Elsa of Arendelle (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
frozenfractals) wrote2017-07-30 07:59 pm
frozenfractals) wrote2017-07-30 07:59 pm
Entry tags:
there's beauty and there's danger here
It's supposed to be a perfectly normal morning. Elsa is supposed to wake up and go to work, sell flowers, go see her girlfriend, maybe fight a little crime. The night before was absolutely ordinary, so she has no cause to believe anything else will be true of this morning.
Except that when she wakes up, the bed seems a lot bigger than usual. For a few moments, she's not at all sure where she is, the room small and unfamiliar. Even the comforter is different. She sits up, looking around for Anna or her parents or anything she recognizes, little hands tight in her sheets. There's someone next to her, but it's not her sister. Frost skates over the fabric, her heart thumping in her chest. The frost is halfway up the wall before the chill makes her feel a little more awake, better able to take in her situation.
Darrow. Of course her sister isn't here. Of course her parents aren't. They haven't been for years. She still forgets that sometimes, ready to tell them about her day, but this is different. Somehow all of that feels far away now, as if Papa might walk in and take care of all this at any moment. But he won't, because she's not in Arendelle and he's dead, and she's about to cry.
She can barely remember how to undo the ice in the room, looking down at her hands to find them smaller than they were last night. She's smaller, swimming in the nightgown she went to sleep in. It occurs to her that she should get up and look in a mirror, or that she might be having a strange dream, but she can't seem to make herself move. What if she can't make the ice stop? What if she's too small to stop it? None of this makes any sense. After a couple minutes, she lays back down, pulling the blanket over her head and curling into a ball. Maybe if she goes back to sleep, she'll wake up normal and the ice will be gone.
Except that when she wakes up, the bed seems a lot bigger than usual. For a few moments, she's not at all sure where she is, the room small and unfamiliar. Even the comforter is different. She sits up, looking around for Anna or her parents or anything she recognizes, little hands tight in her sheets. There's someone next to her, but it's not her sister. Frost skates over the fabric, her heart thumping in her chest. The frost is halfway up the wall before the chill makes her feel a little more awake, better able to take in her situation.
Darrow. Of course her sister isn't here. Of course her parents aren't. They haven't been for years. She still forgets that sometimes, ready to tell them about her day, but this is different. Somehow all of that feels far away now, as if Papa might walk in and take care of all this at any moment. But he won't, because she's not in Arendelle and he's dead, and she's about to cry.
She can barely remember how to undo the ice in the room, looking down at her hands to find them smaller than they were last night. She's smaller, swimming in the nightgown she went to sleep in. It occurs to her that she should get up and look in a mirror, or that she might be having a strange dream, but she can't seem to make herself move. What if she can't make the ice stop? What if she's too small to stop it? None of this makes any sense. After a couple minutes, she lays back down, pulling the blanket over her head and curling into a ball. Maybe if she goes back to sleep, she'll wake up normal and the ice will be gone.