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V

figment

She is collecting sticks with her father in order to construct a fence around a shed. The sticks have to be very particular so the fence will be right. She struggles to find the right kind, but her father gently smiles at her and shows her how to attach the sticks to each other and tells her that she'll learn the knack, too, she is his little girl. She tries her hand at building a part of the fence herself, but keeps freezing the sticks even if she tries not to, and her attachments don't hold. She gets frustrated. When she finally turns to ask her father to show her the knack again, she realises with a shock that her father is no longer there and the night has fallen. The wind starts to pick up.

Frightened, she tries to fix the fence on her own, but can't see in the dark. The sticks keep freezing and falling from her hands and she tries to feel for them in the darkness, whimpering, but accidentally freezes some of the good fence her father has built. The frost spreads through the whole structure and it falls apart. She's crying now, and tries to rebuild at least a part of the fence through her tears, but the more she tries to control the frost, the worse it gets. The ice skitters across the ground, spreading rapidly in every direction, climbing the walls of the shed and even flaking off into the air. It starts to snow heavily and the ground and the sticks are soon under a thick blanket of snow. Crying helplessly, she tries to dig for the sticks under the snow, but manages to find and hold on to only one. She looks around her, afraid and lost. The landscape is completely covered in white and she can't find her way home any more. The snowstorm keeps raging, raising the snowbanks ever higher. The shed is almost completely under the snow now, she has failed and let everyone down and ruined everything. Still sobbing, she tries to find her way to safety and starts to wade through the snow in a random direction, but soon gets completely lost. She loses her footing and falls under the surface of the snow, tumbling down a hill inside the snowbank.

At the foot of the hill is the edge of a forest. After she digs herself out of the snow using the trick Anna has showed her and looks up, she sees the light from the signal fire flickering through the trees. He's lit the fire for her so she'll find her way. Feeling less frightened, she follows the light. She still holds the last stick, she hasn't lost everything.

The snowstorm quiets when she enters the woods, the dense trees blocking the wind and silencing all sound. For a while she walks in the hushed stillness, the snow crunching under her feet is the only sound. The light gets brighter as she gets closer to it, and she isn't afraid any more although she's wet and cold and the forest grows ever thicker. She knows she is on the right path. She finally arrives at a small clearing where the cold bright signal fire is blazing soundlessly at the top of a flagpole.

On the side of the clearing is a house. The house is very fine and well built, and large enough to almost be called a castle, but in a state of terrible neglect and disrepair. The colours on the walls have been covered by black grime and soot. Someone has boarded up most of the windows and raised a high fence of wrought iron spikes, sharp and dangerous. It looks like a dark mansion from a horror story, intentionally unapproachable and hostile, but she feels glad to see it. She slips quietly in through the bars of the fence and makes her way to the front door even though the path is blocked and overgrown. The door is locked and frozen completely shut, but she knows how to open it. She thaws the lock and calls out that it is her, and the lock clicks and she is able to slowly persuade the door ajar, despite the thoroughly rusted hinges. She steps in, leaving it open behind her.

The house is dark, dusty and completely still. The musty, cold air smells of oblivion. The are many abandoned, shabby rooms. Some are completely empty, some still have forgotten, broken remnants lying around from the time when they were habited. It looks miserable, but she feels calm and content. She likes the look and build of the rooms, the structure is still good and solid even if everything is flaky and ruined at the surface. With a little loving repair the house will be wonderful and she can happily live there, she can see that clear as day.

She wanders through the rooms, slowly making her way to the inner parts of the house. Some of the doors are locked, but she finds her way around them. Some rooms look brutally trashed and have horribly disfigured, scowling portraits on the walls that follow her with their eyes, but she walks past without looking at them, unafraid. The rooms in the inner parts are much smaller but also neater. No careless visitors have been there to wreak violent havoc and they are still maintained by the owner, though unused and empty. In a narrow corridor, hidden deep in the heart of the house, she finally sees a light from under one of the doors and knocks gently, happiness tingling in her chest.

He opens the door for her, clad only in his undergarments with his hair messy from the long sleep, smiling.
"I was waiting for you," he says, tenderly. She steps into the warmth and stands in the middle of the floor, dripping a puddle of melting snow on the carpet and clutching her stick. Some gløgg is steaming on the tiny stove. The fire crackles cozily. The walls of the small room are decorated with pictures depicting exciting and funny adventures in faraway lands. A soft-looking bed is in the corner with a lamp and a neat pile of books next to it. There is a chest of drawers that seems to be full of interesting secrets and some carefully preserved valuable souvenirs. A familiar, pleasant scent fills the air.

It is a very comfortable and nice place, she thinks. It feels like home. He takes the wet cloak off her and hangs it up to dry.
"I'm sorry it took so long," she says. "I lost my way and most of the sticks, too." He smiles again and pulls her into his embrace, holding her tight against his bare chest. His skin is warm and dry and she feels safe and happy in his arms.
"Don't worry," Hans mutters softly into her hair. She can hear his voice resonating deep in his chest. "We'll go find them tomorrow and repair it together."

–

(for those interested; I had 'If I Had A Heart' by Fever Ray on repeat for the mood)

Happy anniversary, Frozen!