blossom of snow, may you bloom and grow

It's impossible to miss the approach of Halloween in Darrow. All Saint's Eve has taken on a new form in this world, one that has the girls excited. Elsa's coaxed all the details from Jessica, of course, which led to the inevitable question of what she and Anna will be doing for the holiday. Obviously they'll have to get candy to give out to the trick-or-treaters. But it seems equally as evident that Anna will want to do some wandering of her own and that, regardless how they celebrate, they'll need costumes.

Elsa isn't entirely sure what she wants to dress up as. It's nothing she's really had to think about before, and she keeps coming up empty as she tries to dredge up ideas. Fortunately, there's an enormous store that seems to be entirely devoted to the holiday. Since they seem to have aisles of costumes, this is where Elsa decides they should start their search.

"Any idea what you want to look for?"

Just as Elsa's never been particularly affected by cold temperatures, the heat has never bothered her much either. It's easy to keep a cool shield around herself, to the point that she often didn't realize she was doing it as a child. In the layers she wore, the long sleeves and high gloves, petticoats and drawers and skirts, it was the only defense she had against the heat, and she always regretted her choice to sweat it out instead. It hadn't stopped her from shutting it down, of course. Back then, that just seemed like the only choice, the safer one.

Darrow in June feels like Arendelle in August, in the midst of a particularly hot and humid year. This morning, Elsa notices.

It's too warm to stay in bed. She sits up in her nightgown, blinking blearily, and looks at her hands. Nothing seems different, but when she tries to create cold, nothing happens. She shakes her head a little, frowning, and then stills as her braid falls further over her shoulder.

She only realizes it's hers, though, because that's the only thing that makes sense. Though her hair is blonde, though, this is a deep, rich brown, unfamiliar to her.

At least, that's what she thinks until she stands and looks in her mirror. Her hands rise to touch her hair, slowly, gingerly, but it stays unchanging, a long, dark braid the same shade as her mother's hair. It's so strange to look at herself this way, as if the color of her hair alone is enough to change everything about her appearance. Her color is higher, pink in her cheeks and in her fingers as she unravels the plait, raking her fingers through it.

She doesn't look like herself anymore at all, and she can't begin to understand what's happened. Panic rising in her throat, she turns quickly, hands striking out, and she can see in her mind the long shards of ice that should go shooting from her palms. But they don't.

There's nothing but her, standing alone, chest heaving. Turning her hands over and back again, she stares, shaking her head. "H— but how?" She doesn't know what to make of it except to be confused and lost.

"Anna." It hits her suddenly and she takes off down the hall to her sister's room. If this has happened to her, she needs to be sure nothing has happened to Anna, too. "Anna!"