#imagine the love i must have dreamed of in the glacial tomb of my silence | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

elsanna-shenanigans · 3 years

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April Contest Submission #21: Sea of time

Words: ca. 6,000 Setting: post-canon/mAU Lemon: No CW: Angst, tragedy, MCD, drowning

-ooo-

1844

“So you’re leaving…”

There was a certain calmness around the great stones that marked the Forest’s entrance. There was a great sense of longing in the sight of the falling leaves that swirled around their feet, and great beauty in the silvery locks of hair that framed her sister’s delicate face.

“I’m not. I’m staying here.” Elsa’s smile was fake, of course. Anna could see it, the broken thread between her words and her feelings. “There is a difference.”

“Will you at least tell me why…?” She pleaded, even if the rest of her didn’t budge. She kept her arms crossed, her posture strong and defiant. Did she expect her to just bid her farewell?

Her sister’s brow creased.

“You know why…”

Enough, Anna thought. Enough of the shy stares. Enough of the guilt, enough of the imagined barriers between both; without warning, she closed the distance, grabbing Elsa by her shoulders. The young Queen stared deeply at those blue orbs, wide-opened.

“Then stay.” She half-demanded, half-asked.

Firmly, the blonde took her hands in her own, pushing her away.

“It can’t be.” The treasonous smile resurfaced, renewing the growing ache in Anna’s chest. Was this it, then? How their budding love ended: a few words, and a last goodbye? She wanted to shake her head, to hug her and kiss her and convince her it was worth it but she knew it futile; they had been down this path before, and only heartache had come.

“If I stay…” A pale thumb caressed her cheek, and Anna leaned into the touch. “If I stay… we would end up falling deeper…”

Anna hung her head, but refused to let her tears fall. Over the few years that followed their return, Fate’s turns had shown their cruelty, for her heart’s calling lay always in reach, yet unreachable all the same. She had been ready to leave everything behind: her husband, her life and everyone she knew, if only Elsa had agreed, but she hadn’t. Duty came first: hers, as the ruler of her people, and Elsa’s, as the Fifth Spirit.

“Just once…” Anna uttered, her hands bravely cupping her sister’s perfect jaw. “Say it out loud.”

Elsa’s mask finally broke. It all rushed into her gaze, into the contours of her eyes and the sudden tightness of her gestures.

She didn’t say it; instead, she kissed Anna’s lips gently, only once, a small glimpse of what could’ve been, had they been born in other circumstances, in other lives. An instant suspended in time, made of untold confessions and love never-shared. Anna could taste her own tears, and a whimpering sob finally pulled them apart. Elsa turned away, wiping her cheeks.

Before she returned to the Forest, Elsa looked back, and that memory would forever haunt Anna’s dreams.

Five years later, the letter came.

-ooo-

1848

She had raced towards the Enchanted Forest through the cold rains, forcing her mount to sprint through the days-long journey. Her hammering heart urged her. She had to arrive in time. With Gale’s help – showing her the shortest path through the mountains – she managed to reach the main camp of the Northuldra just before twilight broke.

—

Dear Anna:

I know it’s been a while since my last letter. I had hoped to talk to you in person, to explain the things that will happen, but I don’t think it would be a good idea anymore.

There is one thing, a single thing I have kept from you over the last years. Ahtohallan’s truth…

—

Yelana, her golden eyes wide as platers, came to greet her. She looked at her up and down, making Anna picture herself, with her clothes wet and muddy and her hair disheveled and roughed. Nevertheless, she couldn’t waste time; she just bluntly asked for a boat and some food, which they gave her, even if she refused to explain. She couldn’t stop, not knowing how much time she had left. She sailed up the river, the one that, according to the Northuldra’s tradition, fed from Ahtohallan’s heart itself, its flow restored by her and Elsa’s efforts after her grandfather’s heinous betrayal.

—

It all comes at a price. Once I took Ahtohallan’s soul within me, once I became one with its essence… it gave me more than I could’ve ever imagined. After four years, I can feel it, see it. My body won’t change. Now I live outside of time’s flow. It is the spirit’s greatest gift, but one I cannot accept.

I’m sorry, but I can’t stand this feeling, knowing… knowing you will die someday, and that I’ll have to live on without you. Knowing I’ll live on, a thousand lifetimes, without the chance of seeing you again.

That’s why I must reject the gift, and the only way to do it… is to give it to you.

I’m giving you everything that I am. There are no words that can make up for what I’ll do, but I certainly hope you’ll find it in your heart to forgive me, in time. I understand the injustice, the unfairness of what I’m doing, but you’ve always been stronger than me. I trust you, and I know you will take care of the river’s soul.

Only thing I can promise you, with the certainty of the heart, is that by offering my soul to Ahtohallan, we will meet again. I’m sorry I didn’t say those words the last time we saw each other, but I promise I will, someday. Our bond won’t die; we’re bound to one another, in this life… or the next.

I have never been good with goodbyes. Till we meet again… Yours always.

Elsa.

—

The biting winds carried the taste of salt water, and their sharp cold warned her: she was not welcomed here. No one was. The Black Sea raged, its turbulent waters splashing loudly against the rocky beach as Anna prepared, taking off the looped rope crossed over her chest. She dragged her boat all the way down the cliff to the waves’ edge.

Exhausted, Anna now stood alone at the dark beach, pulling against the boat’s ropes, tightening the lone sail as hard as she could, even through her hurting palms. She worked hard and fast, making sure the knots were strong enough, driven by the desperation that threatened to spill at any moment; yet, she kept it all inside, for despair wouldn’t do her any good now. Only one thing mattered: to reach Ahtohallan in time.

Gale whistled and circled her, and when she tried to jump into the boat, the spirit pushed her back gently.

“I won’t stop. I have to find her before…” Anna choked the last words. The wind’s spirit whined, and she felt the soft breeze pushing again, trying to communicate with her.

“I have to. Help me, please.”

The spirit’s dance slowed around her, but after a brief instant, it complied. Exhaling heavily, Anna prepared herself, stepping into the small boat while begging to whatever deity would hear her. Let me be on time to stop her…

Once Gale pushed hard against the sail, the boat swayed violently from side to side as it began to brave the angry waves. Cold water splashed against her, and in an instant, the redhead was already soaked, a crippling chill taking hold of her limbs. Fighting against her chattering teeth and the growing fear on her chest, she hung on to the mast as the relentless tides bashed against her vessel; twice it almost tipped, and twice the wind spirit barely saved her.

The sea roared, each crashing wave deafening, and water spilled into the boat a plenty. The darkened skies occasionally thundered, and during one of those brief glimpses of light, her eyes widened. As the upcoming wave rose in front of her – tall as a tower – her mind blanked, terror’s white frost squeezing her heart. Anna cried out for Gale, but she only felt the rumbling of her throat, her voice lost against the storm.

She only had an instant to brace herself as her boat flung into the air.

There was a brief moment of weightlessness before her back hit the freezing waters, knocking the air out of her lungs. She spun, the cold pushing against her from every direction; her nose and mouth stung as water entered her mouth.

An unbearable pressure rang on her ears as she slowly sank. A piercing ache took hold of her limbs and chest as Anna tried to swim upwards, but her strength had already vanished. Her final, panicked thoughts, strung together by the barest of threads, echoed inside her, but silence quickly followed.

She had failed.

Her body jerked; burning pain filled her lungs, and the need for air overwrote any other instinct, driving her mad. She attempted one last, defiant push with her cramped legs, but her last effort proved futile. Her own weight dragged her deeper into the uncaring darkness.

Through the pulsing silence of the last beats of her heart, she felt it, growing: a white, soothing feeling, spreading all throughout her body, radiating in waves. For the briefest of instants, she wondered… if that was what dying felt like. Her body spasmed again, and Anna closed her eyes, finally surrendering to the glacial waters.

…

The feeling remained. Warmth continued spreading, repelling the cold that surrounded her.

Then, it sparked inside her. An ancient presence, a fractal made from a thousand voices, echoing in her very soul. A gentle call, a connection being made… The voice cradled her, urging her at the same time…

Anna…

Teal eyes shot open. Her heart thumped; her pulse grew stronger. The cold had receded, leaving only a tingling numbness on her skin. She grew warmer, and as the pain vanished, her thought’s rekindled in a burst of emotion and clarity.

It was there, at hand’s reach, having lain dormant her whole life. For the first time, she could grasp it: a freeing bond, a blossoming certainty. She drew strength from its depths, reaching her hand upwards and calling on its ancient power, as naturally as if she had done it her whole life, for she wasn’t surprised when the elements answered her call. A small current swirled at the tip of her index, then around her extended arm only to continue descending, whirling around her body. It felt as if meeting an old, forgotten friend anew, and it told her, assured her: the Black Sea would not be her tomb.

The current carried her upwards, and Anna broke the sea’s surface, gasping for air desperately, breathing in the harsh, salty winds. She only had a few seconds of respite before she ducked again, avoiding the upcoming waves. Anna resurfaced and gasped again, slowly but surely regaining her wits. Once she recovered a bit of breath she used Gale’s full might, splashing out the water, sliding and ducking over the dark waters in a frenzy of movement, leaving a ripple trail behind her. Soon, the sea’s rage settled as she reached the first small glaciers.

Soon, she saw them for the first time, Ahtohallan’s entrance, even though it felt as if she had seen them before. With one last push, she stumbled upon its shore.

She slowly walked up the frozen beach; her soaked clothes weighed her down heavily. A few steps away from the entrance, Anna collapsed onto the ground. Under the watchful, ancient presence of the white cliffs, her fist slammed against the hard, white surface as she shut her eyes tight, trying to tame the wild, growing pain that threatened to swallow her whole.

She knew it.

She knew what had happened the moment she felt the spirits awaken within; lingering at her mind’s edges was Ahtohallan’s voice, its quiet flow coursing through her. If she fully embodied the Fifth spirit now…

A grey storm clouded her tired thoughts, but Ahtohallan called for her; its soft, familiar voice resonated just ahead, hidden underneath its great ice walls. Fighting against her growing grief, Anna got up, determined to see her journey to the bitter end, even if she had failed already.

—

She found her deep into Ahtohallan’s cavernous heart.

Anna passed through mesmerizing halls of memory, made of ice so pure they reflected the edges of her mind. Her past was mirrored underneath the frozen surface; her happy childhood, her strained, lonely teenage years… it all appeared like a mosaic, each corner of the gleaming ice containing another piece of her life. And all of them revolved around Elsa. Her sweet sister, the cornerstone of her life. She saw her everywhere she looked: she saw them both as children, fumbling around in the snow; their nights together, their silly adventures and their make-believe playing, Anna a shining knight, Elsa a beautiful princess.

Elsa at her coronation. Elsa at her ice castle, clad in her blue, sparkling dress. Elsa after she came back from Ahtohallan, glowing like never before, finally free.

Aided by the wind’s grace she now wielded, she kept going, descending deeper into the river’s core, sliding down its irregular, shining hallways.

Finally, she reached her, sitting with her back turned and her legs crossed at the center of a great chamber of glass and snow. Underneath her, a great fractal had formed on the ice’s surface, an intricate four-pointed pattern that reached the walls and rose until it reached the dark ceiling. The river’s voice sang, its sound coming not from the hall but from inside her. The call was soothing, gentle, like a mother’s lullaby, preparing her.

Anna stepped closer, suddenly conscious of her beating heart. She knelt in front of Elsa, but her eyes and head fell to the ground, unable to keep her gaze steady. Even if she tried to contain them, her sobs and small whimpers began to weakly echo in the lone chamber.

Her sister’s expression was calm and pure, with only the ghost of a smile – filled with melancholy – captured in the frozen surface of her face. Her body lay still; every inch exactly the same as it had been before, yet undeniable different, lifeless and cold.

“Why…” Anna uttered, the tears finally falling, each one a frozen droplet by the time they reached the ground. With a trembling hand, she touched Elsa’s cheek, but the hardness under her fingertips shattered whatever hope she had left. Even with her powers, in life, her sister had always been warm, always bright and lively in her own, reserved way.

Now, Elsa’s eyes – cold and unmoving – stared at nothingness.

Anna hugged her frozen figure and wept, wishing for a miracle, begging to Ahtohallan’s spirit to bring her back. The river’s song wavered, it’s great, ancient voice murmuring its farewell, a slow lament that merged with her desperate cries.

This time, no act of true love could save them.

—

It did not get easier as the years passed.

Time’s flow never stopped, withering everything in its path. It all changed and morphed under its heavy, unavoidable touch: the people she loved, the shape and customs of her kingdom as she looked from the sidelines. It took her quite a while to arrange the means of her succession. Unable to bear an heir, unable to tell Kristoff the truth, she separated from him a few years into her reign; as it became more and more evident how fruitless were her efforts to mask her youth, she pushed for reform, abolishing the monarchy, entrusting her people’s future into their own hands.

Once done, she vanished from public life, retreating into herself. The small life in the countryside brought her no peace. The world’s beauty, its color and warm, had lost its glow. No joy remained. Only the inexorable passing of days, the slow crawling of years that soon became barren decades.

In the worst of times, bitterness waged war in her heart, tearing her apart. In the wake of her lonesome, grey days, she had wanted to hate Elsa; to despise her for cursing her with her own fate… but the feeling was passing as the stations, for she could never deny the deeper truth: a lasting, final act of love. Yet, the sorrow remained; forced to watch from afar, one by one, every thread of her former life fell under time’s cruel, unforgiving weight.

After Kristoff’s passing – the last bond to her fading world – she bid the kingdom farewell from the stern of the ship that would take her to the continental grounds. Hidden under her cloak, Anna peered one last time at Arendelle’s fjord, taking in the proud profile of the castle against the clear blue skies. It had already been a whole lifetime since anyone had lived there.

-ooo-

1966

Anna… The voice whispered.

She ached. She knew that voice. How could she ever forget?

A great rift of turbulent mists – dark as ink – separated them. The fabric of reality felt feeble around her, as if the simplest of gestures could gash and rip it apart. If only she could reach out… would the world crumble?

Her voice cried, hollered, but it wasn’t enough. Words could not pierce the veil.

No matter her efforts, her essence escaped each time, and yet…

“Señorita.”

Each time, it became a little bit clearer. Her heart spun wildly as the mists began to part; just as she caught a glimpse of silver… was she waiting for her…?

“Señorita.”

…

Anna’s eyes opened wide, blinking away the drowsiness and the sun’s glare before looking around.

A toothy grin and a pair of bright brown eyes looked up at her, small hands holding up a worker’s cap. At the center of the plaza, she could see an old couple singing and playing in a deep, rumbling voice, circled by tourists and passerby’s, their clear words mixing with the shouts of vendors and another half a dozen musicians spread around, most of them sitting under the trees’ shade.

The redhead smiled kindly at the girl, taking a handful of coins from her pocket and dropping them in the cap. The child’s smile widened.

“¡Muchas gracias!” the girl cheered before running to the next table, repeating the gesture on another unsuspecting spectator.

Yawning, Anna got up her chair, grabbing her purse and jacket, quickly mounting up her bicycle. As every Sunday, the Alameda bustled with life and noise under the heavy Spanish’s sun. With ease, she scurried away in between the tourists and the townsfolk, quickly traversing the narrow cobble streets – with its rows of yellow and white houses, all squeezed together – until she reached the tall seawall, from where she gazed upon the Mediterranean, the capricious, old sea greeting her as usual with its salty breeze and its blinding shine. From the beach came adrift the mellow sound of melodies and laughter as people splashed and swam into the clear waters.

Her hair – cut short because of the summer’s heat – flew freely as she pedaled, following the coastal road that led north, away from Valencia. After a few minutes, she abandoned it, venturing into the dry slopes that preceded the soft hills ahead; a few miles up the dirt track the first few houses emerged from behind rows of fruit trees and wooden fences. The small village had fallen in the deep slumber of the siesta hour; only the wind chimes and the occasional barks poked the silence.

She made her way to the wooden door of a small store, unrecognizable as such unless you knew beforehand; a bell rang softly as she entered. It was a humble place, with rows of wooden planks that served as shelfs, with a variety of fresh fruits and cans precariously stacked over them. In the background, she could hear the monotonous droning of an old radio.

She quickly gathered the few groceries she needed, stopping in consideration in front of the small wine rack that stood in one of the corners. Shrugging to herself, she took one. After the first decades of her travels, she had to admit she had grown a soft spot for the Valencian wines; not even the French ones could compare to its sweetness and texture.

The slow whine of another door broke the evening’s silence, followed by heavy footsteps.

“Oh, ¡Anita querida!” A clear voice called. “Lo juro, os veo igualita que el día que te conocí.” (Little Anna, dear! I swear, you look the exact same as the day I met you.)

“Carmelita,” Anna turned to greet her, “¿Cómo os encontráis?” (How are you?)

She walked towards the room’s other end and began to put her groceries on the counter, and she received a gentle pat on her hand and a full smile back after she handed the woman a couple dozen pesetas.

“Como siempre, hija. No puedo quejarme…” (As always, daughter. I can’t complain…) Old, grey eyes glanced at the framed portraits on the wall next to her. The picture captured three men, grinning from ear to ear, the two youngest wearing peasant wool shirts and suspenders, both with rifles on their hands. The eldest in the middle, don Gustavo – short-haired as well as short in stature – she had met almost a decade earlier, Carmela’s late husband.

Both her sons, lost in the aftermath of the civil war. A broken family, like countless others; the aftermath of a failed dream.

“Que rápido se va la vida…” (How fast life goes by…) Carmela muttered, her smile showing the melancholy of better times long gone.

Anna looked back at the old lady. The woman’s brown hair had greyed over the last years; her posture had hunched, and her body, bit by bit, had begun to give up: the long creases around her eyes attested to that. Yet, her energy remained, the joviality of a hard-working, plentiful life by the Mediterranean’s side.

Off in the distance, the church’s bells tolled, calling for the evening mass. The lady sighed.

“Voy a cerrar, querida. ¿Necesitáis algo más?” (I’m about to close, darling. Do you need anything else?) Carmela asked, jingling her keys as she circled the counter. Anna shook her head, taking in her groceries and saying her goodbyes, both of them exiting the store.

She mounted up again, pedaling up the dirt street until she cleared the last of the buildings, and after a couple more minutes, she finally arrived home.

Her house – a small, one-bedroom chalet – overlooked the sea from the hillside. All around the path were long trims of dry bushes and yellow brooms; the sound of gravel followed her every step until she reached the door.

No one came to greet her.

Once inside, she stored her groceries and sat down on her sofa, pouring herself a small glass of wine. The sunset had begun its farewell, the reddening light sneaking in from every window. Decorating the southern wall of her living room hung a handful of paintings. The most important one – center to them all – was a faithful recreation of her sister’s likeness.

She had lost Elsa’s pocket portrait – as most of her belongings – in the chaos that followed the beginning of the Great War as she fled Vienna. To her, it didn’t really matter: hers was the face she would never forget, so she painted her from memory, every detail deeply rooted in her memory’s chambers. Her image remained alive, and Anna clung to it. Every remembrance from her long, eventful life had remained clear as water, thanks to Ahtohallan’s spirit, living inside her.

She had wanted to leave bleeding, crushed Europe and the horrors of its endless wars and industrial wastes; of its growing cities and its growing crowds. After two decades living near Marseille, she crossed the Spanish frontier through the Pyrenees during the early 30’s, only to have the nightmares follow her. Caught in the changing winds of the civil war, as a foreigner she had fled the north of Spain – quickly fallen under fascist hands – and slowly made her way south, spending the bulk of the war trying to help as many people as she could in the long stretches of no-man’s land that formed in between each side.

In this new world, there was no place for magic, and after three years, it became clear the Republic would fall, and so she continued to move, most of the time forced to travel light.

Painting helped her, to record some of the places she had visited over the years that followed the century’s beginning.

As she looked at the various canvases, she went back to her first years in France, during the time she spent in Marseille, where she had learned how to paint.

“Who’s her?” her instructor had asked the last evening of their course, pointing to her finished portrait. Even through her courteous tone, her posture betrayed the flirty nature of her question as the tall woman leaned forward, her curious, green eyes going back and forth in between her own and the painting.

She had only managed a weak smile.

“My love…” she had said, hoping her dejection was subtle enough. Her instructor had nodded once and left, her soft smile vanished.

After that brief exchange, Anna had wondered…

Perhaps – the thought wormed its way recurrently during her lonely nights – she could give herself a chance… perhaps it was time, to be with someone again… Nonetheless, she didn’t. What else would it bring, if not heartbreak? Most of the time, she convinced herself of that.

The rest of her small paintings depicted places she had visited: the twisting alleyways of Turin, the sorrowful streets of Paris and the rich meadows of southern France. The only places that had managed to brighten her days, even if only for a while. There had been so much beauty hidden in the simplest of places, and still… nothing could mend her heart.

The truth was, she still waited.

Outside, the grasshoppers and the wild birds began their solemn, rhythmic song. Night’s mantle fell around the hills, the last tint of orange in the sky turning into the deep violet of the late dusk.

Anna sighed, pinching her nose while reclining her head over the top of the couch, looking at the ceiling.

Carmelita’s comment had been a grim reminder. She had perhaps three or four more years before she had to move again. A new surname, a new life. Over the last summers, she had been considering the possibility of going beyond the great plains and cordilleras of the Spanish soil: to visit Marruecos and perhaps even Tripoli, to dive deeper into the great world. She even had thought of going back to her birthplace, to reach out into the rich tapestry of Arendelle’s history and reconnect with her roots, to see her old home one more time…

For over a century now, she had been a pilgrim of the world, a person without roots nor a past. In this new world, she was no longer Anna of Arendelle; could never be, again, same as her heart, never whole.

Now, she was only Anna, her name pronounced uniquely and differently in every new nation she had visited.

She had wandered far. She had taken hobbies, learned new languages, all for her own sanity’s sake, yet she never settled. She couldn’t, for she still waited.

She would wait whole centuries for her.

-ooo-

1968

Her cerulean eyes hadn’t lost their lively glimmer. They gazed at her, two bright stars underneath the still waters. The black skies reflected on the endless sea; the depths mirrored the world below, and the calm surface separated both their worlds.

It torn her asunder, to feel her, see her so close… and so impossibly far.

Anna swam, and as she got deeper, the sea’s surface grew closer. She was underwater; and yet, she floated above the endless sea. Two halves of a broken whole, separated by the thinnest of lines; the stars shone above, and they sparkled in the depths of the other side as well. She looked down – or up, she couldn’t tell – and she extended her arm.

Elsa smiled, and their bodies came closer.

The faint echo of her voice reached her as the tip of their fingers broke the surface.

…

Slowly, Anna sat on her bed. Wide-awake, she looked out the window. The fading darkness of the early morning had yet to leave the hills and the twig trees outside, the world submerged in the deep slumber that preceded the sunrise; a fragile peace meant not to last, but to soothe an old soul.

An irrevocable certainty had been born that day.

As surely as the sun would rise over the mountain’s top in a few minutes, she sensed it. The river’s voice, its call, renewed, whole again, and its ancient flow – alive inside her – spoke of what she had longed for, all this time…

She clutched her chest, sighing brokenly, for the river’s soul had delivered, finally; inside her chest, she felt the beating of two hearts, her own and another, somewhere in the world. It was, as with everything pertaining fate, just a matter of time before she found her.

—

During the first dim hours of the morning, before she had to leave for work – teaching painting and French back in a small college in Valencia –, she rode down to the coast. The small, lonesome beach was isolated from view: a small haven that not even the villagers used too often. In there, even the crashing of the waves was quiet, even shy.

Taking off her shoes, she walked barefoot until she reached the waves’ edge, careful to keep her gig bag dry as she settled. A cold breeze – not yet warmed by the sun’s light – passed every now and then.

Sitting on the warm sand, she stroke the guitar’s strings, testing them and tuning the instrument a few times before she played the first chords; her now calloused fingertips didn’t hurt anymore, and her hand moved along the guitar’s neck, striking each note with precision.

After a few minutes of practice, she began to intone a simple song she had composed for her, her mournful voice drifting at the winds’ mercy.

Alma mia… / Soul of mine ¿A donde has ido? / Where have you gone? Oh, alma mia… / Oh, soul of mine ¿Dónde te podre encontrar? /Where can I find you?

Notas carmesíes, ensayo sin fin / Crimson notes, endless try Esperando que mi voz / Hoping that my voice Pueda llegar hasta ti / Can reach you at last

Anna gazed into the Mediterranean, exhaling heavily as she let go for just a moment. Around her, the sand and the wind began to move, tiny spirals forming around as a strong gale circled her, dancing happily for a few minutes in unison to the notes before Anna loosened her grasp on the elements, returning them to their slumber.

Playing the final chords, she sang again.

Notas de otoño, testigos de esta condena / Autumn’s notes, witnesses to this sentence ¿Dónde te podre encontrar? / Where can I find you? Oh, alma mía, responde / Oh, soul of mine, answer me Antes de que llegue la tempestad… / Before the storm arrives

-ooo-

1987

Closer to winter, Castilla’s gales barreled down on the outer ring of Madrid, lifting and sweeping around the leaves that covered and sneaked around its every corner. In the streets, long gone were the scars of the war, but the memory of their struggle remained, in the shape of their monuments, and in the eyes of its aging, but gentle people. Skyscrapers and tall buildings now dominated the horizon, but the city’s old heart – in its cathedrals and its humble neighborhoods – remained alive, its stout charm mixing perfectly with the fall’s sadness.

As Anna stood in the middle of the shedding trees of the park, her mind travelled far, going back to a life that now seemed foreign. It had been the first one of many, but it was the one she cherished the most. The last time she had seen her, it had been autumn as well.

During the last months, she had heard the call grow stronger, guiding her. She had followed it, and now the voice had quieted at last, having delivered her. After all – she thought shakily as she gazed ahead – their souls were bonded, and not even time could shatter their link.

Only a few steps separated them, but each one felt decades-long. She braved them, walking forward.

She sat on a stone bench, looking straight at her, as if she knew Anna was coming. Perhaps she did, the redhead wondered. Long platinum locks swayed in the breeze, and her expression was gentle, welcoming. The young woman stood up, closing the remaining distance between them.

The winds picked up, and Anna couldn’t tell if it was her doing.

What if this was all a feverish dream? But the coldness in the air, her drumming heart were real. They had to be, she hoped.

“Elsa…” She muttered.

The woman’s lips turned into a small, regal smile, and Anna’s heart ached.

“Casi,” she corrected her, “me llamo Elisa.” (Almost. My name’s Elisa.)

As she looked at Elsa, it dawned on her. Of course there would be differences. Nothing could stay the same. The tone of her eyes was darker, more close to indigo than her previous crystal-blue one. Her skin was tanned and not so pale, and for the first time, Anna was the taller of the two. Those were details of a life she knew nothing about, a whole side of Elsa that she couldn’t wait to discover. She was no longer her sister, and yet she was the same. She was no longer her Elsa, and yet, she was.

A confident hand rose and gently caressed her cheek, making Anna’s breath hitch. The touch felt familiar, so painfully intimate. That moment – full of the shifting tones of autumn, framed by the falling leaves and the dying sun – it did not feel unreal nor dreamlike. It felt as if the world was about to shift whole under her feet.

How long had she longed for this very instant?

“Te he visto antes, en mis sueños… no puedo creer que seas real…” The young woman uttered, her keen, blue eyes studying her. (I have seen you before, in my dreams… I can’t believe you’re real…)

“Te he esperado…” (I have waited for you…) Anna began, barely able to force the words past the tightness on her throat.

“Lo se…” The blonde said. “No tengo idea cómo, pero lo se…” (I know… I have no idea how, but I know.)

Anna’s arms rose, opening invitingly. Elisa leaned forward, her arms circling the redhead’s hips as Anna’s clutched the back of the woman’s long coat.

“Ana…” She whispered, nuzzling into the crook of Anna’s neck.

Finally, it all fell into place. Every instant, every waking moment had led them here.

“Lo siento tanto…” (I’m so sorry…) Elisa said, the roughness of her voice betraying her falling tears. The redhead shook her head and chuckled, sniffling loudly, never wanting to let go. Anna buried her head in her hair, re-acquainting herself with the feeling of her smell, of her terse skin and her shuddering breath.

Their hug tightened. Their embrace spoke from an era long gone, of a kept promise, through the inevitable marching of a dozen generations, through a sea of time. In her heart of hearts, Anna knew: how it would all end.

It didn’t matter, she realized.

They now had a whole, new lifetime together, and even if in the grand scheme of things, it would be brief as a star’s blink, it was theirs alone.

#elsanna #submission #April 2021 contest #prompt: break

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