It had been three years since Anna's parents died in the shipwreck. Three years since she had seen her sister. Really, seen her. Anna would sometimes catch glimpses of her wandering the halls late at night. A candle in her gloved hand, her shadow would walk the length of the hallway separating their bedrooms, loop around, and then return to her room and lock the door. It was the only evidence that her sister still existed, ever since that day. The day Elsa blew her away by speaking to her. Not just "Go away," but actually spoke to her. Anna longed to hear her sister's voice again, but knew it was to be an unfulfilled desire.

For now.

One day, her sister would see her, speak to her. And tomorrow was that day. Tomorrow, Elsa's 18th birthday, her coronation. Elsa, the voice behind the door, the shadow in the halls, would be crowned Queen of Arendelle.

Conceal.

Elsa could still hear the voice of her father, training her in her powers. Doing the best he can to give his daughter a normal life. She took off her gloves and looked in her mirror. Her hair was now a beautiful white but her eyes, though they still glowed the unique blue she adopted soon after birth, now had a darkness to them. A sadness unable to be described with words, but only with experience. True sorrow, experienced alone.

Don't feel.

Elsa concentrated, and picked up her hairbrush. She could feel it become cold, and tried to suppress the next stage for as long as she could. No ice. Not this time. She could do it, this time.

She looked down, and launched the icy brush against her window, it landing on the window seat.

She couldn't do it.

Defeated, Elsa threw herself on her bed. This time, it was her turn to cry silent tears. Tears of resignation. Tears of failure. Tears that, immediately after touching her face, froze in place.

"Having trouble?"

Startled, Elsa turned her head. No voice had come from inside her room in a long, long time. She looked towards her window seat, where there sat a white-haired boy, holding her icy brush in his hands. He walked past the bed and to the dresser, and set the brush back where it belonged. The ice was gone.

"How-," Elsa was astonished. "How did you do that?"

"You'll learn," he said with a sly grin. "You might want to wipe the ice off your face," he said, gesturing to the ice around her eyes. "It won't kill you, but it won't do you any good either."

Elsa scraped the thin layer of ice from beneath her eyes, and stood up. "Who are you?"

"Jack," he stuck out his hand and smiled. "We've got something in common."

She looked at her bare hand, and reached for her gloves.

"No, just shake it right now," Jack's eyes shimmered mischievously. "Nothing bad will happen, I promise."

He looked like her. His hair, the same pure white. His eyes, the same playful blue. And his skin, the same pale white. He spoke with years of experience but didn't look a year older than Elsa did. She trusted him, for some reason.

She slowly took his hand, afraid of freezing his fingers. He began to shake it, and, for the first time in her life, her hand was warm.

"How are you doing that?"

"You'll learn," he repeated. "Now, it looks like your powers come out at simple skin contact, am I right?"

Elsa, reminded of her failure, nodded.

"I can help you with that."