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icespiceandashryvereyesm8 · 5 years

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At the beginning, I thought I'd leave it as a one-shot. But I might build on it, there's potential for more and I could take this plot somewhere.

Thoughts?

The Burning Cold

It's winter. The cold fits her like a glove. Like second skin.

She was always cold.

Even in the summer, with warm rays tearing through the cotton above, sinking its claws into her flesh, she was cold. It's all she's ever known.

Arendelle is where dreams go to die now. The wisps of hope that reach out tendrils to the quaint town that is deceivingly quiet, and get sucked into the storm.

Arendelle wasn't born in snow. It was born in the spring, laden with daisies and chrysanthemums and lilies and roses and fat, ripe fruit. It was born in laughter and joy and all that is good and simple in this maze of a world.

Elsa wasn't born in Arendelle. She couldn't be. With the cold that brews inside her, she was old even when she was born. A baby that had lived a thousand lives, seen empires rise and fall and the stars made anew. She was forged from the old and unknown.

She changed everything.

Her sweet and sunny counterpart that never knew pain or fear, Anna.

Anna was the one who kept her tethered, who kept the storm at bay. The last thread that was a semblance of normalcy and mortality and humanity, tying into a safety knot around Elsa.

Elsa didn't deserve her.

She didn't deserve this beautiful soul. A thread can't keep a storm at bay, and Anna was fraying quickly. Despite her love, her eyes glaze over with thin sheets of ice, her fingers become frosted tips and her lips and soul turn blue and numb.

Love is strong and weak.

The ice touches her bosom, an intimate caress. It holds her flesh so possessively that even the Gods wouldn't dare to take her love away. It rips away at all obstacles that cover this beautiful porcelain doll. Ice meets flesh in a rosy tinge and blood rushes with the power thrumming in Elsa's veins. Elsa never saw her as a sister. Anna was everything to her. Anna was what gave Arendelle meaning. She was home.

The cold wind kisses her cheek and plays with her hair. The snow embraces her. She sinks into a bed of cold and grips at her. Ice glazes every pore and snuffs out Anna's warmth. This love is strong, but Anna is not built for it. Her vision is pricked with snowflakes. The cold seeps in, deep and slow and lethal and Elsa can't control herself. She could never compose herself with Anna. With her love. There was nothing impure about this reunion. They were not siblings. Anna came from her mother, but Elsa came from something that was dark and old and cold. She was old when she was born.

The ice creeps up her calves, inching upwards with a promise. Elsa's gone off the deep end and cannot hear her lover's whimpers of pain. The light dims. That beautiful weak candlelight, with flames like the dancing curves of a lithe woman, swaying to the music of the breeze. The candle dies out and Elsa suddenly feels hollow. She does not know why. She feels loss like a dagger embedded in her frosty heart. She struggles to process her surroundings, still reeling back from that possession of power. When she sees her demon's handiwork, a guttural scream breaks out. It tears through the quiet of Arendelle, filling the town with a misery and loathing that no one understands.

Elsa is filled with loathing. She wants to tear out her skin and give to the girl whose creamy expanse of flesh is tinged red and blue. She's so beautiful and dead and looks like a doll and everything wrong with the world. Elsa wants to tear out her lungs and give it to the girl who is filled frozen insides. She wants to tear out her eyes and give it to the girl who blinded her with love.

Spring died with Anna. Meaning died with Anna. No mountain or cave or dark depths of the sea could give refuge from the truth, the horrible truth of her doing. There was so much of the storm she didn't know what to do with it.

And so, she unleashed it on the world.

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