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Sins of the Past
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Chapter Sixteen
We spent the rest of the morning —and most of the weekend as it turned out— in silence.
I hadn't really paid much attention to Elsa when she had earlier suggested that we "lay low" following the incident where Mom had caught her mid-dance whilst in my body, but I very quickly realized just how far Elsa was willing to take that statement when I casually called out her name in boredom later that afternoon and received dead silence for a reply.
I'd soon discover that her idea of "laying low" apparently entailed cutting off all contact. As in, literally none whatsoever. For all I know she disappeared off the face of the earth.
I shrugged it off, thinking that it was okay since, truth be told, I had a metric ton of very much needed catching up to do in the classes I was slacking off on. Like Calculus, because what the heck's a limit to infinity?
That kept me occupied for a few hours, but I very quickly got tired of being productive, and was soon almost beside myself with boredom.
I tried calling out to her again when Saturday came by, as by then I'd managed to convince Mom that yes, I'm fine, that yes, I'll stay home and lock the doors, that no, I won't be attacked again while she was off at work, that —Jesus Christ Mom the hospital and its patients need you much more than I do so get your ass to work—
...but if Elsa heard me then she certainly didn't show it, and seeing how Elsa didn't strike me as the kind of person who'd willingly ignore people calling out to them I figured that the ghost really must be MIA for the time being.
It didn't change the fact that I had yet another day to waste away on my own though. I tried texting Rapunzel to see if she'd be up for anything, but it turned out that she worked all-day shifts on the weekends.
Sigh.
I'd done enough mindless surfing on reddit and YouTube to last three lifetimes by the time Sunday finally rolled around, and god I've never been this bored before in my life. All my old favourite pastimes seem so... shallow in comparison after having met Elsa, and I can only wonder how I survived up until now.
...Hey, come to think of it, how did Elsa survive up until now anyway? Don't ghosts typically need some sort of reason in order to stick around after death..? Why is she... here?
And then, having successfully piqued my own curiosity, I rolled out of my depressing little blanket burrito and propped myself up on an elbow to grab my laptop from where it lay on the bedside drawer. Tapping away at the keys, I pulled up a quick Google search about ghosts in general, confirming that most generally have a reason for persisting after death, before navigating to random assorted news websites in an attempt to shed some light on my mysterious friend's passing.
As I went to search up Elsa herself however, I embarrassingly realized that I... didn't actually know her last name.
Oh boy.
That little omission made filtering my Elsa out of the gazillion others all but impossible, and I ended up learning jack diddly squat about her as a result. I set the laptop aside with a sigh, my curiosity left unsated.
"What now?" I wondered aloud to myself as I fingered the sapphires that hung from my lobes, the answer to my own question slowly creeping into mind as I did.
I climbed out of bed and tottered over to the wardrobe, swinging its doors aside and retrieving the wooden toy chest that lay within, the one that originally housed these sapphire earrings. Forgetting entirely about the potential ramifications of snooping into someone's personal possessions, I cracked the lid open and dug in.
The chest's contents were still compartmentalized in their own smaller brown boxes, the way I had left them from my last visit a few days ago when I came for the earrings. I sifted through the boxes, looking for anything of interest and finding little to speak of until...
"Aha!" I exclaimed to myself, as I fished out a small book with the words 'Property of Elsa Winters' written atop in perfect cursive. I cracked the book open and smiled at what I saw, because of course Elsa of all people would be one to meticulously keep a journal.
With the figurative jackpot in hand, I returned the wooden chest to its place in the wardrobe before retiring to bed to read. With my back pressed against the wall, and a pillow serving as a cushion, I turned to the first page.
March 6th, Year of 1928
This logbook and all entries henceforth begin life primarily as a tool for self-reflection and improvement, at my own behest.
I open with a reminder that I must improve my upper body control, as I stumbled today during drills. Such an error would be disastrous were it to be repeated during a recital.
Additionally, I must review the constellations that will be present during this lunar month. My astronomy tutor will undoubtedly quiz me on such matters when we meet in the near future, and it would be best to be prepared.
End entry one.
...Interesting. I flipped to the next page.
March 7th, Year of 1928
Today I resolve to not be so easily distracted by matters that are inherently trivial.
I cannot believe I lost this week's chess game against Father because I allowed him to get away with his brazen attempt to fork my pieces by diverting my attention toward his balding head.
Perhaps I should consider less orthodox approaches as well? I do believe that we have a spare bag of flour lying somewhere in the pantry, and that Father's suit could use a good... dusting.
:)
End entry two.
I giggled a bit.
March 8th, Year of 1928
Father... truly is an astounding man.
He invited me to attend one of his business meetings today, one involving the head of some major corporation in a town whose name escapes me. I vaguely remember it beginning with the letter... W?
No matter, they ultimately are unimportant.
I do recall however that the head was far too arrogant for his own good, and that Father had put him soundly in his place by exposing several key flaws riddling their proposed business plan for the city of Arendelle. The look upon the head's son's, who also came along, was like that of an enraged weasel. It was difficult to suppress my laughter.
Father got the contract in the end, of course. I aim to prove myself a worthy successor.
End entry three.
Hmm.
It's obvious that Elsa used to like her dad, look up to him even... but, when I asked Elsa a few days ago if she liked her dad, she looked away and only said "I respected him." What could have happened to make her not like him anymore..?
I flipped through the next few pages to try and find out, skimming as I went.
...prepare for the upcoming musical recital...
...finally defeated Father in chess!...
...should submit my painting for review...
...got to review my Latin syntax...
Holy crap, how many skills and talents does Elsa possess!?
...still need to wash the flour out of Father's suit...
...must maintain control of my emotions during dance, even as the sleazeball partner continues to overstep his boundaries...
...may have made my very first friend today...
...cannot continue falling behind in my studies...
Wait wait, hold on what? I flipped back a few pages to reread in greater detail.
July 24th, Year of 1928
I... I believe that I may have made my very first friend today.
End entry one hundred forty.
First friend? What?
...Oh, poor Elsa...
I flipped to the next page, and was surprised to see it dated one week after the previous, as Elsa had otherwise managed a journal entry each and every day flawlessly for several months.
July 31st, Year of 1928
I snuck out again, and she actually was waiting for me—like she said she would.
I've never enjoyed dancing this much before in my life.
End entry one hundred forty one.
...God, how cryptic can you get? I noticed that this page and those that followed were written in sloppier block letters, rather than the carefully crafted perfect cursive like their preceding entries.
Interesting. I pressed further, wanting to know more.
August 7th, Year of 1928
Dad has no doubt noticed my recent absentmindedness. I shouldn't let him get too suspicious, but I can't stop thinking about her.
But I cannot continue falling behind in my studies...
But I don't want to lose her...
...End entry one hundred forty two.
And written on the page behind it...
August 14th, Year of 1928
Dad knew about Belle. He knew from the beginning.
Of course he did.
He seems to be taking it well though. Happy about it even. Happy that I'm happy.
This... this is great.
End entry one hundred forty three.
...I'm confused. I'm not seeing any reason for Elsa to... not-like her dad, unless I had misinterpreted her earlier? I turned the page yet again, noting that the gap this time between entries was a month long, and those thereafter were dated sporadically.
September 14th, Year of 1928
I love spending time with Belle; She makes me feel so happy.
I love how she didn't think of me as "his daughter," but rather as "Elsa."
...These feelings I feel for her, are they normal?
I wonder if she feels the same?
...End entry one hundred forty four.
I raised my eyebrow, my suspicions as to why Elsa might be who she is today growing.
I again started skimming through the next few pages. The pages themselves physically said little, but that fact actually spoke a lot about how Elsa had changed after meeting this "Belle" person. The pages were no longer written in painstakingly perfect cursive, but rather in more relaxed block letters. She had begun referring to her dad as "Dad," rather than the overly formal "Father," and this is just a guess but the only way I can imagine Elsa having the time to visit Belle more often would be if she ditched some of her other hobbies.
I noticed that she expressed happiness in a later entry at never again having to deal with this snooty redhead who assumed too much of her during their arranged partnered dances, so I think Elsa ditching some of her less liked hobbies might very well have happened.
Out of curiosity, I flipped to the last page of the book that contained text, my eyes widening as I read it.
February 14th, Year of 1929
I'm so stupid.
Of course she didn't...
...It hurts.
:(
I took one look at the journal entry's date and jumped to the logical conclusion, the sudden whiplash being very real as my suspicions were confirmed.
Oh, Elsa...
I heard a wispy voice, her voice, just as my heart began to break from what this final post implied.
"Hello, Anna. Is the coast clear?"
Three of my favourite games all had extra content added to them recently (Afterbirth+, AMPLIFIED, and Long War 2 are the DLC names if you're curious), and I've been on a game binge lately. Sorry.
I hope FFNet doesn't spam notifications when you update the chapter itself. I don't actually know if the line breaks look good at all and so I might be fiddling around a bit with them.