Days and nights lost their edges, blurred into one hazy sea of shock and grief. Oscillating unpredictably between a surreal, empty kind of calm, and moments of pain so raw and sharp they sucked the air from Anna's lungs like a freezing gale. She woke in the night, and slept during the day, unable to hold onto thoughts or plans for more than a few minutes. As if the absence of her parents had created an absence in her mind. A void where her thoughts went to die. When she read through schedules or letters or briefs, she would come to the end of the page and realise she'd taken nothing in. She would repeat this process, over and over, failing to retain the words.
Of course, the wine probably didn't help.
Everybody looked and sounded like they were underwater. Garbled and unclear. She was on the outside of everything and somehow simultaneously at the centre of it all. Hushed voices accompanied by looks of pity made her feel small and useless. Usually it was Gerda and Elsa, softly spoken and ever present. Kristoff, too, sometimes. And of course, the council members. Nagging and harassing her for attention. Usually Hans took care of those matters. Anna knew she needed to snap out of it and pay attention to what questionable direction he might be steering them in, but she somehow just...didn't care. What was Arendelle without Mama and Papa, anyway?
She found herself standing in rooms, forgetting what she had come in there for. Finding no reason to leave, she would just hover, quiet and lost. Feeling transparent and unmoored, like a ghostly ship in the fog, until somebody - usually Elsa or Gerda - guided her back to where she was supposed to be. Approving flower orders or going over the funeral procession details or consulting with the stone cutter on gravestones. What one, pithy little sentence could measure the lives of these two human beings - all their joys and sorrows and dreams and failures - for all who might look upon their final resting place for centuries to come?
II
She found herself at the kitchen table, in the seat she had always sat in since she was a child, just waiting, waiting for them to arrive. Hit with the realisation that she would never again speak to them. Not a single word. Never again stir her father up into a frenzy by teasing about all the terrible decisions she would one day make as queen. Never again see her mother's twinkle with amusement while she did so. Hell, she even missed the lectures. They lectured because they loved her, didn't they?
She found herself imagining they were still here, at their regular seats, eating and chattering about banal news from around the kingdom. Petty barons. Festival mishaps. Literacy levels. Wishing her last conversations had been less defiant. Wishing they had found moments in amongst all the business and politics and duty to laugh, and to love, and to really get to know each other as people underneath the titles.
Who was Agnarr, beneath the crown? What was his fondest memory? His worst? What favourite book did he re-read to sooth his troubled mind before bed?
Did she even know her father at all?
Pondering these things alone, the dining hall seemed so much bigger. Colder. Like an abandoned castle that had been empty for years. And it felt like years, on those desolate nights, until Elsa or Gerda would enter and take away the wine, endure the protests, and implore her to actually eat the meal that had long since gone cold.
III
They looked peaceful, in the mortuary, lying still in their Sunday best with hands clasped gracefully. The slits in their throats were stitched up so neatly, and expertly covered with make-up. One could almost believe they were sleeping.
Anna had been advised against viewing their bodies, but did it anyway. She had to know for sure that this wasn't some cruel trick. Some conspiracy. A dream where she would go to see her parents' corpses only to find they'd turned into some other half-familiar nonsensical characters.
But there they lay. The silver-blonde hair and deeply lined face of her father. The high cheekbones and dark lashes of her mother. The same as they always were. But somehow waxy and fake, as though they'd never lived at all.
IV
The tears came mostly at night, and mostly for her mother. When her absence felt like an open wound. The utter permanence of it just seemed impossible. Too heavy to hold, too unfair to accept. The whole earth felt like a harder, colder place without her. The future seemed hollow.
She also found, to her surprise, moments of anger. That they could go and leave her all alone with a nation at her feet, with a war on their doorstep and a husband who frightened her and all these pushy, conniving, power hungry nobles surrounding her and no one to guide her through it.
Angry that they'd pushed her into this marriage. Left her at the mercy of this cruel man who made her feel so small. That they'd expected her to lie with him so casually. To give up something so sacred and intimate and personal, like it was nothing. Like her body and soul were just some resources to be allocated like a dry old trade deal, like a shipment of wheat.
Angry that they'd bore no other children (irrational, she knew, because they'd certainly wished for more and there are some things even a king can't control) to share these burdens with her. To share the sting of this loss and the fears for their uncertain future, and the crushing responsibility of a restless kingdom.
V
Sitting perfectly still at her dresser, Anna was lost, deep in the middle of yet another imaginary conversation with her father about how he was so wrong about so many things but she loved him anyway, when she felt Elsa's gentle hands sliding over her shoulders, resting on her collarbones for a moment, and undoing her top button. Then slowly down to the next one, and the next one.
'What are you doing?' She asked.
'I'm helping you undress. Since you apparently aren't going to do it yourself.' Elsa answered as if it were obvious.
Perhaps it was obvious. She was one step behind everyone lately. Nothing made much sense. 'But it's...the middle of the day?'
'You said you'd have a bath today. We talked about it at breakfast. Remember?'
'Mm.' She didn't even remember eating breakfast. She just watched in detached fascination as Elsa methodically undid one button after another, peeling down her bodice, then her outer dress, leaving her in just her thin shift, staring at herself in the mirror. This other Anna in the upside-down mirror-land looked small and weak and unfamiliar. A flimsy, paper-thin Anna who might blow away at any minute.
They were always nagging her to bathe, these days, and she'd been meaning to. Just putting it off. She would have to get all naked (and that would be cold), then be all wet, and then she'd have to get out, dry off, be cold again and get dressed again and the whole thing just seemed like a lot of effort.
'Sorry, I guess I wasn't paying attention. I was just, um…'
'Having imaginary arguments with your Papa?'
'It's that obvious, huh?'
'You kind of whisper aloud. Sometimes.'
She grumbled and moped but allowed Elsa to lead her into the bathroom where a steaming tub had already been filled. Gerda laid out an assortment of soap, shampoo, combs and washcloths on a fluffy towel, alongside a few jugs, and sprinkled something into the water that smelled lovely but didn't make the prospect of bathing seem any less mentally exhausting.
'Do I really have to?' She asked once again, like a sullen child.
'You'll feel so much better, after.' Elsa was already pulling off Anna's left stocking, and then her right.
'You'll smell so much better, too!' Gerda said.
Elsa whispered out of the side of her mouth, 'I thought we weren't going to mention that.'
'Child smells like an urchin in the summer, there's no point sugarcoating it.'
Huh. When was the last time she'd actually bathed? Anna tried to remember. Not since she got the terrible news. Certainly not since the funeral. But how long ago were those events? Time seemed to ebb and flow and swirl into itself with no clear direction, like a choppy sea.
'Fine.' Anna pulled off her shift in a huff and stepped into the tub, immediately grateful that they'd bullied her into this. She melted into the warm comfort of the scented water and it was...nice.
It was a nice place to curl into a ball and feel sorry for herself.
A nice place to fall deeper into her melancholy haze. So deep, in fact, that she didn't even notice it was Elsa's hands massaging lavender shampoo into her hair - and the circular pressure on her scalp felt heavenly - until the ethereal tune resonated around the room. Gerda had been the one to bathe Anna since she was a tiny child. But it wasn't Gerda's voice singing this slow, unearthly tune with its cryptic words.
'The texture of the soul is a liquid
That carves a vermillion flood'
She contemplated her vulnerable nakedness while Elsa nonchalantly washed her hair like it was any other day. A disappointment settled over her. She'd hoped it would be mutual, when one of them inevitably stripped the other bare. She'd hoped it would be a bit more special and exciting. Perhaps some candles and rose petals and maybe even a bit of poetry first. She'd spent plenty of time admiring Elsa in her nightclothes, in her small clothes. Following the lines of her legs upwards, tracing the small of her back, studying the dianty fullness of her breasts beneath the fabric, picturing what lay beneath. Getting up her nerve to unwap and to peek and to lay claim. But meek, mild mannered Elsa had gotten there first. What a sneaky fox.
She smiled weakly through the sadness. What a sneaky, sexy fox.
'From a wound carved as an oath
It fills the river bank a sanguine fog'
Elsa had effectively fallen into the role of ladies maid, which would normally involve helping said lady with such intimate tasks as bathing. The sexual tension between them really ought to have made this an exciting prospect. But they hadn't made it that far. They were both too shy, too nervous, and frankly, both saw the other as too fragile - although Anna's fragility was borne of innocence, and Elsa's, sadly, the opposite.
'These arms were meant to be lost-'
'Do you like my body?'
The fingertips on her head stopped still. A soft kiss came down on her cheek, and another on her shoulder. 'It's spectacular. The freckles, especially. They remind me of the night sky.' Elsa spoke thoughtfully, as though she were appraising a piece of fine art (and Anna felt rather like a piece of fine art in that moment), and filled a jug with water, 'Lean back.'
Water came down on Anna's hair, washing the shampoo away. It did feel nice to be clean. And to be so exposed while Elsa's hands ran firmly but gently over her body in smooth, slow, gliding motions, well...Somewhere deep beneath the numbness of grief, she registered the faint ring of a feeling. Thrill.
'The texture of time is a whisper
That echoes across the flood'
'Do you wanna...get in? With me?'
Elsa sighed. 'Yes, I do.' She lathered the soap in a soft cloth and slathered the foamy suds down Anna's arms. Around her neck and chin. Over her chest and under her breasts. The sensual tenderness of the actions combined with her utter vulnerability left a delicate, tingling feeling in the base of her skull. A longing. 'But now isn't the right time.'
She rinsed the suds off, moved around to the other side of the tub, and washed each foot lovingly, with a tiny kiss on each one when she finished.
'Why not?' It seemed like the perfect time, in some ways. This bath was a brief reprieve from the searing sting of loss. What could make it even nicer but Elsa's sweet long limbs and velvety skin pressed against her own in the warm comfort of the water?
Elsa thought for a long time, opening her mouth several times and closing it again. She wiped the undersides of Anna's knees, her armpits, her eyelids, behind her ears, and settled behind her with arms around her shoulders and cheek against cheek. Given the length of this silence, Anna expected some grand, poetic monologue, but all Elsa said was, 'Because you're too sad.'
Anna couldn't argue with that. She sank deeper into the water, relaxed into her melancholia as Elsa oiled her hair and cut her nails and kept on singing that eerily beautiful tune.
' Its hymn resonates from tree to tree. Through every sullen bough it sings.
Boughs once said to be lost. Torn, unearthed and broken '
'What's that song?'
'It's a Fae song. It reminds me that...Nothing is separate. Nothing is permanent. Not even loss.'
Anna thought of her parents, lowered, slowly into the ground in polished boxes. It seemed pretty permanent. They felt pretty separate.
It was sombre and quiet funeral with a dry hymn and a reading from the Bible about righteousness. So underwhelming. Almost insulting. She decided that she wanted a viking funeral, when her time came. The flames, the battleship, sinking into the fjord. Out to a new adventure.
'Earth to flesh, flesh to wood, cast these limbs into the water.
Flesh to wood, wood to stone, cast this stone into the water '
She asked Elsa to sing it again.
VI
'Watch out!' Kristoff grabbed Anna gently by the elbow, halting her absent-minded steps, 'Ring of mushrooms.'
'Oh.' She stared down at the circle of red and white spotted fungi in front of them. They were so pretty. So perfect. So complete. Like a perfect little family. It made her angry for some reason, and she kicked a couple of them. The impact was soft and squishy and ultimately unsatisfying.
He rubbed her back, 'It's okay to be angry.'
'Um.' She didn't know what to say to that. 'Thanks.'
They trudged past leafless, swaying trees, and mossy boulders. The snow was settling in proper clumps now. The last few autumn leaves had fallen and a melancholy patchwork of grey shifted above them, occasionally letting small, soft raindrops land on their heavy cloaks.
The sky was crying.
'Where are you taking me, anyway?' She really hadn't felt like going anywhere or doing anything. But Gerda and Elsa had cruelly conspired to withhold any and all alcohol until she had spent a minimum of one hour getting stupid fresh air and doing stupid exercise.
'Just for a walk.' Kristoff led them off the main path and onto a smaller trail with denser trees. 'When my parents died, at first, I just...couldn't stop thinking. Round and round, in my head, all day. About the past. About the future.' He held a branch out of the way while Anna ducked under it, then followed her, 'Coming out here… it just reminded me that the world didn't end, even if it felt like it did. The trees, the mountains, the seasons. When everything else is changing and chaos, I can always count on nature to be predictable. Even when I got lost in the woods, I was so scared, at first. But then I found my second family.'
The ground was uneven here. It took a level of focus just to walk steadily and not slip - it did bring Anna out of her head, a little bit.
Eventually they came to a clearing. A steep incline led down to a deep, wide creek. Another incline led up to the steep foothills of the mountain.
'All these rocks and sticks and clumps of dirt roll down here from the hill.' He motioned up to the slope above them, then kicked a small, jagged rock into the stream. It fell into the water with a plop, and disappeared.
Anna copied him, kicking a chunk of rotten wood down into the dark water. It was kind of satisfying. Not that anything was particularly fun, at the moment, but it scratched the constant itch in her soul.
'I like to imagine they're all my troubles.' Kristoff said, kicking a heavier rock with his heel. It took a few tries for it to make it to the incline and roll down into the water. 'Things that make me angry. Things that make me sad. Just cast my demons into the sea. Into the abyss. To rest.'
The impact of another rock against Anna's hard winter boot brought a tiny snap of relief to the tension that enveloped her. Like one needle out of a thousand, pulled from her heart, leaving a bearable, healing tenderness where it used to be. Only nine hundred and ninety-nine to go.
They kicked rocks, logs, and pinecones into the water for hours, until there was nothing left to kick. Until even the sun itself began to dip down into the fjord. Into the abyss. To rest with the lonely whalesong.
VII
It had been maybe a month, give or take, when the world began to come slightly back into focus. The loss still dragged at Anna's ankles, heavy with each step, like a ball and chain. It still cut raw and overwhelming when night fell, and her eyes poured like a waterfall, never ending, never enough. Poor old Elsa had taken to bringing a hand towel into bed with them and covering her chest, just so her nightclothes would stop getting so completely drenched with tears.
It still hurt, but the reality of it had begun to settle. Her vision cleared, and her feet found some solid ground in this new normal. And she knew something was wrong.
She had known for a while, but in the fog of shock and disbelief, hadn't been able to make out exactly what, or why, or act on it.
But there was no denying something was off. It was past lunchtime and Elsa was nowhere to be seen all morning. It was completely odd. She hadn't left Anna's side since the death of her parents. She'd been there at every meal time, practically force feeding her on the worst days.
On pure gut instinct, she headed toward the infirmary. Her footsteps quickened as the pieces fell into place and an awful foreboding heaviness in her gut grew stronger.
She burst into the infirmary, heart racing, ready to shout at someone. Nothing but empty, clean, white beds greeted her.
Was she wrong?
Was she too late?
A murmur of men's voices drifted from the surgery chamber. She bolted to the back of the infirmary and this time, when she crashed through the door, her worst fears were confirmed. Huddled around a white medical bed stood the usual party of misery: Hans, Hardier and Brage. But they were joined by more men. Dr Fjolborg, the royal physician in his white coat with his snivelling assistant whose name Anna could never remember. And lastly, hunched in a stained white coat, with deep, dark circles around his eyes like he'd never seen the sun was Hammehol, the reclusive alchemist. Anna had only met him a few times, in open court, and he was creepier than she remembered. His irises were pale, almost white, and his pupils were tiny pinpricks.
Beside the bed, a number of tools sat on a silver table. Ethyl alcohol. Gauze. Tweezers. A needle and thread. A few jars of medicine including morphine. A row of silver scalpels arranged from biggest to smallest glinting in the light. But they were tidy and there was no blood - she wasn't too late!
'Stop!' She ran at the men without hesitation, like a child running at a group of seagulls, 'I can't let you do this!'
Hardier and Brage quickly blocked her and held her back, but not quite quick enough. She caught a glimpse of Elsa, sitting on the bed in a white medical gown with a boneless slouch and the glassy, unfocused look in her eyes that she always had around this particular cohort. About an inch above the metal cuff, encircling her upper arm, was an inky black dotted line.
'You monsters! You can't!' Anna struggled against strong arms, yelling profanities. Screaming. Crying - the tears flowed so easily these days. She found herself practically restrained by the Admiral, rapidly wearing herself out, but at least her outburst had shaken Elsa from her trance-like state of passivity.
'Anna, please!' She trembled visibly on the bed and cradled her right arm in her left like an illegitimate baby she was being made to give up, 'Calm down. It's okay.'
'Okay? No, it's not okay! Elsa, this is insane. You know it won't grow back, right?' It made Anna angry, this helpless, passive submission that she fell into at the first whiff of authority. This immediate willingness to lie down and surrender. This absolute lack of self-preservation. 'This is not okay, and actually, you know what? I forbid it.'
She freed herself from the men's grip and put her hands on her hips, trying her best to put on her best authoritative stance. Tried to act like the queen she legally was, and not the fragile child who missed her Mama and Papa that she felt like inside. 'As queen, I forbid this!'
Hardier just rolled his eyes. 'Seeing as Her Majesty has not yet been coronated, and remains for the moment, Queen Regnant, I believe Section 92 of the Royal Code allows me as the Commander of Royal Armed Forces to override a decision of a military strategy during wartime.'
Anna was speechless. What was her whole life for, what was the point of a monarchy, if a few lines of text could override her authority?
'In my professional opinion…' Dr Fjolborg said, 'I would even go so far as to say Her Majesty appears to be rather...indisposed.'
'Oh, how terrible.' Hans said with mock concern in his sarcastic voice. One hand came down over his chest, the other upon Anna's shoulder. 'My poor, dear wife, indisposed?'
'Mhm.' Fjolborg said. 'Feeble minded. Certainly not capable of making any rational decisions.'
'What? I'm not indisposed?' Brage's hand came down over Anna's mouth. His other arm snaked around her from behind, holding her tightly in place. Her protests turned to muffled noise. She was tempted to bite him. That wouldn't help her case. But this was infuriating. Terrifying. She couldn't just let this happen. She had to do it. She bit his hand as hard as she could.
His soft flesh split between her teeth and the taste of metal spilled into her mouth. It was satisfying and sickening at the same time.
'You little bitch!' Brage removed his bloodied hand but kept her restrained with his other arm, 'How dare you?'
'How dare I?' Had these men all forgotten their places? 'How dare you! '
'Anna, please!' Elsa begged, 'You're making it worse!'
'I do think Her Majesty has gone mad with grief!' Fjolborg said. 'Perhaps she ought to go...away for a time. To recover.'
Her mind struggled to keep up with what was happening. How long had these men seen her as so disposable? How elaborately had they plotted to keep her out of the way? Where were they going to send her? That couldn't possibly be legal!
'Yes, indeed.' Hans stroked her face slowly with the back of his forefinger. Anna tried to lean away from the touch but Brage held her too tightly. 'A very long, long time.'
A moment of silence passed as Anna processed the horrifying implications of what this might mean. Was she...was she going to die?
A clatter of metal against wood broke the silence. The amulet fell to the floor, whirring as it spun for a few seconds before falling flat. All eyes settled on the dull ring of metal and then to Elsa who rubbed the space on her arm where it had once been. Slowly, pensively she looked up at the room, 'I believe this simplifies things, no?'
Nothing but the awkward clearing of throats simmered in the silence.
'Perhaps you could unhand her now, My Lord?' Elsa asked, awfully timidly for a girl who claimed to once be cocky. A girl who claimed to take down battalions with a click of her fingers, to summon blizzards, to block the sun. She slipped off the table to her feet and held out her hand tentatively, 'Sir? If I may escort Anna back to her bedroom-'
'I don't think that will be necessary.' Hardier said. His grip around Anna tightened. 'In fact, in light of our new...situation, perhaps it's best for everyone if Her Majesty stays safely out of harm's way until you've fulfilled your promises to the administration.'
'Gentlemen, I...that's not...I'm still more than happy to cooperate with your military efforts. Please. This doesn't need to be difficult.' She beckoned with her outstretched hand. 'Just...hand her over.'
How quickly Anna had gone from rescuer to hostage! A million jumbled thoughts and feelings collided through her head, but for the moment she decided to wait and see where Elsa decided to take this conversation. She could, after all, just kill these men where they stood, couldn't she? If her abilities were everything she claimed?
But what if her magic wasn't that quick? What if she was a little rusty after who knows how many years of not using it?
Or what if she simply was no longer the cocky girl who once blocked the sun? What if she was still shackled, not by magic metal but by memories? What if the years of cruelty and captivity had rewired her brain? The pain, the humiliation, the terror, perhaps it was all too much for a young girl to cope with without fracturing on some core level. Was Elsa too broken to be fixed?
No. Somewhere deep down, there was trust. The cuff was off. She believed in Anna.
Anna had to believe in Elsa, now.
'Nobody wants this to be difficult.' Hans said. 'But I'm sure you understand, Elsa, in light of the changing power dynamics, it's only fair if we retain a certain amount of leverage.'
'Gentlemen, please,' There was a shred of fear in Elsa's voice now. Anna's heart sank. 'I don't want to fight you.'
Anna was about to speak but lost all her words when a cold thin strip of metal pressed against her neck. Sharp. Hot fear flooded through her, prickling at her neck, closing her throat. Her vision pulsed with her hammering heartbeat. She'd never been this close to real, true danger before. There were no soldiers to save her. No green and violet in her peripheral vision to take refuge in. These were her soldiers. They had turned against her. She couldn't die like this. She didn't want to die at all.
Each second seemed to last for centuries with the metal against Anna's neck. With her heart exploding in her chest and the fear sucking all the air from her lungs. Was this how her parents felt, in those last moments before their throats were cut? The thought broke her heart. Yet somehow, at the same time, it made her feel closer to them. Less separate.
Elsa raised her hands, painstakingly slowly, into the surrender position.
The surrender position?
Shattered glass. Too broken to be fixed.
Anna's heart sank even further. It was over.
With the tiniest flick of Elsa's middle finger, something cold shot past Anna's cheek and Brage's arms fell from around her body. His dagger clattered as it hit the ground. She turned around to see him pinned against the wall by a spike of ice shot clean through his neck. He made a sickly gurgling sound as blood spurted out of his mouth and a crimson stain spread over his white shirt. His eyes moved from steely resolve to shock, to frantic panic, and then the glassy sheen of death.
'Let me rephrase.' Elsa whispered. 'You don't want to fight me.'
She was so enraptured by the grotesque scene that she barely followed what happened next. She backed into Elsa, once again feeling an arm wrapped tight around her, but this time it was comforting. Another flick of the fingers, and Doctor Fjolborg was pinned against the wall by a sheet of ice along with his assistant with a satisfying crackling sound. Alive, but immobilised and certainly winded by the impact. A dainty stomp of her foot sent tendrils up Hardier's legs, pinning him in place. To be dealt with later, apparently. Hammehol the alchemist pulled some kind of pink potion in a glass vial from his cloak and raised his hand to throw it but Elsa was too quick. Three thick spikes rose from the ground in the blink of an eye and pierced his gut, his chest and his throat with a squelching sound and the snap of his ribs breaking like twigs. He gurgled helplessly and spat up a fountain of dark red blood, just like Brage did, as the light left his weird, creepy eyes.
The only one left now was Hans. He took a step back as Elsa released her grip on Anna's waist and took a step forward.
'Now, now, ladies,' he held up his hands in surrender. He retained his regal posture, but the terror in his voice was unmistakable. 'Let's all just calm down and talk about this like adults. Elsa, please, I mean you no harm.' He took another step back, and she took another step forward, and it was all Anna could do but watch this strange, fascinating dance of submission as Hans navigated the position of helpless proximity to death that she had occupied just seconds ago. 'I implore you to think very carefully about your next moves.'
A crackling sound. A spike shot from the ground, diagonally, against the left side of his neck and into the wall. Another shot up on the right side, just barely missing his pale skin and the arteries beneath. One last spike shot right between them and stopped just shy of his flesh. His adam's apple bobbed as he gulped, and his skin brushed against the middle spike, trapped and helpless, staring into Elsa's eyes.
Cold, blue eyes like frozen pools, shattered, giving way to the deep dark abyss beneath with all its shadows. Awe. Disbelief. Rage. Hope. A tiny bit of fear. A tiny bit of pleasure.
'Wait!' Anna grabbed Elsa's arm, breaking her focus. Princess-mode kicked in. She had to consider consequences. For everyone. 'Don't kill him.'
'What? But…' Back in the present, Elsa took hold of Anna's hand again. So gentle and warm in contrast to the cold, methodical murders she'd just committed. Her eyes turned soft, like a child asking for dessert, 'But I really want to.'
'I know! But…' How could she explain something so dry and technical against such a climactic backdrop? Elsa's years of helpless containment, finally over. Two men just sent to meet their maker. Anna's own heart still raging against her ribcage. 'It will cause a lot of diplomatic problems.'
'But he hit you.'
The words Elsa had said on that first night echoed in the silence.
The first time is always the worst.
The spikes on the side of his neck grew wider, transforming into thin blades, digging slowly into the flesh under his jaw and drawing the tiniest trickle of blood.
'I know! But...he's still a foreign prince, Elsa, and…'
Shattered glass. Her pale eyes still had that shattered glass look to them. Years of tears it was too late to shed. This was about something bigger and more terrible than one entitled prince with a temper. Something primal and far more difficult to argue with.
'We can still get away with this. Without starting another war and being personally hunted by an entire country. Please. Trust me.'
Elsa took a deep breath in, gave one last glare to Hans, and agreed, 'Fine. But we need to go. Now.'
'No arguments there.' Anna turned one last time to take in the carnage. The four men left alive, speechless with terror. The crimson stain spilling slowly across the floor. The words vermillion flood popped into her head and she tried to think where she had heard them. Elsa took her hand and led the way, still in her white surgery gown, and they scampered out of the infirmary hand in hand.
If anyone is interested, the song Elsa is singing in the bath scene is actually a real song. It's called Limbs by a band called Agalloch.
The line she was up to, before Her Royal Horniness interrupted, goes:
"These arms were meant to be lost. Torn, severed and forgotten"
If that gives you any idea of what's going on in the back of her mind.
If you've read this far and are enjoying the story, I'd like to encourage you to leave comments and feedback. It means the world to us writers. It's hard throwing stuff out there in the dark, and it brings me such joy to get any feedback. It's also great to know what people are enjoying and what's working, any questions you need answered (or plot points I forgot lmao) as I head toward the end of the story and prepare to wrap things up.