Dear Prince Hans Westergaard of the Southern Isles,

I appreciate your insights on my character. It is only fitting, as I have given you ample description of what I see when I think of your name.

You were right. I did not answer your question. I claim apathy, and perhaps you are correct in believing that I persist in lying. Why would I write to my arch-nemesis? Why would I put myself through reading your words, which may well enough be fabricated into a blanket of manipulation? You may be playing me, once more, and I am well aware of the possibility. I am many things, but I will not allow myself to play a fool.

You must know this: I have feigned apathy all my life, until it was no longer feigning. I denied until it was no longer denying. It became truth. For years, it was difficult to feel anything but fear for what pain I might unknowingly inflict on others. Some days, it is still a struggle, but I am lucky. I am surrounded by people who have always loved me, and individuals who can forgive my transgressions.

I do and will continue to write. I want to prove to myself that the fear, and anger, and hatred I feel toward myself can be surmounted and overcome. You will never know the guilt I hold over my choices or my lack of self-control. Never will you know the abhorrence that filled me when I almost killed my sister not once, but twice. Never will you know. Never will anyone.

I write these letters because they are a continual test. Because I deserve it. You are only one man, but you are the one who holds my mistakes, my consequences, and my most inadequate qualities on a pedestal, forcing me to own up to them every time I receive the telltale parchment of your letter in the bundle of parcels. You bring out the best in me, and in the same breath, you bring out the worst in me.

I cannot claim to be generous, kindhearted, merciful, or empathetic when I write to you. I will not defend areas of my character that I do not feel need to be defended by the likes of you. You would not believe me, or you would throw back the words arrogant and narcissistic and hypocrite to my face. If you did, I would not be able to fault you, because those words would very much describe me if I listed the qualities that I am proud of maintaining, throughout everything that has happened.

On your words of how we are similar. It is unsettling to think we can be in anyway compared to one another. You, covetous and demeaning, a liar and a cheat. Yet, it pains me to say that the ruling thumb of denial has hid this mark of similarity like a shadow over my heart. I have denied, because I am good at it. I have overlooked it, because I did not feel the necessity of looking so closely. We are both creatures of our past mistakes, but you must explain something to me.

What type of isolation were you inflicted?

Sincerely,

Queen Elsa of Arendelle

Dear Queen Elsa of Arendelle,

This may disgust you, but you intrigue me. You have finally answered me. You allowed yourself to be free of the expected responses. Formalities and predictability are all well and good, but in my experiences, they reek of thinly veiled insults behind false smiles. I've seen it time and again within my family, patriarchs, and political discussions.

To answer your question, the isolation I was inflicted is not the kind you think of when you think of isolation. You were shut away—shut inside. You locked yourself inside of your own skin. It was a choice you made, and that choice was made out of protecting the people whom you loved.

Mine is not so noble or honorable. I was a thirteenth son, which you know. The latter half of my brothers were too old to acknowledge my existence after my christening, and the younger half were a bit like me. They will more than likely not inherit any part of a kingdom. They took out frustration on each other and me, as boys do. I was invisible to most of them, and the two brothers closest to me in age acted as though I truly was invisible. I did not exist. Laughable, now, when I think of it. It sounds like I'm complaining. Poor little Hans, left lonely and ignored. I am not trying to paint that picture, so I will say I will be as frank with you as I can. At least, until I have the urge to lie and manipulate again.

I was raised by governesses and servants. I was a difficult child. I made things difficult on purpose, because I wanted attention. I believe I went through five governesses by the time I turned fourteen. I overheard some of them quitting, or pleading with my parents before they turned in their resignation. None of my brothers were as unruly as I. My behavior consisted of tantrums when I wouldn't get my way, but I knew if I was bad enough, my parents would take notice and give me attention. The attention would be punishments, but it was attention all the same.

As I went through puberty, I began to learn that I could get most of what I wanted if I smiled enough, and if I said the right things. If I took notice of people as much as I wanted to be noticed by my family, they were easily manipulated. It is a wonder where an ounce of charm and smiling will get you in the world, especially if you mention you are a Prince.

I can blame my family. I was a mistake. They never wanted a thirteenth child. My parents spread themselves too thin. What with caring for all the children and keeping their social status with dignitaries and relations with Kings and Queens of other countries in good condition…well, just thinking about the juggling act is exhausting.

And because I can blame my family, I do not. It is only another outlet for anger, and all blame seems to do is build with nowhere to go. Regardless, they would never belittle themselves enough to accept the blame. It was not their intention for me to marry into a beautifully rich kingdom. It was not their intention for me to do anything with my life. They never expected anything from me other than failure, and you have seen how well I have maintained their expectations.

I guess you could say my isolation was first inflicted by my family. Later, it was inflicted by my own hands. I eventually began to stop caring about others and caring only about where I could position myself, to finally reach above where I was destined to stay.

So, I understand about isolation, Queen Elsa. I understand about apathy and hate. I know about exploitation and manipulation. I will neither admit or deny to continuing my manipulations through these letters. I will not say I am trying to play to your strengths of generosity and kindheartedness and mercy. I will say nothing, because while I believe myself to be clever enough to fool you, I also believe I have become clever enough not to.

It's up to you whether or not to believe me.

Yours truly,

Prince Hans Westergaard of the Southern Isles