fall into the sky ・ braid


Something that I noticed, sitting on the windowsill of Elsa's window (always open) was that she took fifteen minutes everyday brushing and braiding and constructing her hair. Sometimes more.

Don't think me a total creep, okay? Elsa realised that I was there the very first night I appeared. From that point on I left her snowflake on the window whenever I stopped by and she wasn't there. If she was in her room, then I'd knock and she'd always greet me with her typical Elsa smile, all bright blue eyes and lips dark by ever-present frost.

Most mornings I stopped by to say hello she was sitting at her vanity twisting platinum blonde strands into intricate patterns.

"Morning," I said, sitting down on the window sill.

"Good morning, Jack," she replied, regarding me with the elegant little side glance she was so fond of. It was apparent from early on that Elsa didn't like to meet people's eyes. She did this thing where she would look at me first, look away, and then try to glance again when she thought that I wasn't looking.

The time blended together for me. Days, months and seasons, measured by the sky, and the changing colour of the trees. So I often guessed Elsa's age by her height. I asked her only when I had to leave, how old she would be when the holiday came to a close. My deep-seated instinct to bring winter to the world cloaking the desire to be near her kindred soul.

Adoring Elsa and seeking her time was difficult after all. There were many things a princess need learn before her time to rule began, an age I dreaded, because she would have less time for me than she had to begin with.

And despite her increasing studies and busy schedule, she always took her time when it came to her articulate hair, the braid she had spent so long perfecting.

"I don't understand why you're so hell-bent on making it perfect," I told her, striding behind her and pulling a small strand out of her perfect braid.

"Jack," she whined in irritation, pulling out her ribbon and beginning the braid anew. She snapped her head to the floor and I really looked at her, really tried to discern her age.

The only real comparison I had to discern the age of a little girl was…

Elsa was older than her though. Two years at the very least.

I'd settle on ten.

"Jack, you left frost on the carpet," Elsa said. I looked down, surprised.

How was that possible?

"Don't worry, Snowflake. They're gonna melt in and disappear."

"But-"

"So why do you put so much effort into your hair? Prissy-Miss Marian give you a hard time while you're studying?" I teased lightly, holding onto the back of her chair. It was hard to believe I'd made friends with a princess. Sometimes I forgot, but now- looking at the silver embossed craftsmanship of her vanity chair alone- it was hard to put out of my mind that she wasn't just an awkward little ten-year-old.

This young girl would grow into a queen.

"Don't speak about my teacher that way. It's disrespectful. It's this way because that is the proper way for a queen to present herself," Elsa answered, reciting words from a book, no doubt. As she said this, I saw her already-perfect posture straighten even more, and she narrowed her eyes in the way I'd seen believable superior individuals stare down at peasants.

I bit my lip and floated in front of her, sitting on her vanity so both of my feet balanced on the arm rests of her chair. She harrumphed at me, looking adorable angry as she tried to look around me.

If she didn't believe, she'd have no problem, of course.

It filled me to the brim with joy that she could.

"A queen needs to look her best self," Elsa told me, relaxing back into the chair. She was so short, her eyes level with my chest. I leant forward and flicked her between the eyes, but my finger phased through her forehead, and she simply kept on reciting, "A princess must be neat, proper, and polite."

"Which is why I saw Anna cartwheeling down the corridor the other day."

"I can't be like Anna," Elsa cried, voice filled with anguish. Her right hand came to rest over her heart. "Anna's… Anna's loud, and immature, and never focuses on anything but playing and fairytales."

I stayed silent, knowing I'd crossed some kind of line. I was about to apologise, but Elsa calmed herself down, looking down at her wringing hands and breathing in deeply, muttering something to herself. Snowflakes had materialised in her palms and were starting to stick to her skin.

I reached forward so I could wrap them in my own, but my hands phased through her. She shuddered, and backed away a bit. I stared at her guiltily.

"I…"

"I like your hair… down like this," I said, distractingly. Her hair was completely down, curled at the ends, draping over her tiny shoulders like silk.

"It feels weird," she said to me. She reached behind her head and dextrously pulled it into a messier braid, free of the mirror. While she was doing this, she kept blowing her fringe out of her face cutely. In the end she ran her fingers through it, and it assembled itself into a chaos of platinum blonde.

"I like it," I said approvingly. She stared at me imploringly, and I floated aside so she could see her reflection.

Her face fell. "Jack. Mother will never let me go to class with this hair! It looks like I woke up like this."

"What? It looks cute," I insisted. She moved to pull her braid into a bun, and I tried to swat away her fingers. When my hand phased through her own she stopped fiddling with it. I sighed and placed my finger near her hair. A big solid snowflake started materialising at the nail tip and I used the ice to push it into the groves of Elsa's braid. I did this several times until her hair was laced with snowflake clips made out of slow-melting ice.

"It's pretty," she admitted, astonished. She stood up and turned to me, unable to fully word her gratitude. "But Mother will never..."

"Elsa," I said sternly, waiting for her to trail off. "Let it go."


an: Guys, if you're bored you should write on my wall. There's a link on my profile.