Wine, it seems - is the only thing which helps Elsa cope. An empty bottle of Chardonnay, this time - to avoid the red hues mocking her for even daring to tempt destiny. Elsa reclines on the steps in her mansion's grand staircase. The sun hasn't even set - but there's a heaviness in her head as she looks at the empty bottle teetering on the edge of rolling down the steps. Not caring about the hard, polished marble digging into her ribs. Just needing to feel something besides the cold swirling around in in flecks of snow.
She can hear a distant ringing. A vestigal call from the North perhaps. Ahtohallan or some other far off place from her past life mocking her for venturing too far yet again. But when the houseservant summons her for a phonecall, Elsa collects herself and slumbers to the kitchen - empty wine bottle dangling from her loose fingers. It's one of the bureaucrats which showed up to her doorstep. And already she hears herself cursing his name Stevenson beneath her breath for bringing this girl to her factory just to tear her apart.
"I'm glad you remember the name," Stevenson mentions, "But I'm hoping you're not intending to bail on the War Bonds drive tonight."
"Haven't I donated enough money to the war?" Elsa sighs, "my factory and manpower and everything-"
"It's not enough, we need to see the Industrial community present there, it's good for their morale. The troops need to feel America standing behind them-"
She hangs up without an answer, before turning away from the phone and staring at the vast emptiness of her hollow home. Vacant luxury taunting her in her final waking moments before she goes to sleep in further torment. What warmth the wine brought her is replaced by cold. And the frosty air chokes her the longer she wanders around. Until at last she wanders into the garage. Shoves her keys into that Blue Bugatti, and drives off in a roaring cloud of dust - into the sunset.
Being fashionably late isn't in Elsa's repertoire. So she recoils from the mob of photographers scrambling to take her picture as she steps off onto the red carpet. Blinding flashbulbs and big band jazz music blasting a hole through her ears. Her blonde hair's undone. She's wearing scarcely a touch of makeup. And that simple white dress from ages past adorns her ethereal, immortal figure. The radiance of her presence is enough to part the room like the Red Sea when she ventures in. Eyes fixed on her timeless, radiant beauty drifting through the crowd of dancing bodies. Straight to the bar where she orders a scotch on the rocks.
Amber liquid burns through her throat. She sinks further into the shadows. Watching uniformed men and immaculately dressed women swing and twirl to that jazz music. It all feels so familiar - like that night she lost control of everything and ran away. This time, there's nothing to run away from, only her memories and Stevenson marching over with a drink in hand.
"You're rude," he chides.
"And I'm here," she replies brusquely, "don't make me change my mind."
To her relief - he walks away. And Elsa wonders how many of such men she'd have to deal with over the centuries. How many pointless balls she'd have to attend based on her status. How nothing seems to change over the ages despite the different hairstyles and dresses and courtesies. The scotch warms her as she realises the only thing that isn't going to change is herself.
And as the crowds shift in time with the music.
That other constant sits alone at an empty table. Red hair coiffed into a bun. There's a beaming smile on her face as she soaks in the energy vibrating through the ballroom. She's always been like this. With the tendency to get lost in a crowd and yet find herself in the midst of it all.
She's not Anna, idiot.
There's a tugging in Elsa's chest which amplifies with each sip of liquor she takes. Whether tugging at her chest or tugging at her feet to go over - she has no idea. Her memory of her sister's last words swirls. Dark and tormented like the alcohol swirling around in her glass.
If we meet again…
Stop it, Elsa pounds the bar.
In another life…
She can feel her eyes break into a blurry fog.
Make sure. You do these things. Right from the start.
With a swipe of her hand, Elsa tips the remnants of her drink down the hatch. Before turning on her heels and taking the long walk across the hall - drawn by that red thread of fate pulling tighter with each step she takes. The redhead notices Elsa approaching long before she reaches. That smile vanishes in an instant. Folded arms and crossed legs and looking away from Elsa's dazzling radiance bearing down on her. Oh god, please don't do this to me again. But Elsa promptly resolves in her mind that she'd try once. And then leave.
"You're here," Elsa mentions. Idiot, of course she's here.
"The plant management made a few of us go," Anna mumbles, barely audible amidst the raucous music.
The words tangle in her tongue. She grips the fabric of her dress, "Anna, I haven't seen you for awhile. W-would you like to dance?"
"Do I have a choice?" Anna looks away at someone approaching.
Elsa's voice breaks like she's just been bitten by a snake, "You always have a choice-"
There's a man coming closer, hampered by the sheer thick of the crowd bumping into him. And Anna's eyes fix on his approach as she shifts in her seat.
"Actually, yes," Anna relents, stretching out her hand, "I would like to dance. With you."
Her heart swells, and she resists letting the smile show too much as she takes Anna's hand and leads her away from him. It's easy. Too easy to feel lost in her embrace again. And yet it feels like she's found something after a lifetime of searching. That gentle, familiar sensation of Anna's slim body pressing back against hers. The softness and gentleness of her fingers twined in hers. Those blue eyes looking back at her. So recognizable yet bearing none of the memories they've built together. Only puzzlement.
"If I were to venture a guess," Elsa whispers, tipping her head at the man looking around, "I'd say you're dancing with me just to avoid him."
Anna looks up at her. Bites on her lip, and nods. Oh god.
"He's annoying," Anna mumbles, "he's the one that made me come here."
"I'm glad my company isn't reprehensible enough that you'd prefer dancing with me over some sleazebag-"
Anna's fingers tighten suddenly, "Would you stop it?"
The harsh tone of her voice and the sheer strength of her hands gripping back seals Elsa's lips shut. Glimmering fury glows in Anna's eyes.
"Maybe I haven't had the chance to make myself clear," Anna seethes, before she resumes her gentle sway to the music, "I don't hate you."
The brash honesty tips over all the feelings from Elsa's chest, "And yet why does it feel like you do?"
"I'm not," Anna growls a seething sigh, "I'm not responsible for what you feel, Elsa. I'm not responsible for your past. The memories you've shared with your sister. All of that stuff. You can't put this burden on me."
Elsa's lips part - before that wave crashes into her yet again. That this young woman never chose to be born into a life like this. And yet has to bear the burdens of a past life she had no control over. Elsa's presence here only makes things worse for her. No wonder she wants to get away from you. Selfish bitch.
The guilt lifts from her soul in that instant Anna leans her head on Elsa's chest. That strawberry scent flood her senses yet again. And she can feel the world contracting to this small space between them. The music fading away into the distance. Arms sinking across each others' lower backs. In this intimate connection - Elsa imagines feeling that same heartbeat throbbing back against hers. Stop. Stop. She's not Anna.
"It's fine," Elsa whispers into her hair, stroking her back's firmness, "just pretend we're two women who found each other in this ballroom. I own a factory. You work in one. Tell me what you want from me."
There's a pause as Anna thinks. And Elsa finds herself involuntarily holding her breath as she waits for an answer.
"I want," Anna hesitates, "I want to get outta here."
Warmth floods through Elsa's chest, "Y'know - if I'm seen leaving with another girl. It's just going to worsen my already lascivious reputation, right?"
Anna giggles, "Well, you did ask me what I wanted."
"And you want me to save you from this sleazebag."
"Yes, I won't say I'll make it worth your while," Anna purrs, slinking her arms around Elsa's neck, "but I might."
Her heart pounds, drumbeat throbbing in her throat at the words I might. And when those blue eyes look back into Elsa's. She realises at least there's one constant that hasn't changed over the years.
She'd never been able to refuse her sister.