They told stories by firelight, when language was still new and when the shadows that moved through the trees were monsters and the storms in the sky had names. They had names too, simple sounds that took a lifetime to learn. Sounds that came to symbolize happiness and home and joy. She knew her face, saw it every time she closed her eyes and opened them again to make sure she was still there; but she also knew the smell of her blood after one of the monsters struck in the night all fang and tooth and claw.
Over time, people would tame those monsters and call them friend. But in that life and all the ones that followed she would always be a little afraid of dogs. And the other who had captured her heart would always be afraid of the dark.
The foundations of the Sphinx were new when they met again. They lived on plains on the other side of the world. They hunted giants, for fur and for meat, slowly wearing them down for days and weeks. One led, and the other followed, and both were good with the spear.
She was still young when a harsh winter took her. At the end, when she looked into the other's eyes, she could see those monsters in the dark. A wail of anguish was the last thing she heard.
Their lives would flit over the centuries. Fate was cruel, unkind, and one or the other would so often be taken too soon. Accident or illness most often, but the harsh reality of war and famine and murder also kept them apart. Sometimes they died in each others' arms. Sometimes they died a world apart. Other times they met only briefly, the proverbial ships in the night.
When the Sphinx was old, civilization flourished in the Fertile Crescent. They passed each other in the market, two women on separate errands catching a familiar glint in the afternoon sun. For a night, they remembered the taste of skin and the warmth of two hearts beating as one. Come morning, they parted ways, promising to see each other again.
One voice, many voices. All the same.
Thousands of years later, one would dream and remember harsh winters and her own throat raw from grief. Many continents away, Sappho wrote of her lovers and dreamed of one she would never meet.
They lived, together or apart; poets, farmers, explorers, warriors, and hundreds of other lives besides. Short or long, fulfilling or not, shared or alone, they were two souls caught on currents that seemed determined to keep them apart. And yet, some things were inevitable. Some currents crossed but more importantly, they merged.
There was, after all, magic in the world.
From a young age, faces haunted Elsa's dreams. One with wild red hair and an appreciation of bears. Another, dark skin in wolfhide. Many nights, golden eyes gazed at her across the market beneath a blazing sun. They were all the same person, she knew this. But like everything else in her life, she concealed it and the only person she wanted to share her dreams with was the one she was most afraid of hurting. Eventually, she got so good at hiding it that she even managed to conceal it from herself.
But the dreams still came, bringing with them the sort of bittersweet joy of something far out of reach. The woman with many faces and one heart was kept locked away in the farthest recesses of Elsa's mind.
And that remained so until she stood in an enchanted wood, staring at a woman with brown eyes so achingly familiar that it felt as though she'd always known her. They'd been many colors, Elsa knew, but the window always reflected the same soul. I know who you are she wanted to say, but there was no time.
Later, after talking with Honeymaren. After the campfire and the ship and Ahtohollan, as the ice ran up her body and the sins of her family were laid bare, her last word was Anna's name. But her last thought was of Honeymaren and a fleeting feeling that this wasn't the first time something important had been torn out of reach.
"You belong up here."
Maybe she did.
In this life, they never should have met. But magic was a tricky thing, and in finding herself and freeing the forest, there was a chance to not be ships in the night. To not lose each other early. For the first time in forever, a chance to live out their lives together. But like all chances, they both had to be willing to seize it, so Elsa waited.
Honeymaren who came to her a few weeks after she began to settle in. Elsa sat with Bruni watching the leaves rustle in the breeze and she moved over a little, patting the grass next to her. Maren sat, taking her hand, as she'd done very often since the day they'd met.
"Things have finally calmed down a little bit, haven't they?" One voice, many voices. All the same.
"Yes." Elsa smiled at her, reading the recognition in her eyes and squeezing her hand, "Do you feel it?"
"I feel like I've seen your face a thousand times over," Honeymaren said. "Different each time, but still you. I feel like I've been looking for you without realizing I was."
I know who you are Honeymaren was saying.
I know who you are Elsa responded. But words wouldn't suffice. Carpe Diem. Had she said that once, two thousand years ago?
Seizing the day, she slid into Honeymaren's lap, pushing her down into the grass and kissing her with the weight of ten thousand generations on her. Her fingers tangled in curly red hair, she tasted the spices from that market on Honeymaren's lips and felt hands, calloused from hunting monsters, stroke her shoulders and back.
But she was no longer afraid of wolves and dogs and as she fervently tore into Maren's clothing she knew they were those people and yet they were not. One by one, she felt their eyes on them. Relief. Love. Acceptance. One by one the others faded away, names forgotten but not the fact that they'd existed. That they would always exist somewhere in the primordial memory Elsa and Honeymaren shared.
"You're the fifth spirit," Honeymaren said, breaking their kiss to peer at her. "I don't think we were supposed to find each other this time. But you're the fifth spirit, and that changes everything."
Her sister was never going to let her live this down, but somehow she thought that Anna would appreciate this story. Elsa smiled, cupping her face. She felt like she'd been searching for her destiny a lot longer than her whole life, and now that she was here she would never let it go. "Not everything."
Maren smiled back, and pulled her down again, "No, I suppose not everything."
"I love you," Elsa whispered. One voice, many voices. All the same.
It was the first day of the rest of their lives.