Complications (Hans and Elsa)

0.19 The Letter [DRAFT]

Author's note: I still have no idea what to write. I don't have any ideas for the epilogue, so as promised, to keep you entertained whilst I think of something to write, I'm publishing this supposed nineteenth chapter. As you can see, Complications wasn't supposed to end well. Not in Elsa's perspective anyway.

With regards,

Athena

. . .

The month had gone by like a draft in the evening, followed by December that disappeared like a wink under the twilight's gaze. January has then made its grand entrance, with the warmth of spring on its tail. It was a blessing that the kingdom survived through the dreary nights of winter, but nevertheless, the snow queen refused to rejoice.

It wasn't her powers she was bothered with, but with the fact that she hasn't heard anything from him during the past two months. Most of her days --- if not spent in her study busying herself with paperwork --- were spent in front of her window, the one facing the docks, waiting and wishing for him to come back, to be here with her. Of course, these things weren't of use, but something that would only increase the burden inside her chest, the hollowness that has been pestering her day and night. She wished she'd gone after him, but --- she mused --- it would be selfish as she had hurt him enough. Other than blaming herself, she blamed her parents as they were the one who had kept her locked in, but then again, that wouldn't be right since they only did that to protect her and Anna from herself. It wouldn't be right thinking ill of her parents at her mother's funeral.

She stood by the huge pillar that seemed so foreign all these years, refusing comfort as she knew the only comfort she'd want was from Hans, the person she hasn't seen and heard of for sixty-six days. The tears were on the edge of her eyes as she stood by the priest, as she was the queen, respectively. She avoided the lingering gazes of both Anna and her father as she kept her eyes low and on her trembling gloved hands. She started wearing them when he had gone back to the horrible confinement of the Southern Isles. It was the day she was beginning to lose control again.

The entirety of the eulogy was a blur, the grievances and the voices of her sister and her father nothing but a blister in the wind. Her eyes were still fixed on her hands as she cursed herself for being too insensitive to at least spare her mother a lingering thought.