Chapter 3

Elsa

3 Years Later

I hold my breath, trying to hold back my tears.

'They know. They know. They think you're a monster. You will never be their precious queen,' I think.

The sharp wind blows my cloak around. I clutch my lone glove to my chest. The last gift from my parents.

The tears start cascading down my face. The start to freeze, sharply stinging my cheeks.

'What happened back there? You got angry because Anna thinks you're in love. Love? She's just naive. It's your fault. You didn't want her to get hurt,' I try to reason. 'Or was it because you're jealous of how she felt. You want to feel that way again.'

Again?

I keep walking through the deep snow, unable to see before me. I stop when I feel it start to slope down.

'Deep breaths Elsa. You are alone. You can be whatever you want to now. Let go what happened,' I tell myself.

The wind slows down, and I see a gap between me and the peak. The snow drifts down lazily.

'How will you get across? Can you use your curse?'

'Gift. It's a gift,' I correct myself.

I slowly slip off my glove, feeling the chilly air kiss it hello. I grip it, the last reminder of my stress and fear. I throw it into the wind, letting it disappear on the horizon.

"Some way to get across. Please," I say out loud, desperate to get as far away from my old self.

I hold out my hands, ice and snow conjured, forming steps.

I walk forward, placing my foot on the first step, testing it's strength. The snow and frost blow off as my feet reach each step, revealing ice as clear and smooth as ice.

I reach the top, admiring the mountain and the fine steps.

'Those steps have to lead somewhere, don't they?'

I turn back around and conjure a floor, as clear as the steps.

I lose myself in creating my sanctuary, conjuring steps and walls, inscribing snowflakes on the floors, and the finishing touch: a glowing chandelier.

I spin, admiring my work. My cloak seems to wear me down, and suddenly my hair, pulled tightly against my head seems to tight. I pull the pin holding it back, letting my French braid fall on my back.

'You never liked this dress,' I think. I will it to change, and when I open my eyes, I'm shocked.

I managed to produce a dress for a queen. A snow queen.

'You are both.'

Something weighs down my skirt, in the pocket. I pull out a snow globe. I remember finding it this morning while on a search for my gloves.

Jack. He was right. It is a gift.

I let it slip from my hands, and it shatters. For a second, nothing happens, and I think he lied to me.

Suddenly, the shattered ice and snow start swirling together, forming the outline of a boy holding a staff. He starts melting, turning human.

The last thing to appear is the mischievous glint in his eyes.