Elsa
"Jack, do you have a home?"
Nearly three months had passed since she had first met Jack, and since then they had become fast friends, meeting up whenever they could.
At first she had been terrified, the underlying possibility of hurting Jack scaring her enough to keep her up in her room for days, and on one occasion– an entire week.
But once she saw him and his crooked grin, it was like all of her fears faded away.
"Yeah, everyone has a home. Home is where the heart is and all of that."
Sometimes they would meet up just to talk, other times to have snowball fights, and sometimes to just be content with each other's company.
But lately she was beginning to feel like she was running to see him out of some sort of desperation. Like she was some sort of caged animal, and he held the key to salvation.
She told him all sorts of things, about her sister and her powers, but never her parents. He didn't say too much about Ana, just sometimes enveloping Elsa in a warm hug whenever her eyes grew misty. But for some impossible reason she just couldn't bring herself to tell him about her momma and poppa.
She supposed it had to do something or other with her own feelings towards them. The feeling of utter and hopeless abandonment.
"Jack... Do you have a momma?"
"Yup, and a dad, a sister, and a few aunts, uncles, and cousins."
She felt as though she'd disappointed them, and because of her failure as a sister, she'd never be able to earn their trust again.
She saw how they looked at her— with a mix of fear and an odd combination of loving distaste— like they were required to love her because they once had, not because it was something they felt in their hearts.
She knew that if she told Jack about her parents, she'd talk about them like she hated them— and that scared her.
But Jack... Jack talked about his parents like they were the heroes of Norse fairytales.
"Do you... Do you think I could meet them sometime?"
Jack sat up in the frosted grass, looking over at her, thinking.
After a moment he spoke, smiling that grin that sent something spiraling in her stomach, "Of course."
She returned the smile, the inexplainable feeling twisting over every which way. Butterflies. It was like a hoard of butterflies was swarming about in her stomach, drawing out a universe of awe and content with a fluttering of wings.
A soft warmth enveloped her hand, and she looked to see that he had taken it, interlacing their fingers. She smiled lightly to herself, looking up above.
Maybe this was what they called love.
***
She stumbled back, knocking over a vase in her unregistering haste.
It was getting worse, she couldn't keep a handle on it. Her father said to wear the gloves, that they would help to keep the magic at bay, keeping it from rearing it's ugly head.
It was her eleventh birthday. She should be outside celebrating— dancing, laughing, living— instead she was inside hiding in the shadows.
She breathed in softly and tugged off a glove. Absolutely useless. And yet oddly reassuring and calming. She glanced to the frost edged window, sifting through her thoughts with a grimace on her face.
She walked over to the window and held her bare hand up to the cool glass. Closing her eyes, she focused on what she wanted to create— a rabbit. It was a system Jack and her had come up with. A simple explanation of, "I can't meet you now, but I'll see you soon— promise."
A promise etched in frost on a fragile pane which would seem childlike and odd to all the rest, but between them two held an entirely different meaning.
She couldn't loose Jack. She'd already lost so much, she couldn't loose him, too.
He made her happy, he helped her to look at the light of any downcast face, he created snow in her icy heart.
She didn't want to loose him, because if this was what it was like to love again, she never wanted to let go.
***
Last Edited: 3.20.16