The first thing that hit Elsa, really hit her, was the smell, as she and Anna took one step into her mausoleum of mangled memories. The sickeningly nostalgic mix of wood and metal, with a new undertone of dust. The sensations it subjected her to were reminiscent of a cross between a slap to the face and a kick in the gut, which was bitterly laughable, because it was something as intangible and invisible as a smell. Or maybe she was so used to experiencing it associated with the metallic tang of blood and the dark musk of leather that it invoked such an unpleasant response in her with unacceptable ease.

The entire room was saturated with the stench of failure, coupled with years of abandoned hope and unfulfilled aspiration. How many times had she entered here, fervently yearning for her father's approval and satisfaction? How many times had she entered here, daring to hope that she would be greeted with a smile and a hug instead of a scowl and a whip? How many times had she entered here, only to have those fantasies violently crushed and replaced with cruel nightmares, until she herself became the one to dejectedly stomp them out when they inescapably surfaced again?

That was the worst part. Each time was fresh disappointment and defeat as she failed her father's expectations again and again. Because she couldn't stop hoping that one day she would have answered his summons and been rewarded with an affectionate smile, a pat on the head, a kiss on the cheek, that one day she would have actually satisfied his requirements of her.

Here. This was where all her dreams died. This was where she buried her naïve, trusting, ignorant self. Where all her hopes and aspirations were viciously slaughtered over and over for four long years. Where she had bidden a long farewell to any trace of paternal love.

Beside her, Anna shifted to flick on the light, waking the rustic fluorescent pendant lamps scattered across the flat mahogany of the ceiling, illuminating the study with a lackluster yellow. The creaky dust-laden bookshelves stood tall and looming against the apathetic grey walls just as Elsa remembered them, the vermilion of their frames complimenting the burgundy of the ceiling under the melancholy glow of the light to taint the dull marble floor with a poisonous crimson. She remembered speculating darkly that her father chose stone instead of wood as the flooring because blood wouldn't leave a stain on it.

Her eyes fell on the rigid form of her father's writing desk near the back of the room, and immediately her breathing quickened as her mind was assaulted by the recollection of the first time she was disciplined here. She suddenly wanted very much to throw up again, stomach once again twisting into painful knots.

She was six. Her four-year-old sister had decided she wanted to try her hand at tree climbing, and as usual, Elsa had failed to dissuade her from her adamant decision. Anna had always had a one-track mind. Of course, one lapse of coordination sent the rambunctious redhead tumbling to the ground. She hadn't fallen from a significant height, so she had ended up sustaining just a bruise on one knee and a scrape on the other. They weren't serious injuries, but nevertheless Elsa had fretted over them; she was Anna's big sister, after all. At the time, though, she hadn't thought they were her fault any more than she thought it was Anna's, for climbing, or the tree's, for existing.

She was proven wrong upon their return through the embellished front doors of the manor that they were expected to call home. She still remembered the anger in her father's voice, with a hint of something akin to horror.

Elsa, what have you done?

It was just an accident.

No, Elsa, this was your fault, he had told her. You should have known better.

She doubted Anna even remembered the incident; she had been so young. But it was that event that had set in motion the devastating series of chain reactions that had changed Elsa forever.

You made a mistake.

I have to teach you fear, Elsa. Fear of failure.

You can't make mistakes, Elsa. Ever.

Never forgive yourself.

Remember this. Remember this pain.

You're the heir, Elsa. You can't falter.

Why do you keep failing me?

It's all your fault.

You can't show affection.

You can't love. It will just be used against you.

You can't show weakness.

Conceal. Don't feel. Don't let it show.

But once again, she was failing to do just that as her hands began to shake against the titanium of her crutches, making a small rattling noise as the tremble echoed off the hard floor.

When had she given up? When had she decided that he was right, that it was her fault? When had she stopped trying to convince herself that her trespasses had just been accidents, harmless mistakes? When did she start believing him? When did she stop forgiving herself? When did she start hating herself for who she was?

When had she started telling herself she didn't deserve to be happy?

Was it when she started addressing him as 'Father', instead of 'Daddy'? Was it when she abandoned herself to be who he wanted her to be?

It wasn't as if who he wanted her to be and who she wanted to be were two completely different people. He was her father, after all. Intrinsically, she wanted to be who he expected her to be, because… well… she loved him. He was her father, and she loved him. There was an innate craving for his approval, biting at her ankles to propel her forward, because he was her father. She had respected him. So much.

The first time he hit her had been the most grievously scarring, simply because she hadn't expected it. Because it was so hard to couple this hideous version of her father with the kind, affectionate man she always saw with Anna. Her mind actively rejected the reality of being flogged; she had thought it had been just a nightmare, until searing pain forced her to accept that it wasn't. That it was very real. That the fault was really hers. That her father, the father that hadn't shown any aggression or affection toward her, only apathy, that father that she innately loved and respected, was purposefully causing her to suffer.

And that's why it was so traumatizing every time she failed him. She always worked herself into the ground to continue the agonizing climb toward his lofty standards, and it was never enough. Every time it was in arm's reach, a careless mistake, an unintended, harmless imperfection, would plunge her down to hell again.

Disappointing.

It wasn't the academics where she had fallen short. Oh, no. More or less, her academic history was perfect. Because that was something she at least had control over.

She failed him when she had begged him to let her spend time with Anna, after she had overheard her sister crying softly on the floor of their playroom, hugging the dolls that they used to share. She failed him when she couldn't find the heart to ever deny any request that her little sister made of her, in the little snippets of time they were allotted together. She failed him, because every time she was given a choice between Anna's happiness and her father's approval, she had chosen Anna. Over the company. Over her father. Over herself.

She craved Anna's happiness more than her father's approval.

And that was dangerous. Josef Arendelle had foreseen it, apparently, as was evident in his letter to her. That such unconditional love would undoubtedly be used against her. So he had tried to stifle it, reduce it, erase it, by means of classical conditioning. To force her to fear, to reject any sort of failure, any sort of imperfection, any sort of lapse in control that would be detrimental to herself and the company in her future as CEO. In essence, he had also tried to force her to fear loving Anna.

The feeling was very like being torn in two. For four whole years, it was like she was actively being ripped in half. And it didn't subside much even after her father had died. Two halves of herself, one half desperately yearning for Anna's smile, and the other inherently craving her father's satisfaction, constantly warring with each other and ultimately failing to achieve either.

At first, she even begged for forgiveness. For second chances. But when the pain didn't stop, she did. One could only taste the ground so many times before finally believing that they deserved it.

"Elsa, what's wrong?"

She didn't know when her head lowered and her eyes squeezed shut until she had to fight to reverse it. Anna had moved from her side to curiously inspect the trophies and awards preserved inside glass cabinets in one corner of the study. Elsa tried to focus on Anna, and only Anna when she forced out an answer, "Nothing."

Anna's brow furrowed in concern and her gaze flitted around the room before settling on Elsa's trembling hands. She approached her older sister, speaking the only conclusion she could have come to, given the situation. "You miss him too, don't you?"

The wistful note in Anna's voice may as well have been a bullet. In fact, a bullet would probably have hurt less. Every merciless beat of Elsa's heart flooded her with more guilt and misery. How could she have considered telling Anna? How could she have been so thoughtless? A sharp pain shot up her arms as her nails gouged further into the cuts in her palms. She winced like the incompetent fool she was, and trained her eyes on the floor until warm hands relaxed her clenched fists.

"Should we leave, Elsa? If being here is too hard for you," Anna suggested softly, trying to meet her diverted gaze.

Why had she even come down here? Why did she decide to subject herself, once again, to the air of this torturous room? What futile notion had she been chasing?

She suddenly couldn't remember anymore. She wanted very much to turn around, go back the way they had come, and continue her life of…

… her life of what? Of lying to Anna, of lying to herself, of continuing to push away anyone who cared about her? Of being crushed by her responsibilities and who she couldn't possibly be?

No. She gritted her teeth until the sheer force of her jaws clamping together sent an aching throb to her temples. She had come here to move on. To stop the horrendous nightmares that relentlessly plagued her almost every night. To forget. To find some sort of closure.

"No," she finally bit out, scraping together the remainder of her tattered conviction.

I'm going to stop running away.

"Running away from what?"

She froze. Had she said that out loud? There were still gentle hands holding onto the fingers of her own, otherwise she would have instinctively balled them up again at her witless slipup.

One of those hands released their hold and went to her cheek, coaxing her head upward, until her eyes had the audacity to fall on her reason for living. If it were possible, her stomach knotted even further at the sight of a troubled Anna, and she let out the breath that she didn't know she had been holding.

She wondered briefly when she had decided that her sister's happiness was more important than her own. Was it when she had first looked into that pair of bright teal eyes so many years ago and had felt compelled to make those eyes curl into smiling ones? As if it were part of her very genetic makeup to bring joy to the innocent, trusting face that cooed back at her, and protect it at all costs. Because the warmth that Anna's laugh brought to her was so precious that she would move heaven and earth to preserve it.

As if I was born to love you.

At that, she was able to muster a slight smile.

"Running away from what?" Anna prompted, looking more comfortable now that Elsa seemed marginally more relaxed.

Elsa turned over the hand that Anna had released, and her eyes were drawn to the bloody crescent moons lined across her palm. The pain had been acute when they were first inflicted, but now it had subsided to a steady pulse, resonating with each beat of her heart—just like the scars on her back: angry, aching shadows of her past, but they had hurt the most when they were first delivered.

Anna followed her gaze, and immediately released her to produce a pack of tissues from her pocket, gingerly pressing one to each bloody palm. Anna had always done this for her, Elsa realized. Stopped the bleeding. Soothed the pain. Cooled the burn.

I don't want to hurt you.

She had come to an impasse. She wouldn't run away, but she couldn't move forward. Not without the inevitable cost of Anna's bliss.

All she ever wanted was for Anna to be happy. All she would ever want was for Anna to be happy. Why was that so wrong? Why did everyone, her father, her mother, everyone discourage it? Why was she always bound by responsibility, by heritage, by legacy, by identity? Why was everything she did always wrong in someone's eyes?

She met the pastel green eyes of her late father, looking down on her like he always did, from his portrait on the wall behind his desk. He embodied everything she couldn't be. Proud, dismissive, arrogant, self-serving. Her eyes narrowed into a glare as she examined the picture, her father clad in his designer suit, hands behind his back, head held high, staring back at her, eyes hard and unforgiving.

Why was I never good enough for you?

Still unsatisfied, even after death. Mocking her. Suddenly, Elsa was almost burning with resentment and bitterness.

Did you enjoy my suffering?

Did you even love me?

Hatred reared its ugly head.

"I wonder what Father would say, if he saw us right now," she almost spat, and Anna looked up from her hands, slightly alarmed at her semi-hostile tone.

"He would be happy for us," Anna's response was firm, albeit confused. The trust and faith in her voice would normally have made Elsa smile, but not this time.

But Elsa kept her gaze solidly fixed on his portrait, years of pent-up indignation and hatred coursing hot, almost toxically, through her veins. She refused to look at Anna, refused to lower the scowl she couldn't prevent toward her little sister, who didn't deserve it at all. "How do you know that?" She nearly growled.

"Because he told me. He wanted me to be happy. And he wanted you to be happy."

If Elsa didn't deserve Anna's confidence and loyalty, then Josef Arendelle sure as hell deserved it even less. To her surprise, and Anna's, she chuckled coldly. Why was she feeling so venomous? A voice was warning her to stop, to end this conversation, before she divulged something she would regret. She paid it no heed. She was too far gone.

Anna seemed to notice the caustic fury radiating off her in waves, and took a small step back, eyeing her worriedly. "Did I say something? Are you angry with me?"

Elsa breathed in sharply, the sound piercing the thick air of the study, trying to reign in her emotions. They were all over the place, hatred and guilt, resentment and fear, frustration and regret, all viciously searing through her, heavy as a hot branding iron, each one fighting to dominate her mind. "No," she managed through gritted teeth. "I just can't imagine that he wanted me to be happy."

How could he have? After telling her she was a failure, a disappointment, a disgrace, how could he have possibly expected her to attain happiness?

He didn't want a daughter for an heir. He had wanted a machine. That was what he had groomed her to be. A cold, hard, two-faced machine, just like he had been. Except she couldn't ever be like that in front of Anna. And that was why he was so disappointed in her.

"Why not? You deserve to be happy, Elsa," Anna whispered, approaching her slowly as if she were a dangerous predator. Which, right now, was not an inaccurate description of her.

"No, I don't," she replied, voice fraught with acidity. The notion was so ingrained within her that the words just came out on their own, regardless of her current antagonism.

Anna narrowed her eyes, comprehension colouring her irises. "This has to do with this secret you're keeping from me, doesn't it? Why are we really here, Elsa?"

"Don't push me right now, Anna," Elsa warned, fear taking precedent in her mind. If she were to say it right now, the words would be aimed at Anna for the sake of deliberately hurting, not telling. She did not want that. That would make her no different from her parents, saying things out of spite, not love. "Please."

"Please, just tell me. I won't love you any less."

"I can't."

"Elsa, I'm so tired of playing this game with you! This I-love-you-but-I-don't game! You can't break down on the floor of the bathroom and expect me to walk away all whoop-dee-doo like it doesn't affect me!"

Elsa was shaking so hard—with anger? fear? that she dropped a crutch and held onto the frame of the doorway for support instead, fingers scratching the wood as they dug in. She glared at the floor, struggling to regain control over herself. She was not going to attack Anna with those words. If she were to say them, it would be because she didn't want to lie, not because she wanted to hurt. "I'm sorry. This isn't how I wanted to tell you. I still—I still don't want to tell you."

"Tell me what, exactly?" Anna demanded, flicking a glance over her shoulder at their father's portrait. "What—did Dad do something?" The shadow of a memory crossed her features. "You mentioned… his lessons—"

"I can't… I can't…" Elsa breathed, voice barely above a whisper. Anna was already not far from the truth. But they could still turn back now. They could still—

"I'm not made of glass, Elsa! Just spit it out! Unless…" Anna's anxious expression turned into one of dismay. "You still don't trust me! You still think I'm a little kid who needs protecting!" She reached out to grab Elsa by the shoulders. "Whatever problem is eating you up inside, you're going to tell me! Right now!" Then, a little gentler, "I can handle it."

Anna intently held Elsa's gaze for a while, until Elsa finally sighed and looked away. Anna smiled wistfully at her. "You've endured so much for so long. But you don't have to be alone anymore. I'm here for you. So what are you afraid of?"

"Anna…" Elsa returned her sister's smile with a morose one. She didn't want to tell any more lies. But what was she going to say? Father isn't who you think he is. He was a two-faced bastard who wanted me to become a merciless, disciplined leader. He punished me to try and turn me into him. He hit me every time I played with you.

They wouldn't come out. The words wouldn't come out.

She limped around Anna instead, half-hopping, half-shuffling to a position behind Josef's desk, dropping her other crutch as soon as she reached it. Anna watched her curiously as she closed her eyes and inhaled evenly before pulling open one of the drawers. Anna craned her neck and took a step closer as Elsa searched for a certain item.

She found it, the accursed thing. It stared back at her, the medium in which her nightmares were delivered.

Failure.

Disappointing.

"I'm sorry," it came out as a choked plea, and she wasn't sure if she was apologizing to the belt, or Anna, or her father. She wasn't sure why she was apologizing at all.

Anna was beside in her a flash, staring at the thing Elsa's hand was hovering over, eyes wide and afraid, as if she were expecting some horrendous monster to come flying out of the drawer.

It didn't take long before she came to a conclusion herself. There were still traces of dried blood on the buckle, and it made Elsa sick to her stomach.

"Did he… did he hit you?" Anna whispered hesitantly, voice hitching in panic.

Elsa gasped and straightened at the vocalization of her nightmare, snatching up the coiled brown leather even though the contact burned her skin like it had years ago. She backed away clumsily, gripping the edge of the desk for support, as if Anna had just caught her at the scene of a murder with the murder weapon in her hands. "I'm sorry." I'm sorry I have to tell you this. I'm sorry I love you. I'm sorry we're sisters. I'm sorry we were born into this family.

There was a long pause. Elsa's terrified silence was enough of an answer. "Why?" Anna asked, staring at her in horror.

Elsa took another step back, fingers sliding across the polished wood, injured leg throbbing in protest as she put weight on it. That was the least of her worries, though. Her fingers curled dejectedly around the width of the heavy belt, and she couldn't find the will to look her sister in the eye as she replied, "Because—because I deserved it."

"No." Denial. This Elsa had expected.

"I'm sorry," she said again. She didn't know what consolation she could give Anna, and she was so used to apologizing already.

"Is that what he taught you? That you're… you don't deserve happiness?"

Elsa kept her eyes focused on the floor as her entire body threatened to shake again, the memories of what he taught her flooding back to her.

You're useless.

You're pathetic.

Anna's voice had been eerily calm, and Elsa couldn't discern Anna's current state of mind from the brief glance she stole, the fact that Anna had gone very stiff not helping at all. And she didn't know whether to be afraid of that or not. Her fingers tightened their hold on the desk in apprehension, the wood screeching as her nails scraped across it.

"Because… because you deserved it," Anna repeated, her face contorting as if the words were foreign to her, unwelcome. It wasn't long before Elsa saw her begin to piece everything together, and realization haunted her features. "Whenever… I made you break the rules? Is this how he punished you? When—whenever I asked you to skip lessons and play with me. I…"

Elsa shrank back from the desk at the heartbreak in Anna's voice, and grabbed the frame of a bookcase for support as she brought herself to look at her sister. She wanted to run.

That's right, like the coward you are.

She always wanted to run whenever she knew Anna was hurting. She was too much of a coward to watch, because whatever pain Anna felt, she felt ten times over.

Pathetic.

Her current condition didn't permit fleeing, so she shut her eyes instead, trying to block out the voices, leaning her forehead against the cool vermilion, trying to pretend that she hadn't just broken her little sister's heart once again.

That's all you ever do.

She almost didn't hear what Anna said next. She wished she hadn't.

"I… I did this to you."

I hope you're happy now, that hostile voice in her head hissed. You've made her cry. You've taken away all her happiness. I hope you're happy.

An abrupt crash of wood meeting stone accompanied by the cracking of glass startled her, interrupting the accusatory voices, and she opened her eyes to see the desk knocked over, the various picture frames that had rested on it shattered and strewn across the floor.

"WHAT GAVE HIM THE RIGHT?!" Anna screamed, kicking the fallen table again, splintering the worn wood of the bottom drawer with another deafening crack.

Elsa didn't know how she imagined Anna would take the news, but this was a hundred times worse than any possible scenario that she had considered.

Look what you've done to her.

But she was too concerned about Anna to listen. She knew all about the awful conflict of hating a loved one, a role model. Of confidence being betrayed. She had endured it for years. She didn't want Anna to hate their father, because she knew her baby sister had loved him so much. And it was so hard, to hate someone you loved. Hatred wasn't an emotion for Anna.

"HOW COULD HE?!" Anna screamed, tears flowing freely down her face, as she pushed over one of the trophy cabinets, causing it to land with a resounding shatter as glass smashed against stone again. "He lied to me. He did that to you. How could he?"

Elsa wasn't going to stand idle while Anna was hurting, no matter how much of a coward she accused herself of being. She reached out a hand. "Anna—"

"How could you let him?" Anna sobbed, sinking to her knees, burying her face in her hands. "How could you stand to be here? How did you suffer so… so alone all those years?"

This was definitely a thousand times worse than she had expected, Elsa decided. She was beginning to regret asking Anna to come here with her. What illusory notion had caused her to think that Anna could be happy after knowing the truth about their father? She would have kept her mouth shut her entire life if she'd known this would be the outcome.

"You hate him, don't you?" Anna realized, looking up from her hands and staring at Elsa with a different kind of horror from before. "I've been so stupid. How could you not? Oh god, I've been such an oblivious fool."

Elsa ignored the pain in her leg as she limped over to Anna, stepping over the broken glass and splintered wood. She tried to put a hand on her sister's shoulder. "Anna," she implored.

A surge of panic swept through her as Anna suddenly recoiled from her, eyes fraught with regret and sorrow. "You should hate me!" Anna yelled, "You have every right to hate me! Why do I cause nothing but torment for you? Even after all this time, I know nothing about you. I can't ever do anything for you."

"Anna, please, listen," Elsa begged, desperately, as Anna shied away from her again.

"No, Elsa! Why don't you blame me? Hate me? How could you possibly feel anything besides hate for me, after everything I've done to you? After everything you've suffered for me? Go ahead; tell me you hate me. You have every right."

"I can't," Elsa told her, finally managing to grab hold of Anna's wrist, holding it tight with both hands. "It's so hard to hate someone you love. I know. I know."

That only resulted in a fresh deluge of tears from the younger girl, and Elsa's arms surrounded her, pulled her close as she continued to cry. Hands encircled Elsa's waist, and she managed to smile as her younger sister let herself weep into her shoulder. She kissed the top of Anna's head, "I don't hate him." It was true, she realized. There was still some part of her that wanted to believe that he did what he did because he cared about her future, about Anna's future. "And I don't hate you."

"H-how could you not? I c-can't imagine how betrayed you must have felt when he first… when he first…" The rest of the sentence dissolved into another wave of violent sobs.

"Hey," she rubbed gentle circles on Anna's back until they were reduced to soft whimpers. "You said it yourself. He wanted you to be happy. What he did to me… it doesn't invalidate what he told you, right?"

"How are you able to believe that? How could he expect me to be happy at your expense?"

Elsa didn't know why, but she did believe it. Her memories told her that her father had loved Anna, at the very least. Of course he would have wanted Anna to be happy. And that was why Elsa was able to accept what he did. "Because he loved you. And he made you happy, didn't he? Your happiness is my happiness, Anna. I don't want you to hate him. I know how hard that is. And it's not worth it to pour all your energy into hating someone."

It was strange, defending her father instead of resenting him. It shone light on a different side of him, a side that Elsa hadn't known until this very moment. Maybe her father had been just as afraid of hurting Anna as Elsa was. Maybe he was, in his own way, teaching Elsa how to protect Anna when they grew up. Maybe, just maybe, he had loved Elsa, too.

And that made it okay.

"I'm sorry," Anna murmured, eyes shimmering with grief and heartache. "I'm sorry I made you go through that alone. I'm sorry I always forced you to play with me. I'm sorry I always get you into so much trouble."

Elsa smiled as Anna buried herself into her shoulder again. "Never once have I regretted playing with you," Elsa whispered back, "So smile for me. Because your smile makes everything worth it."

It did. It really did.

There was a watery chuckle against her shoulder, followed by a muffled reply. "I don't deserve you."

"That's my line," Elsa muttered contentedly, relieved that for the first time in forever, there were no more secrets between them. Her own eyes watered at the feeling of unbridled, unadulterated freedom that came with it, however brief, because for once, she had entered this study, and had been rewarded with love, with affection, with gratitude.

"Elsa," Anna said, pulling back.

Immediate as a reflex reaction, Elsa's hands went to Anna's face, to wipe away the tears, and Anna's hands did the same.

"Repeat after me, Elsa," Anna smiled. "'I deserve to be happy.'"

Elsa's lips curled to mirror Anna's. "You deserve to be happy."

Anna glared at her. "Say it right! 'I deserve to be happy'."

"Or what?"

"Or I'll kill you."

Fueled by the overwhelming sensation of elation as the last wall between them crumbled to nothing, Elsa felt she could actually believe. She laughed. "All right, all right. I deserve to be happy."

Anna hugged her tight, and Elsa returned the gesture with full force.

"See, Elsa, that wasn't so hard, was it?"

No. No, it wasn't. Not at all.

Surrounded by fractured wood, dust and broken glass, the two sisters held each other, and, finding comfort in the arms of one another, they began to heal.