Elsa burst through her bedroom door shoulder first and slammed into her bed with enough force to scoot the heavy wooden object a few inches across the floor. She whipped around and kicked her door shut with a bang just as the brunt of her grief hit her like a blow to the gut. Her breath was pulled from her lungs as the magic pressed against the barrier of her mind, screaming to be free. Sinking to her knees, the young queen gritted her teeth against the pain slowly spreading across her body at an alarming rate. She could barely flex her fingers any longer, the skin of her palm alive with arctic fire. Unsteadily Elsa rose and moved around the bed until she was in the middle of her room, bursts of blue frost echoing her footfalls. She'd been aiming for the large square hearth in the far corner where a fire crackled cheerily, but her body seemed to have reached its limit and collapsed under her weight.
They're gone. Mamma and Papa are dead.
Tears rolled from her eyes as a heavy sob finally worked its way past her blockade and the last chink in her armor failed. Dam tearing open, more tears came and Elsa realized she was screaming only when her throat began to burn. Streaks of fire worked their way down her face and she gasped at the sudden unexpected pain.
That's right. I'd forgotten crying hurts.
It had been a condition of her powers the royal family hadn't expected. Whenever Elsa cried her tears had the tendency to freeze on her face, burning her skin in the process. It had first manifested the night after Anna's room had been separated from hers. Elsa had cried most of the evening, quietly sobbing into her pillow until exhaustion took her and she fell asleep. Hours later the king and queen had come in to check on their daughter and discovered the livid red streaks on her cheeks and the small white blisters starting to form near the crease of her nose. It didn't take them long to figure out what they were and the decision was made at the moment that Elsa would have to be kept away from high emotional situations less she begin to cry and burn herself.
A lot of good that did me, Elsa thought bitterly as the tears streaked down her face and woke lines of fire on her skin as the water instantly froze. I can't even cry without it hurting. I can't do anything without being in pain.
Curled into a tight ball on her floor, Elsa struggled to breathe, to keep her power locked inside while wrestling with the grief threatening to consume her. It was like fighting a wild animal a hundred times stronger than her, and the tug of war only lasted a few minutes before the young queen's defenses failed. She was just too mentally fragmented to properly devote all her attention to restraining herself, but she had to try. Father always said not to feel, but how was that even possible? She couldn't not feel right now. The memory of her father sitting down in front of her and teaching her the rhyme she would chant like a mantra for the rest of her life brought on a fresh wave of grief. He'd been adamant about Elsa learning to conceal her emotions, thinking it would somehow keep her powers in check, yet here she was crumpled in the middle of her room unable to do just that, and the sudden blast of emotions was crippling.
My parents are dead. Who will protect me now?
The knife in her heart twisted savagely, wrenching free more anguished sobs quickly followed by more icy fire. Why was this happening? What sin had she committed that God would curse her with such evil powers and then take her parents from her eighteen years later? The act of lifting her head off the floor was like trying to lift a block of marble with only a stick, ice fracturing and snapping under her, but Elsa managed it and stared at the blue sky beyond her quickly frosting window.
"What have I done to make you hate me," she rasped at the heavens, glaring at the cold hearted deity residing beyond the clouds. "Why didn't you take me instead? Why am I alive and they are dead?" As usual silence was her only answer.
Pain shocked the young queen out of her defiant stare and she curled farther into herself with a whimper. She could feel her magic leaking out of her pores and felt the fabric of her gloves pressed against her chest splintering, long cracks of glowing blue power peeking out between the divisions. When Elsa tried flexing her fingers more fractures appeared, spider webbing across the fabric as if it were glass. This wasn't normal, if there could be a sense of normalcy for her powers. The young queen had never gotten cold enough to freeze the fabric of her clothes. She hadn't even known that was possible until now, but any cloth touching her skin had quickly become as rigid as a plank of wood and cemented itself to her super cold skin. Elsa tried to shift, tried to uncurl, but found she was locked in place, arms of ice pinning her down. It was the sudden burst of panic that acted as the last straw. Her power saw its chance at freedom and roared to life. Elsa felt the ball of arctic magic swirling in her abdomen convulse, spewing waves of frost and ice throughout the room and pulling the temperature to an abominable degree. Snow cycloned around her, the wind extinguishing the guttering hearth fire and pulling stalactites of ice from the ceiling.
My parents are dead, a small part of her mind cried into the blizzard raging around her.
Taken by the very storm you laughed in the face of. How ironic, said a second more cynical voice. Elsa knew who was speaking and shied away from the analytical half of her mind.
The sudden memory of the storm she'd stood in last night brought the young queen gasping back into the present. She remembered the boom of the thunder and the snaking arms of sky fire as they lit the sky in flashes of blue and white. She remembered the warm rain on her lips, rain so salty it tasted like tears, and remembered leaning over the edge of the balcony and laughing while the wind raged at her.
I laughed in the face of my parent's killer.
You laughed with your parent's killer, little queen, her analytical mind taunted. You laughed and laughed while your parents drowned. So does that make you as guilty as the storm that took them? Are you a killer now as well?
"No," Elsa moaned, ice snapping and crackling around her.
Your protectors are dead. Your stability is gone. Your sister hates you and soon the entire kingdom will know your secret. Tell me, how will they react when they realize their queen is a monster?
"Please stop," she pleaded, eyes scrunched so tightly shut she felt the bruise on her forehead pulse with pain. It wasn't like Elsa hadn't ever warred with her analytical half before, it was a constant daily struggle between two minds: one content on being a normal eighteen year old girl while the other tearing every moment apart and looking at it with a cold critical eye. Usually she could make the two halves live in peace, but the balance had shifted and now she was attacking herself, tearing herself apart because of the gaps her grief and pain had left open.
You're alone, Elsa.
The young queen felt a savage burst of frost arch out from under her frozen hands and winced.
You'll always be alone.
More frost was creeping like climbing vines across her floor and up her walls, the glass it came in contact with fracturing or shattering as the cold worked its way into everything.
That's just how the wicked live. They don't have parents or sisters. They have only themselves and no one mourns them when their gone.
"I said stop!" Elsa screamed and the concussive blast of her magic was like a powder keg igniting. Something ripped free of her body and she cried out, the frost echoing her agony. Shards of wickedly sharp ice rose into existence around her, spreading in a spiral pattern around the young queen until they'd overtaken her room entirely. Elsa heard wood splintering and furniture shifting, heard the groan of metal bending and glass shattering seconds before everything went black.
It was the noise that eventually woke her, the faraway pounding of war drums beating a four step tattoo that just wouldn't go away. Groggily the young queen opened her eyes and wasn't surprised to find her room cloaked in darkness. How long had she been asleep? Hours, maybe weeks, she wasn't sure. The last thing she remembered was being in the dining hall waiting on Anna. Something had happened, but Elsa couldn't pull the memory to the surface. Blinking in the darkness, the young queen felt her eyelids slowly start to droop, her body screaming for rest. She was just about fall back into the waiting arms of sleep when the war drums returned, pounding four times in quick succession before falling silent.
Not drums, her sluggish mind said just before she dropped off, someone's knocking. Please don't let it be Anna.