had been invisible to the naked eye even when the study was bathed in the warm radiance of daylight. She certainly had never seen it before during the countless hours she had spent keeping her sister company while she had been working. Nor, Anna considered, had her sister ever made mention of it, for that matter.

Anna frowned as she beheld the drawer's contents, disappointment washing over her as she saw a single piece of paper atop . . . well, something she could not make out in the blackness of the study. Sighing bitterly, the princess of Arendelle sat the candle on the desk, her pregnant form sinking into the chair that had once belonged to her father . . . to Elsa. A grimace escaped her throat as her child chose that moment to engage in another bout of tumbles and kicks.

"I know, sweetness," she whispered, her right hand caressing her abdomen, her left bringing the document closer to the candle's flame. "Just a few more minutes and we'll . . ."

She leaned forward, expecting to see nothing more than another document prepared by for her sister's signature, a signature that, like the others, had never been affixed. Her breath caught in her throat as she realized she was looking at her sister's—Elsa's!—handwriting. Anna clenched tightly on the paper, forcing her trembling hand to cease its motion so she could read just what her sister had written. The princess's heart skipped a beat, her eyes growing wide, as she beheld the first word on the paper: Anna.

She . . . She left this . . . for me? How . . . How did she know I would—

Sinking back into the chair, Anna brought the candle as close as she could to the now-precious document without setting it aflame. As her moistening eyes moved across the paper, she swore she could hear her sister's voice in her mind, communicating to her from across the vastness of the Continent.

Anna, the document read. If you have found this—and of course, as we both know, only you would have found this—then all my precautions have been for nothing. I had so hoped I would have returned before you had a chance to discover this, and I had hoped that by not telling you, by keeping you unaware of this, you would have been safe . . .

Anna paused, a shudder running down her spine. Why? she thought to herself. Why . . . Why didn't she tell me about . . . whatever it is? She promised me no more secrets. I don't . . .

Inhaling, she continued reading. I know I told you, Alúvelin, Valanda, and Kristoff that I needed time to myself, that that was the reason I left. While there is an element of truth in this, there is another reason. A terrible thought occurred to me after the incident in the Southern Isles, one that, while it had been lurking in the back of my mind for some time, I only fully grasped upon our return to Arendelle. You have no idea how much it pains me to keep this secret from you, Anna; how much it hurts that I have to leave you, even though I promised I never would. But if you trust me . . . if you love me as much as I hope you do, you must do exactly as I tell you, for the sake of our family, for your beautiful children, and for our beloved Arendelle.

"What?" Anna whispered aloud involuntarily, her heart pounding within her breast. "What, Elsa? What could be so terrible that you would keep us from—"

If you are reading this letter now, put it back in the drawer from whence it came. Shut the drawer completely. Do not look at anything else within the drawer, not even for a second. Once you are certain the drawer is sealed, that its very existence is impossible to detect, leave the study. Lock the door and do not allow anyone else, not even Alúvelin, to enter until I have returned and dealt with the matter. Above all, as much as it pains me to ask you to keep things from even your husband, do not tell a single soul about what I have written. The danger of what would happen if someone, no matter how pure their intentions, were to discover . . . it is precisely why I have hidden it here, rather than under lock and key with the palace guards. I promise, dearest Anna, that once I have come home and eliminated the threat, I will explain everything. But, for now, you must do what I ask without question. I have lost so much over the years, Anna, and I have accepted these losses, as painful as they have been. Were I to lose you, however, I . . . I do not know what I would do. Please trust me, and I pray I will see you soon. Your loving sister . . . Elsa.

Anna sat in stunned silence for several moments, her breathing the only sound filling the study. What felt like dozens of conflicting emotions coursed through her mind simultaneously: joy at discovering a message from her sister meant solely for her, pain as the memory of Elsa's departure echoed through her consciousness, confusion, frustration and even anger that even now, after everything the two of them and their family had endured together, Elsa still felt the need to keep secrets from her.

She didn't mean to be gone this long, Anna thought to herself. She thought she would have been back by now. What if . . . What if something . . . happened to her and—

She swallowed, fighting to keep her lip from trembling as the possibility she had forced herself to refuse to consider for the past year rose to the forefront of her mind: that something had happened to Elsa that had kept her from returning . . . possibly forev—
No!

The princess rose from the chair, a determined expression upon her countenance. Elsa will come back, sweetness, she thought as her hand caressed her abdomen once more. Until then, I have to do what she asked me to do. I'm the only person who can . . .

Her mind made up, Anna set the letter back in the drawer, her eyes averted from the something else contained within the recesses of the furniture, precisely as Elsa had instructed. Her hand felt its way downward passed her belly, coming to rest upon the open drawer. Inhaling slowly, Anna closed her eyes, prepared to seal away both the letter and whatever had Elsa so terrified that she had fled Arendelle to find a solution—

"Ow!"

Anna yelped in pain as the flame of the candle caressed her fingertips, the candle having burned down much further than she had realized over the course of her midnight sojourn. Her fingers released their hold on the candle involuntarily as she shoved them into her mouth. Pain turned to panic as she realized the candle was still lit, that it had rolled under the desk, that it had to be retrieved before she ended up accidentally setting the study ablaze. Instinctively, Anna knelt downward as quickly as she could—

Stars exploded before her eyes as her brow made harsh contact with the open drawer. Dazed, Anna slumped to the floor, her world suddenly filled with bright pink and purple dots. Groaning, she reached forward with her hand, fumbling about to find something, anything, that could support her pregnant form, that could help her stand again.

The next thing Anna knew, the drawer came crashing down around her. In her haze, she had tried to pull herself up by grasping the open compartment. Having not been designed for such a purpose, the drawer had simply succumbed to the laws of physics, becoming detached from the rest of the desk, coming to rest upon the floor next to Anna's head, along with its contents.

Had she been in full possession of her senses, Anna would have exited the study immediately in obedience to her sister's request. In her confused state, however, the princess found herself staring at the whatever-it-was that had been hidden away in the recesses of the drawer along with Elsa's letter. In pain, confused, and tormented by the sensation of her unborn child suddenly deciding to pummel her womb with kick after kick after kick, Anna closed her eyes, promising herself that the terrible something Elsa had warned her about could be dealt with in a few moments . . .

Anna!

The princess's eyes snapped open at the sound. Uncertain if she had actually heard what she had thought she had heard, or if it had simply been a product of wishful thinking, she froze, hardly daring to breathe. Through the fog of pain that still clouded her vision, she could see the candle she had dropped moments earlier, relief flooding her exhausted form as she observed that the flame had snuffed itself out. The oppressive silence seemed to press itself on top of her as she lay on the floor of the study, her aching head throbbing as, convinced she had merely imagined the voice, she closed her eyes once more, wanting nothing more than to provide both herself and her unborn child with the rest they both so desperately needed—

Anna, please! Help me . . .!

Anna sat upright as the voice returned. The desperation, the pleading, the fear so clearly evident in that voice caused the princess to cast her eyes about the study. Her heart beating furiously within her breast, she shook her head, sending the dots and the lights into the recesses of her consciousness. Leaning forward, her hands pressed to the floor, her abdomen resting against the rug, she licked her lips, a single word tentatively, hesitantly, hopefully emanating from her throat.

"Elsa?!"

As her sister's name floated from her lips, the bundled something next to her erupted with brilliant blue light. Shielding her eyes, Anna leaned forward, her hands trembling as they reached forward toward the whatever it was. As her hands grasped the soft fabric encasing the item, she felt a flurry of fear course through her body.

Leave it alone! part of her mind commanded her. You read what Elsa begged you to do! Put it away! Don't look at it! Leave now and wait until Elsa comes back!

But . . . Another part of Anna's mind began to speak to her now. But, what if . . . What if Elsa isn't coming back? What if something terrible—

You can't think like that! the rational part of her mind countered. This is Elsa we're talking about! Nothing can stop her! Not even—

Please, Anna! The voice had returned, louder this time. I'm so scared! I need you . . .

That had done it. Anna inhaled sharply as she beheld the concealed something in her hand, her hands tightening around it as she realized that her sister's voice—Elsa's voice—was emanating from within the bundle. Throwing caution to the wind, she cast aside the coverings keeping the whatever-it-was hidden away, the blue light receding as, after what seemed an eternity but may have been nothing more than a matter of seconds, she saw—

The hand mirror in Anna's grasp was by far the most . . . unusual mirror the princess of Arendelle had ever seen. The cool blue light pulsed and radiated from the mirror, allowing Anna to see every detail of its form in spite of the blackness of the study. Rather than its face being composed of a single piece of smooth, untainted glass, this mirror had been pieced together from what appeared to be dozens—hundreds, perhaps—of individual fragments, the cracks and seams distorting its reflective properties. Confused, uncertain, Anna brought the mirror before her face, her reflection all but impossible to discern amidst the cracks and impurities of the glass. "What . . . I don't understand . . . Elsa? Where are you?!"

Anna's eyes widened in shock as, impossibly, the cracks and fractures in the glass began to disappear. The blue light reflected on the princess's face as the imperfections smoothed themselves out, faster and faster with each passing second, until, at last, the mirror appeared pure, smooth, the unnatural glow radiating from the glass the only indication the item in Anna's hand was anything more than an ordinary mirror.

Her hands shaking, Anna glanced back toward the door, her heartbeat sounding in her ears as she realized she should have obeyed her sister's commands and left the bundle well enough alone. Desperately, she willed her legs to stand, not wanting to look at the mirror, but her legs refused to respond, the weight of her unborn child upsetting her center of balance such that she could not stand without support, and—

Anna, look at me!

Involuntarily, Anna responded to her sister's voice, her eyes darting back toward the mirror once more. Her own reflection met her gaze, but there was something . . . off about it. Something dark, something sinister . . .

To her horror, Anna realized she could not look away, no matter how much she tried to cast her sight anywhere but upon the mirror. Terror began to wash over her as somehow, someway—This can't be real! she told herself. This has to be a dream! Please, God! Please, say it's just a horrible dream!—her reflection moved toward her, its hand extending forth from the confines of the glass, coming to rest upon her breast. As Anna quaked with fear for both herself and the infant within her womb, her reflective doppelganger's face twisted itself into a cold, malicious sneer.

All too easy, her reflection whispered, now in her own—oh, God, her own—voice. The princess of Arendelle is clearly weaker, more easily swayed, more easily manipulated than her sister. Not that it matters in the slightest, dearie . . .

"Kristoff . . ."

Anna tried to scream her husband's name, to alert the guards, to draw the attention of someone, anyone, who could save her from her plight. But try as she might, all she could manage was a single, hushed whisper. Color drained from her face as her reflection laughed, and laughed, and laughed.

There is no salvation for you, dearie. Not now. Not ever. Now, dear princess . . . Now, you are ours!

AN: I apologize to any of my longtime readers who still may be on this forum for my absence. I had meant to provide a meaningful ending to this series some time ago, but life, unfortunately, has gotten in the way. As I finally appear to have enough time to actually write again, I want to leave you with one last story that will, hopefully, provide, as the title indicates, a sense of true closure to this series. Unlike my usual writing process, most of this story is written already, and needs only fine tuning and adjustments. I would hope that I have left enough clues, from the title of this chapter and other indications in the text, as to the direction the story will progress for those who are familiar with my "Voices" universe. Thank you again, and more to come.