Michael's blood freezes as a creeping, leeching cold lurches by. He can't see anything, just a vague shimmering in the corner of his vision, but his muscles stiffen. He wills his face into blankness. Even his mother seems to recoil, to wither and freeze.
The cold thing whispers past, circling. He can see nothing, but he can feel it. And in the back of his mind, a familiar, hollow voice whispers:
"No, my son! Do not listen to her honeyed words. You should get out of here, now!"
The voice punches through the fog in his mind, clearing it entirely, and suddenly Michael is aware of every breath and every tense muscle as he grabs his mother's wrists.
"Michael –" she breathes, his name a desperate plea on her lips. "Don't leave me."
She goes to reach her hand up, but he steps out of her touch.
That voice – his father's voice – it rings out in his head like a pealing bell. "Go! Before it's too late!"
Even as the killing calm seizes control of his senses again, Michael can feel tears spilling down his cheeks.
"I love you, mom." Michael says, his voice breaking. Then he moves, too fast for her to stand a chance.
His mother's eyes go wide as he slid the dagger home, jamming it up into her heart.
And he sees the pain and sorrow in her eyes. Sees it and doesn't care, not as that thing in his chest is twisting and breaking. Not as his heart — his heart — aches, so viciously that he realizes it'd somehow been repaired in these past couple months.
Repaired by Elsa.
Elsa, the Queen of Arendelle.
The Snow Queen of Arendelle.
The queen whose life has been threatened by the very woman who raised him.
His mother – possessed by a demon, using her skin as a meat shield.
Each of these facts hit him like a brick, and as he steps away from his mother, his dagger embedded to the hilt in her chest, she sags to the ground, haunching over her knees as blood dribbles from her lips.
And then the demon shows itself.
His mother's gagging suddenly turns to hissing, her hair beginning to whip about her head.
When she looks up to him, her eyes are wholly black. Black veins begin to bulge from beneath her skin, trailing from her eyes now filled with depthless hatred.
As she opens her mouth to roar, Michael strikes as fast as an asp, swinging his leg up and ramming his foot into his mother's head.
The illusions shatters, the darkness vanishing.
Without waiting, Michael whirls around towards Danika, knelt on the stones of the temple floor. Tearstained and silent, but still alive.
"Danika, get up!"
He grabs her by the shoulder before she can respond. He does however see her blink rapidly, slowly coming back to herself.
By some miracle, her feet start moving and the two of them are running through the temple ruins to get to the horse he hopes is still right where he left him. Danika is in no condition to shift, and he's always been a fast runner.
He drapes Danika's arm over his shoulder, his other around her waist as they run. "Come on Danika, just a little further."
Again, those citrine eyes are blinking, clearing.
Then the ancient, hollow voice of that demon hisses: "I will grind your bones between my claws; I will drink your marrow; I will feast on your flesh. I am what you fear; I am what you dread . . . Look at me. Look at me."
Michael tries to swallow, but his throat has closed up. He keeps his eyes on the stones, on the trees, on anything but the cold mass circling them again and again.
"Look at me."
He wants to look—he needs to see what it was.
"Look at me."
He stares at the coarse trunk of the distant elm holding the now bucking horse, its reins still secure on the branch he tied it to. Michael a mixture of a sob and a sigh of relief, thinking of pleasant things. Like hot bread and full bellies—
"I will fill my belly with you. I will devour your mind. Look at me."
They break past the entrance to the temple ruins, and Michael turns his attention to the starry, unclouded night sky, peaceful and glittering and endless.
Pleasant thoughts: summer sunrise, a refreshing hot bath. Meeting Elsa at midnight, losing himself for an hour or two in her body, in their shared breaths.
It is all around them, so cold that his teeth chatter. "Look at me."
He stares and stares at that ever-nearing tree trunk, not daring to blink. His eyes strain, filling with tears, and he lets them fall, refusing to acknowledge the thing that lurks around them.
"Look at me!"
And just as he thought he would give in, when his eyes hurt so much from not looking, they reach the horse. With his free hand, Michael grabs the reins and settles the horse enough to help Danika. The poor steed seems to understand the situation as he still and even bends to help the shifter onto his back.
"Michael," she mutters. Her voice so small, so . . . fragile.
He doesn't dare to think what memories it made her relive.
"It'll be okay, just climb up." he answers in a surprisingly level voice as Danika places her foot on his knee.
As he boosts her up, her voice calls from the entrance of the temple. "It's already done, boy!"
His mother, or the demon using his mother's voice, as it is laced with many others. He still doesn't dare to look. He hoists Danika up, the shifter swinging her leg over the other side. He deftly unties the reins and places them in her hands.
"You just need to hold on, he'll know where to go." He tells her.
"Michael," she whimpers again.
He looks to find Danika staring at her over his shoulder. He takes her arm and pulls her to him as much as he can without dismounting her. "Danika, don't look. Don't give her that fear."
"I knew you would come snooping around here for answers!" The demon continues to holler. "You don't think I took advantage of you being away from the castle?!"
The fire in his gut spread through his veins.
"You're too late! Even if you were to somehow save her, you think she'll ever accept you for the monster that you are?!"
Too late.
The frozen rage flickers again, slowing, slowing, slowing the world down.
"You belong here, Michael!" the thing wails. "Among monsters!"
Michael turns to Danika. Her face is stricken and pale.
A sharp pain twists in his gut.
Elsa –