Author's Note: a longer wait between updates this time, but a longer chapter. Quite a lot of research went into it, and I didn't want to publish until it was the best it could be. I must say that I'm rather proud of this one, if I do say so myself. Hopefully you all enjoy it! At the end there's a shedload (1,600 words give or take) of me going into depth about my research (including a glossary, for the archaic terminology), and also a ramble to The Chronicle about fics I was inspired by. Basically, I talk a lot, but I doubt that's come as a surprise.

Anna peered at the kitchen clock, and then at the glass of water she had no memory of getting.

'Ah, good morning, Miss Smith!'

Mr. Oaken was far too cheery for this hour. It should be illegal to be that cheery before 9AM.

Her sleep-deprived mind noted he was buttoning up his coat.

'Good morning. Are you off to Church?'

Mr. Oaken laughed. 'No, no. Mr. Linden and I stopped many years back. We are taking the children to the park, ya, because everyone else will be enjoying the liturgy. It is a family tradition, because the park is so empty on a Sunday morning, so we do not get strange looks, and the children do not get asked where their mother is. When they ask that, they become most regretful for intervening. No one wishes to hear about smallpox.'

'I see.' Anna attempted to give him a smile she hoped didn't betray her sympathy, but it morphed into a yawn.

'I am most very sorry, Miss Smith, for I fear the children woke you. It is impossible to get them to use inside voices!'

She made a dismissive gesture. 'Don't worry about it. Kai always lamented that half the day had perished by the time I got out of bed!' She paused. 'Does Miss Winters go to Church?'

He shook his head. 'You may have already noticed, having been here just coming up to four days now,' he said, lacing up his shoes, 'but she leaves her room only to eat and drink, and she never leaves the hotel, unless you count going to answer the call of nature mere feet away. I suspect your arrival has unsettled her a little, because usually other guests pay her no heed- indeed, some go their whole stay without being aware of her presence.'

'She never leaves the hotel? However does she keep from going mad?'

'Mr. Linden and I find it most upsetting, but we do not want to push her. She eats whatever we provide (alone, so we always cover her dish to try and keep it hot), and every Wednesday night she leaves a list outside her door detailing any supplies she may want from the market- she is an avid seamstress, you know, and I imagine that occupies a great deal of time. She makes all her own clothes.'

'How talented!' Anna exclaimed.

'Ya. It is a shame only Mr. Linden and I get to see the fruits of her labour- well, maybe you will too, if you can entice her out of her room.'

Mr. Linden's voice drifted in from the lobby. 'Mr. Oaken, are you ready to leave?'

'One minute, Mr. Linden,' he called, 'I am just saying goodbye to Miss Smith!'

'Goodbye, Miss Smith,' he said, winking. 'We will be back in an hour or so.'

'Goodbye. I hope you have a nice time!'

'Ya, thank you. I am sure we will.' Mr. Oaken paused. 'It is really not my place to say this, but I must say it. You are of course free to ignore me...'

'What is it that you want to say?'

'I must beg you to please not give up on Miss Winters. I feel as though many people in her life have done so, and she needs someone who will be patient with her and not stop trying, even if all she does is shut them out at first. You are a very kind and positive person, Miss Smith, and I believe she would flourish under your wing.'

'I'll keep trying,' Anna promised. 'I truly want us to be friends.'

He smiled. 'I am most glad to hear that. Somehow I get the impression that you two would be right for each other.'

'Mr. Oaken, the children are getting boisterous!' Mr. Linden exclaimed.

Mr. Oaken chuckled. 'I think he means "more boisterous". They are always boisterous! ...Well, I must be off. See you later!'

'Goodbye!' Anna called.

The front door slammed.

Silence.

She drank her glass of water, and debated going back to sleep.

What if she's still asleep?

How will I even know whether she's asleep or just ignoring me?

RAT-TAT-A-TAT-TAT

'Miss Winters?' Anna whispered.

Silence.

Anna was not good with silences. Whenever there was silence, it made her most uncomfortable, and she couldn't stop herself from filling it.

The rambling began.

'Hi, I know it's really really early and you're probably still asleep- well, if you're asleep, you won't hear me saying this, so that's a stupid thing to say- oh, I hope I didn't wake you! Anyway, so you're probably really tired and not in the mood, but do you want to play Lottery Tickets? Mr. Oaken and Mr. Linden and the children are at the park, so we're alone in the hotel.'

She didn't know why she mentioned that last part.

Firstly, Miss Winters had been there longer than she had, so Anna was sure she was well aware of her hosts' weekly routine.

Secondly, Anna was a stranger, so why would the thought of being alone with her be in any way comforting?

Anna mentally gave herself a shake.

'...Miss Winters?'

Silence.

'Okay, bye!' she called through the door.

I'll try again next Sunday...

Anna was bored, and Mr. Oaken still wasn't back.

Walking in the gardens, reading, exploring her new town, buying a new dress, singing, dancing with Mr. Oaken as Mr. Linden played the piano, or vice versa, playing games with the children (anything but Lottery Tickets- her ego couldn't take the thrashing), practising her French in case the hotel got a dreamy foreign guest, they were all perfectly satisfactory activities…

But what she loved most of all was talking.

'This is all your fault, Joan,' Anna said aloud, staring at the ceiling as she lay splayed out on her bed. 'Saying you didn't want to hear from me unless I was dying or engaged is all very well if I was making new friends, but I am not! I can't talk to Mr. Oaken or Mr. Linden like I can you or Kai.' She sighed. 'I want to go home!'

Rat-tat-a-tat-tat

Anna drew aside the curtain, and looked in disbelief at the smiling face at her window. 'Good Heavens! Joan, what are you doing here?'

'I am going to make sure you get a life, Anna.'

Anna's own smile fell. 'How dare you imply- I-I'll have you know that I have a life full of rich and fulfilling hobbies!'

Joan raised an eyebrow. 'Of course. That would explain why you were talking to yourself out loud.'

Anna spluttered. 'Did you really come all this way just to lecture-'

The front door opened, and she heard the happy cries of the children.

'Yoo-hoo! Miss Smith! We are back, and you have post!'

A minute later, Anna was sitting back on her bed, opening her letter. Immediately she recognised Kai's handwriting, and the homesickness roared to life.

'The sentimental old fool couldn't resist writing to you, and then he had the nerve to send me off to deliver it in person, in case it got delivered to the wrong place…'

Joan stopped, seeing how Anna was close to tears.

'Oh, Anna, it will be okay. You haven't really settled in yet. Give it a couple of months, and then you'll have to be pried away from here!'

'I hope so,' Anna sniffed. She scanned the letter for such phrases as "come home at once, gossip be damned, we all miss you" or "it turns out Mr. Bösewicht-Kerl has a relative with the same good looks, but who is not a pickthank", but there was nothing of the sort.

'It's not an urgent letter,' she announced. 'I will write to Kai and tell him that I will read one paragraph of his letter every Sunday, in order to have something to look forward to, and to make me feel less alone.'

'That sounds like a fine plan.'

'Joan…'

'You know what else sounds like a fine plan? If you take it upon yourself to ensure that, upon arriving back at Hertfordshire, you are an Accomplished Woman. Discover a passion, like Miss Winters has. In addition to alleviating your boredom, it will really draw in suitors.'

Anna snorted. 'My true love will not care whether I can knit a purse, or identify Robin Adair by the first piano note!'

Joan sighed. 'If I must appeal to your capitalist side-'

'You mean my desire for self-preservation-'

'Each week you spend here depletes your limited fortune. If you find something you are really quite good at, Anna, you could make a profit from it.'

Anna considered this.

It was a brilliant idea.

She jumped up and down, up and down, up and down…

'I can show Mr. Weselton that I don't need his inheritance to survive! I'll show him!'

'Yes, that's the spirit... oh, do stop bouncing so, Anna, it makes me giddy…'

'Sorry,' Anna giggled, sitting back down again. 'You're the best sister ever!'

'I know,' Joan said, rolling her eyes, but she couldn't hide her smile. 'Now, there is no reason to delay any longer! Pick a new pastime to undertake!'

My dearest Anna, I know I said I wouldn't write, but your delightful cousin decided to grace us with his presence this morning, and what followed was an interaction so atrocious, that it is only by relating it to you that I can hope to make peace with it. It is not natural for a man to cringe for three hours straight, but alas, though he did not stay long, I am still not recovered.

Anna was on fire.

The characters were so thrilling and delightful and real, it was almost as though the novel was writing itself! The heroine so brave and witty, the hero so dashing and romantic!

The setting was a glorious bastardisation of her own home town, its name changed to protect the privacy of Anna's neighbours (and her own safety- lest anyone recognise, in justifiable mortification, an asinine comment they once made when she was in earshot, and attempt to sue).

She could see the glowing reviews already.

"In this sensational debut by Thomas Davidson [she thought the name had a nice ring to it], themes of naivety and heartbreak are built up to a breathtaking crescendo, as, through the perspective of plucky heroine Anna Jones, Davidson explores- dare we say answers- the age old question: is love at first sight really possible?"

As the days flew by, a happy kind of exhaustion went from being temporary, to her temperament.

The story demanded she rise at odd hours of the night to furiously jot down plot points, and abandon her lunch half-eaten to capture new details about her antagonist, and even make the children pause a game of "Build A Snowman" as she seized a sheet of paper and spewed snatches of dialogue onto the page.

Once this gets published and becomes a swift best-seller, I'll have to field questions about where I got my inspiration from... but it doesn't feel like I found my inspiration at all- rather, it found me!

Oh, I was born to do this!

The first draft was finished by the following Friday, and she made herself wait an agonising two days before checking it through.

Criminally early on Sunday morning, Anna stared at the pages of straw she'd once seen as gold.

It was the result of hours of hard labour, agonising hand cramp, sweaty, sleepless nights, and countless cups of tea.

It was atrocious.

She did not know much about writing, but she knew first drafts were supposed to be bad.

Surely, however, they weren't supposed to be quite this bad?

Her first draft made even the worst author Anna knew of, B. L. Kames, look like Frances Burney.

(And yes, Anna still read B. L. Kames, quality be damned, because she was the antithesis of a literary snob.)

Just thinking of the amount of work her manuscript was going to need before anyone else could read it, let alone enjoy it, made her want to weep.

Anna sighed.

There was a knock at her door, and then a whispered:

'Yoo-hoo! We are going to the park now, ya?'

'Good morning! How did you know I was awake?' Anna whispered back.

'You haven't slept in past 8 AM this whole week! Is your little novel finished?'

'Yes,' Anna said, before she considered the consequences of such a response-

Mr. Oaken's eyes fell upon the sheets of paper before she could finish cramming them into her dressing table drawer.

His face lit up.

Please don't say it, please don't say it…

'Can I give it a little read? Mr. Linden, too, we are both most excited!'

Anna tried to think of a polite way to say 'I would rather lay face down in your gardens and have Mr. Weselton enter me from behind whilst Hans watched and chanted "I ONLY WANTED YOU FOR YOUR MONEY", than let you read this Hell-crafted piece of consumption-giving material.'

'...I don't think writing is my forte,' she said eventually.

'No? Ah, that is too bad.' He smiled at her. 'Do not give up hope. I myself used to run a badstue… a… how you say...a hot, steamy room for relaxing. It didn't really catch on over here. Mr. Linden was one of very few guests... well, that turned out well in the end, so I cannot complain. The point is, sometimes it takes a few tries to find something you are both skilled at, and that you enjoy. Do not lose heart, ya. I will see you later.'

Anna said goodbye to Mr. Oaken, took a deep breath, walked to the fireplace, lit it, and threw her work on the fire.

Ah, the symbolism of watching my dreams go up in flames…

Oh, so now you write pure poetry?

Be quiet, brain.

Now what?

Thinking is always more fun when you have cake…

RAT-TAT-A-TAT-TAT

'Mish Winners? Duyuh wanna blay Loshery Tick-ckl-ckl-ckl-aaaaaaaack...'

Finally discovering wisdom behind the custom of not talking with your mouth full, Anna did a spectacular impression of a finch regurgitating food for its young.

Maybe acting was her true calling?

She wiped her mouth, breathing hard.

Have some semblance of manners, Anna...

'It's okay! I'm not dying! I just choked on some cake! Uh, yeah, I have cake. Would you like some cake? We could eat cake and play Lottery Tickets? I promise I won't choke again!'

Silence.

'...Well, I guess that leaves more for me then!'

Firstly, though, I feel you may like to hear what we have been doing in your absence. One may think that the Cook, given respite from his normal duties, would quite simply slack off and give the maid and I the odd bit of bread and port for half a year when we invariably complained of hunger, but that has not been the case. On the contrary, freed from the restraints of that seemingly ever-growing list of foods you do not like (why oh why must it contain so many vegetables?), he is flourishing. Yesterday we were served a four course supper, containing such dishes as pea soup, leg of lamb served with French beans, and three varieties of mixed vegetable ragout. Needless to say, you would have hated it. I would make the usual compliment about being unable to eat another mouthful for the next week, but as I write this the Cook is employed in making a most splendid carrot cake, so I will amend that to being unable to eat for the next... half an hour?

'I could teach a horse to learn Norwegian faster…'

'Mr. Linden! If you have nothing nice to say, then say nothing! Miss Smith just needs time and patience.'

'Mr. Oaken, I would completely agree with you, but it has been almost a week now, and all she can recall are the names for food!'

'... I see.'

They reentered the living room, and Anna pretended she hadn't heard a thing.

'Miss Smith,' Mr. Oaken said, smiling, 'do you speak languages other than English?'

'I speak French.'

Mr. Oaken shot his partner a Look that said: see, she can do it.

'How long did it take you to learn?' Mr. Linden asked.

'Oh, about 2 years or so of biweekly sessions with a tutor? I refresh my memory every few months or so.'

'That isn't bad,' Mr. Linden conceded. 'Perhaps we should continue the lessons.' And then: 'What would you say you miss most about home?' he asked in French.

'The cooking,' Anna replied immediately, also in French.

Continuing the conversation, Mr. Linden raised an eyebrow and said teasingly: 'Oh, are we not up to your usual standards, I take it? Perhaps we should just leave you with 183 chocolate cakes.'

'Non!' Anna cried. 'I-I…'

Her hosts stared at her encouragingly, though one more so than the other.

'I think she's just a little rusty,' Mr. Oaken said to Mr. Linden.

Desperately, Anna tried to scramble for the right words. She'd hated talking to her tutor in French, so eventually he'd modified the lessons so she just learnt a series of phrases- admittedly, mostly centred around food. It made having a conversation difficult, because she hadn't quite grasped the rules of grammar. All those tricky masculine and feminine nouns…

'...Quelle est la date de ton anniversaire?', she said helplessly.

No one spoke.

'I think it would be best if we stopped the lessons,' she said finally. 'I don't think I have the patience that is required for this.'

'Do not give up on your dreams, Anna,' Mr. Oaken cried. 'If you wish to be a translator, you can be one!'

Mr. Linden gave her a pleading look that she really didn't need to read into.

'Somewhere out there is my calling,' she said. 'I will find it eventually.'

It's just like love! The first person you meet isn't always the one that is right for you… a harsh lesson, but I have learnt it...

RAT-TAT-A-TAT-TAT

'Good morning! Isn't it a lovely summer's day today! I know this might be a big ask, but would you accompany me to the gardens and engage in a game of Lottery Tickets? The day is too fine to stay indoors!'

'...Maybe next week, then!'

Speaking of the maid… I returned to Arendelle to find her sitting in the living room, quite purposeless. You don't make much mess anyway, Anna, but after a cursory sweep of the house she found little that needed doing. I made my own circuit of the rooms, opened and closed a few curtains, and reached the same conclusion. We then went to town and bought a second game of Lottery Tickets. If you need another reason to make a friend, it is so that you can ensure your game-playing skills do not grow weak from lack of use, because you will arrive home to quite a thrashing! I feel as though, by the time of your return, the maid and I will be such seasoned professionals that you may well find yourself in an empty house, the pair of us having adapted to a life touring the country and challenging various households for the title of "England's Finest Lottery Tickets Team". We'd take the Cook with us for a taste of home comforts, naturally. We'll let you put the trophy on the mantelpiece.

Anna growled in frustration.

Why hadn't the cursed book told her to turn the stupid thing inside out before she began sewing up the hem?

She leafed through the pages, scowling. Why she thought this time would be any different, she had no clue. As a child, she'd despised needlework.

The scowl flickered, and then died, like a candle who glitters in defiance, only to find it is being quite unreasonable, and meekly extinguishes itself.

Right at the top of the page, in big bold letters, was a reminder to reverse the pattern before commencing stitching together the seam.

Humiliated, Anna closed her book, and shoved it under the mattress with the rest of her reading material. The book and the fabric and the supplies were far too expensive to completely abandon.

'Miss Smith? We are going out, would you like me to ask Miss Winters to help you with your sewing?'

How did he know I'm a complete failure?

Your track record hasn't really suggested otherwise, Anna…

Be quiet, brain.

'No, thank you!' she called. 'I might ask her for assistance later, but for now I must take a break! My poor, needle-stabbed fingers…'

She was telling the truth. If she was being entirely honest with herself, she'd spent more of the past week threading the yarn through her own index finger than her actual project.

There was also the fact that Miss Winters still did not want to even speak to her, and she'd been at the hotel three weeks now. If they couldn't even have a conversation, how was she supposed to mentor her? Anna was a hopeless case as it was, so sign language would just be another thing she'd flounder at.

There was also the fact that Miss Winters, however much pain she had caused Mr. Bjorgman, and whatever she had done to hurt him so, did not deserve to be lumbered with such a sorry excuse for a protege.

Anna folded away her dress pattern and put it in the same dressing table drawer that had previously housed her first (and last) novel.

Today's interaction with Miss Winters was going to be short and sweet, because, to be frank, her patience was starting to wear a little thin.

'Miss Winters? How about a game of chess, to shake things up a bit? I'm not all that good at it, but it would just be a bit of fun!... Okay, bye!'

Moving on to Mr. Weaselton… The only warning I had of his arrival was a sharp rap at the door, and sadly he had already seen the maid open the upstairs window, so we couldn't pretend to be out. Well, what nerve that man has! He demanded to see you straight away, and when we informed him that you had gone to Hampshire he turned a wonderful shade of purple! I would quite like to repaint the hallway in that colour, but the maid elbowed me sharply before I could ask him to stand still whilst I fetched her tin of coloured pencils, and matched the correct one to his complexion… Now, I will say one thing about him, and that is that he is most determined. Why, Anna, he had come to get your ring size, not even a full week after your rejection! "In half a year I will ask again," said he, "and everything will have already been arranged, so the wedding need not wait!" I was most taken aback by his presumptive manner! "My dear Sir," I cried, "you are too hasty! I can say, with the utmost confidence, that Miss Smith will not have changed her mind upon her return!" "If she does not accept my proposal," he hissed, "she will never see her fortune, and I will never see her again!" "It appears that Miss Smith has quite a decision to make," said I. "You will refuse to see her if she doesn't marry you, and I will refuse to see her if she does!" He didn't know quite what to make of that, I dare say. But as I said, the man is determined, and he bullied the maid into trying on one of your last season's pair of gloves, so that he could attempt to ascertain your ring size. I have never seen such a fool! The maid's hands are larger than yours, and he had to leave unsatisfied. Between you and me, I believe my hand would have been a closer match, but I would sooner chop it off with the Cook's knife than do anything to help your hideous cousin! I hope you are doing well, and eating something other than cake… Your ever faithful servant, Kai.

She was quite surprised the paintbrushes weren't aflame.

Stupid Hans and his stupid stupid comments…

'"You can paint, and we'll sell them under my name!"' Anna spat, in a mocking impression of stupid Hans of stupid Almany. 'Yeah, well, you can go screw yourself, you rantallion, because I'm certainly never doing it agai-'

A horrible thought occurred to her.

When she'd awoken this morning, her breasts had been tender, and her appetite diminished.

Too embittered to give it much thought, she'd written it off as the normal signs of imminent menstruation.

But... what if she was carrying his child?

Anna closed her eyes, and took a few deep breaths.

There was no reason to panic. She didn't know for certain, and if she was indeed pregnant, she was sure Mr. Oaken and Mr. Linden would know where she could go to be provided with the necessary… medicine…

Suddenly she was filled with gratitude for Kai's sending her away. She could trust in her hosts' lack of judgement and disapproval, and, most importantly, their discretion. Had she still been in Hertfordshire and required such assistance, word would have eventually gotten out, and she would have had to have left forever, because it was one thing to be a fallen woman, and quite another to be a murderer.

Privately, Anna didn't really view it as murder. She put a hand to her stomach. It was slightly bloated, perhaps, but that could be accounted for by it most likely- most hopefully- being her time of the month. It certainly didn't feel as if she was filled with new, developing life.

The idea made her feel light-headed, and she left her room for a drink of water.

Upon her return, with a slightly clearer head, Anna stared at her new set of watercolours. Having refilled the glass and carried it into her room, she set it down upon her dressing table.

She stared at the smooth blank sheets of paper.

She stared at her watercolours.

She glowered at her paintbrushes.

And then she dipped a small, thin brush into the glass of water, tapped it against the edge, dipped it into the light pink shade of her palette, and began.

It had stopped being about money, or accomplishments.

Now, the intention was to distract.

Petrified, Anna attempted to lose herself in painting.

Sunday rolled around and, unable to face yet more disappointment first thing in the morning, Anna began the day by reading the end of Kai's letter.

P.S. Upon enquiring about the name of the hotel, Mr Weaselton commented that there was reportedly a young woman who has lived there almost a year! Living in a hotel? How dreadful! He said a member of his parish had stayed there a month and only noticed her on his last day, when he heard her sneeze! My dear Anna, if it turns out to be true, she must be terribly lonely. Why don't you strike up a friendship, and invite her to stay with you in Arendelle when it is time to go back? She may turn out to be horrible, of course, in which case ignore my suggestion, but it sounds like she could use a proper home.

P. P. S. Who should I see upon showing Mr. Weaselton out the door, than a certain Almain employed in removing his belongings from Netherfield! I like to think that they had a most awkward conversation, don't you?

She took the painting out of the dressing table drawer- where it had rested atop the dress pattern-, keeping her eyes averted.

There was no point getting her hopes up.

It was going to be straw again.

Maybe now Joan will let me give up on all this "being an Accomplished Woman", and I can finally begin to accept the life of poverty that awaits me...

Sighing, she glanced down.

Anna paused.

It wasn't half bad.

It wasn't going to win any awards, or hang in any art galleries, but there was definitely potential.

The fearful mood was lifted.

She giggled.

I should send this to Hans…

A title was needed.

Anna thought for a moment.

'" Surprise Attack Of The Parasol (Reprise),"' she announced to the world, scrawling it at the bottom of her work.

I only got the chance to hit him with it accidentally, but if I see him again…

The picture depicted an enraged Anna walloping a grovelling Hans across the back of the head, and his expression was priceless.

One day, I'll see that look in real life, she promised herself, putting her artwork back in the drawer. She was proud of it, but it was her first painting, so it was to be for her eyes only.

Spirits high, Anna moved to give Miss Winters her usual Sunday invitation to Lottery Tickets-

Two strides in, her stomach cramped, and she double over, wincing.

She felt dampness collect between her legs, and froze.

This was, by far, the best day of her life.

Not only did she finally feel that she had a purpose, a worthwhile venture to command her attention, but she also got to experience a morning of cramping, bloating, nausea, headaches, bursting into tears because the sun shone through the curtains, and weren't curtains supposed to keep out the sun?, and the soiling of her favourite petticoat.

Having lined a pair of drawers with cloth, she had some opiate, and took advantage of a brief respite from queasiness to go to the kitchen and eat the entirety of that week's chocolate cake in a single sitting.

I'm going to regret that later… oh, but who cares!

The hotel was silent. Anna hummed happily to herself.

The hosts and their children were at the park, so, as Anna wiped the crumbs off the table, she gaily informed the entire universe that:

'I AM NOT GOING TO FATHER A BASTARD'S BASTARD!'

She whooped and cheered.

Oh, however could I have been so concerned! His sideburns were bigger than his prick, it's a wonder his semen entered me at all!

Intending to spend the rest of the day working on a new piece entitled "Crimson: The Colour Of Joy", she skipped to her room-

'Oof!'

Rubbing her forehead, Anna looked up.

Miss Winters was recumbent on the floor.

Anna gawped.

Curiosity won out over manners.

Initially, she was drawn in by her body, having seen only her face (and a glimpse, at that!) for her entire month's stay.

The dress was a simple dark green mantua with a high neckline, but the cut was immensely flattering to her figure, and it was complemented by long matching gloves. Anna noted in surprise that, despite having been knocked off her feet, Miss Winters' hips and shoulders were perfectly aligned, and her head was straight. Her eyes appeared to be squeezed shut, and she was breathing heavil- no- rather, she was taking slow, deliberate breaths.

How Kai wishes my posture was that impeccable!

Her face… how to describe it?

It wasn't so much her features that entranced Anna. Her complexion was pale, so much so that Anna could see the veins in her eyelids. Her nose was delicate, her mouth full. Miss Winters was beautiful, there was no doubt about it, but what truly made Anna stare, was how she felt when she looked at her, for it was surely illogical.

For some inexplicable reason, it reminded her of how she'd felt at her parents' funeral.

If Anna was forced to sum her up in a word, she'd pick…

"Perilous"...

She couldn't have said why.

Her gaze drifted back down to Miss Winters' gloved hands. They were clenched.

What a lady she is! To wear such an accessory indoors like that, I can hardly stand them for the duration of a ball-

'Why are you staring at me?'

Anna jumped, smacking her head against the wall of the corridor so hard the sound resonated.

Their eyes locked for an instant before Miss Winters dropped her gaze to the floor, and, through the haze of pain, the colour of her irises made Anna think of ice.

She shivered.

'I-uh- I was just checking you were alright!' Anna paused, rubbing her head with a wince.

She blinked.

Manners finally kicked in, and she leapt to her feet, moving to help Miss Winters to her own-

Miss Winters snatched her hand away as if Anna was a leper, sitting bolt upright like a corpse just risen. She scuttled backwards.

Anna settled for hovering at a safe distance and flapping her arms up and down like a distressed bird.

'Oh my! Are you alright? I am so so sorry Miss Winters, I didn't see you there and I was just so happy and oh this is not how I wanted us to finally meet-'

Her victim got unsteadily to her feet, redoing her updo. She still didn't meet Anna's eyes.

'Miss Smith, it is quite alright,' she declared. 'It was an accident. You have given me no lasting damage.'

Anna laughed, because it was either that or offer another rambling apology.

'Congratulations, by the way.'

'I'm sorry?'

Miss Winters looked up. Anna felt that, when she chose to utilise it, she had a very piercing gaze.

'You aren't pregnant. I am most pleased for you. It is a horrible trap that women find themselves in, whilst the men just get off scot-free…'

Anna's cheeks burned. 'You heard what I said?'

Her face morphed into a look of confusion. '...I dare say the whole of Hampshire heard the first part.'

The front door opened.

Anna froze.

Miss Winters took a few strides towards her room, and then appeared to be taking another series of deep breaths. She edged a little closer to Anna, eyes fixed on a patch of wallpaper above Anna's head.

Mr. Linden entered the hallway, did a double take, and then ran back.

Their voices drifted in from the doorway:

'Mr. Oaken, I do not feel as though my legs have had a satisfactory stretch. Shall we take the children to the gardens for half an hour?'

'Well, you are welcome to go by yourself, but I was rather looking forward to a little sit dow-'

'Let me rephrase that: we're going to the gardens. Come along now, children!'

The front door slammed shut.

Anna and Miss Winters blinked.

'...Do-do you want to play Lottery Tickets?'

Miss Winters glanced up.

There was a pregnant pause.

Miss Winters inclined her head.

'Yes, I would be delighted.'

This truly was the best day of Anna's life!

Author's Note: a glossary of sorts:

"Pickthank" is the archaic term for "sycophant", which I think we all would agree describes Hans perfectly.

"Robin Adair" is a song played by Jane Fairfax in another of Austen's novels, Emma. I highly recommend reading it if you haven't already.

Frances Burney, later known as Madame d'Arblay, was one of Austen's favourite authors, and greatly inspired her.

Interestingly, the word "sauna" did not exist until 1881. Frozen was set in the 1840s, but I don't think it's an historical inaccuracy for the writers to use that word, as the characters are technically speaking Norwegian.

When I researched birds that are common in Britain, there were sooo many choices. I had to FIGHT to resist likening Anna to a chiffchaff, but luckily they do not regurgitate food, so the comparison would have been inaccurate. Isn't "chiffchaff" the most delightful name ever? Ah well, I'll save it for my firstborn.

As a bit of "IceCreamIceQueen trivia" [...all I can say is that I thought this website was like Club Penguin, where you must abandon all hope of having a username that actually spells out a real word, so I was quite shocked when I typed in the first thing that came into my head- why I thought of this godforsaken combination of words is anyone's guess- and it got approved. Somehow I feel this is the kind of thing Anna would do if she created an account on this site?] : Anna's experiences with sewing come from my very own empirical data. I picked up the subject dreaming of a career as a fashion designer, found I was quite hopeless at it, and fucked up the hem of my final piece so many times that I dare say I'll never pick up a needle again. Writing it is, then!

"Rantallion" is a terrific 1700s insult that is defined as ""one whose scrotum is so relaxed as to be longer than his penis, i. e. whose shot pouch is longer than the barrel of his piece." [from "Dictionary of the Vulgar Tongue," Grose, 1788]. I highly recommend googling "1700s insults" and checking out the page, because it is a gift that will keep on giving.

Hopefully it's clear, in the part when Anna is painting, that 'lining her drawers' refers to underwear, not her dressing table. Interestingly, underwear was optional in the 1700s…

To go into a bit more detail about Elsa's dress, if you google 'mantua' you get pictures of the dresses being paired with sometimes rather ridiculous hooped petticoats. The V&A website informs me that by the 1780s the hooped petticoat had been "discarded except at court", so she is wearing just a mantua and a regular petticoat in this chapter.

Replies:

The Chronicle:

Firstly, I just want to say that I was just putting the finishing touches to this update, rereading the chapter in Emma where she paints Harriet's portrait- because I wanted to get a feel for how Austen described painting- and it occurs to me that Anna is really quite similar to Emma in this chapter (well, minus certain… language). Honestly, it was completely unintentional. The Chronicle, I do believe you are psychic, you know ;) or perhaps I read your words and together we create some sort of self-fulfilling prophecy? Either way, I was a bit spooked!

I'm most glad that you enjoyed the past chapter. Elsa I feel is going about trying to control her feelings in completely the wrong way, but she will begin to get help in the next couple of chapters, from a certain person we may not have so far met…

I haven't read any Greene myself, is there a particular book you'd recommend above all the others? I've got a bit of a backlog of reading material at the moment (that's putting it lightly), but I will put whatever you say on the list! :)

I can't answer your questions about how they will fall in love because to put it bluntly this is chapter 7 and it hasn't happened yet! I'm writing it as I go, and if they take longer to fall for each other then I expected then I can rejiggle my plan a little, no biggie. The most important thing for me is capturing a sense of realism. At this stage they are still strangers.

Just a quick note about the social backlash again: I said I'd put it into this chapter, but I've moved Anna and Elsa's game of Lottery Tickets to chapter 8 because things were getting pretty long, and Elsa's acceptance seemed like a nice note to leave it at. They're going to trade backstories a little in the next update, of course that is if Anna doesn't knock Elsa to the floor again like the clumsy creature she is…

I really haven't read many Frozen fanfics, which is something that must be remedied! I'd love it if you just go all out and hit me with your favourites!

I began with everyone's fave Stolen Ice. Now, I read it a long long time ago, so I can't say that it's been specifically inspirational for this story, since the details have almost faded (almost- the last 20 chapters or so hurt me so bad that I don't think I'll ever be able to read it again. It was technically a happy ending but jesus christ I hurt so bad at everything they went through). That said, I consider it the best thing I have ever read, published work included, so it's inspired me to keep writing my own stuff.

Now, for a more… 'I love it so much it's accidentally become part of canon' fic, it has to be Anna Summers PA. It's just so perfect, with the way it mixes the happy with the drama with the fluff with the feeeeelllls. To continue on my 'my subconscious wants to get me sued' thing, it didn't even occur to me that I'd got the idea of Elsa's dad being a homophobic dick directly from Anna Summers PA. Capt. Elfy, if you're reading this, just know that I wasn't even aware I was doing it, and hey imitation is a form of flattery right? I mean, this fic is heading in a completely different direction to ASPA anyway…

If you are reading this, can I just say that I loooveeee you so much and I reread that fic every other month or so because it just makes me so happy and man you're amazing.

One thing I will openly own up to (talking to both Elfy and The Chronicle here) is that that piece of work was the deciding factor in my choice of alternating POV. I can only hope I pull it off as successfully.

Finally, a couple of days ago I stumbled across Who Dares Wins by Fruipit (that's Frui-pit not FruiT-pit, for anyone who struggled as much as I did… anyway...) Now, this story will not impact the first part of my fic, because Kristoff is gonna be pretty absent until part 2 (sorry guys), but it was like a shot of heroin for my inspiration in really making Kristoff 3D when the time is right. I'm going to work hard to make him more than just a sidekick with no interests or feelings of his own.

Now, I'm going to ask if you could give Fruipit one of your excellent pieces of concrit, The Chronicle, because their story does not have enough attention for the masterpiece that it is. Just to warn everyone, it's a Kristelsanna fic, but a) whilst I haven't walked away from it supporting that ship, at no point did I find myself questioning decisions the characters made, or feeling like the relationship was forced, and b) the most recent chapter made me cry, and not even Stolen Ice had that much of an effect on me. Fruipit's attention to detail is simply astonishing. Go and seek it out, guys, but don't do it just before grocery shopping like me because this shit is heavy.

On a non-Frozen-related note, I recently read The Portrait of a Lady by Henry James, and I'm going to have to be reallllly vague so I don't give anything away, but it is the most perfect example of subtlety I've ever seen, and my characterisation has been heavily influenced by it. I really really recommend because the ending had me on the edge of my seat.

I too haven't read or watched any Bridget Jones, but let's pretend I was making a really clever reference, shall we? ;)

Sedryn:

(just a heads up, everyone, it transpires that Sedryn meant to post that rather damning review to another fic. Rather than telling him to fuck off when he PMed me to explain, we began talking, and then he uttered a most magical sentence: 'I really love some philosophy topics...' and off I went sending him thousands of word about Descartes and Bentham and Searle. So, if Sedryn leaves you a review like that one, I highly recommend subjecting him to entire essays consisting of nonsensical streams of consciousness, and also guilt tripping him into promising to review your every chapter hereafter. It's much more satisfying than a bit of swearing.)

So, Sedryn, I mentioned in yesterday's PM that I myself do not particularly subscribe to the idea of a 'calling' in perhaps the more conventional sense of the term. I just want to make it clear regarding this chapter that Anna is not my Inspector Goole. She is a very romantic, idealistic person, and I believe she would most definitely believe in each person having one true calling in life.

To Everyone: don't be shy! If you want to tell me your feedback about this chapter, I would be most grateful if you left a review. Additionally, if you want to shoot me a PM about literature/ philosophy/ enquires about where this fic is heading, please feel free! I'd love to hear from you!