Dearest Anna,

I have so many things to say to you, but I've tried to write this letter so many times that I fear trying to organize my thoughts into any order or sensible pattern will result in something clinical and forced. I don't want that. It's because this letter, any letter in truth, has taken me so long to find the courage to write that at this point I must admit... I want it to be over. I want to write it down and send it off and never think about it again. But I have to think about it, because I can't help but think about you.

I think about you every day.

I worry that you hate me, and that your hate is justified. I'm not sure how it happened, I can't quite remember it at all. All I can remember is your brother falling.

I am home now, I asked my mother to take me from the hospital. I couldn't stand to be there anymore. It was no longer my safe place, my hole to hide in. Being hidden away there for so long has made me forget how beautiful the world is. I really looked at the scenery on the way home, truly admired the color of the sky and the way the clouds danced. Mother brought me to a small café on our way home and I had coffee for the first time in years. It is so hard, being somewhere with 'normal' people and trying to hide how scared you are. Even though Mother kept a hand on my shoulder the whole time and ordered for me, standing there and trying to smile politely at the barista was scarier than any nightmare I can remember having. Of course... it's the ones you don't remember that always scare you the most.

I'm not sure you'll want to see me again, and I wouldn't blame you. I will miss you though, and I'm sorry for being selfish that way. I know that our relationship has always been unbalanced. The difficult truth is that I know so little about you, the you outside of our visits, and while my mother has tried to justify my behaviors to you I'm not sure there could ever be an explanation good enough to make it alright that I've never even had the courage to tell you hello.

Mother is going to try and find me a new speech therapist. I wrote her a letter just like this one, my first real attempt at communication in forever. It made her so happy. Watching her read it made me feel good, like I was trying. Like I had made progress. Something within me has changed, I think. I feel like the tragedy that occurred on the staircase has forcefully shoved me from the stagnant rut my life had become. I'm not sure I deserve it, but I will try to make the most of it. If not for myself, then for the people I care about.

I do still count you as one of those people.

Father is happy I am home for good; I think he never means to let me leave again if he can help it. There have been too many wasted years. We will be a family again, no matter how broken, it would seem. I am glad for it, even though it feels like my heart is being gripped in a vice whenever I hear footsteps coming towards my room. I hate feeling like a stranger and a prisoner all at once... but what can you do when it's been ages since your skin truly felt like your own?

Now comes the part I have been most nervous to write. I do not intend to write to you again for some time, not until I have made enough progress to feel worthy of your company. But when I do write to you… it will most likely be an invitation. I do not want you to be gone from my life completely, though I know it is very unlikely that we will ever be what I… well. Whatever you want, however much of me you want in your life, that is what I shall be. I hope that your brother recovers, from all his ailments both physical and emotional. I truly mean that. Not for his sake, I must confess, but for yours. He put himself in harm's way because of me, of things I did that he did not approve of. I don't want to write them down, I don't think that would do either of us justice. I will say that I am ashamed of what happened before he fell, and whenever I remember what did happen I am sure I will be ashamed of that as well. I have realized how truly fragile and twisted my own feelings had become. I let them cloud what could have been genuine affection and innocent first-love.

Yes. Love. I was not quite there yet, but I do think, dearest Anna, that if we had been allowed to continue along on our path I would have fallen in love with you. I still think that is a possibility, if you would have me, but before that I have to take responsibility for myself. I have to try to make myself better. I cannot love you and be a shell of a person. It would eat anyone alive, to be loved in such a manner, no matter how bright their aura.

So, dearest Anna, you must forget about me for a while. You must let me heal as Hans heals, and I can only hope we will. We have to. I fear what will happen if we don't. And you must heal too, allow yourself to exist outside of both our selfish requirements of you. You have to have the freedom to enjoy yourself outside of Hans and poor, silent Elsa.

One day soon, I will write you again. Maybe I'll even be able to call you. It would be nice to hear your voice again. It is, of course, far more likely that I will write you. I will not set unreasonable expectations for myself. Regardless, that letter will be an invitation. An invitation to join me for hot chocolate, because I know how much you love chocolate. I'm not quite sure if we ever found my truffle… but that's alright. I think perhaps that as we grow, and get older and more complex, we lose the ability to feel in absolutes. While it is all too easy for me to picture you, young and vibrant, ecstatically declaring that the first truffle you had was your favorite, and then the next one, and the one after that… I do not think one favor could encapsulate everything that I am. I have lived through too much pain, from too many sources.

Do you want to know what it was that made me work up the courage to approach you? What it was that gave me the strength to attempt a human connection? My mother has told you all about the storm, she admitted as much to me herself. So you know that I went into that storm with my voice… and came back without it. Well, I can't quite describe what happened to me that day. Perhaps I was sorry for myself, for my unborn sister, perhaps I wanted to run away from all the responsibilities of being the only surviving child, perhaps I was just a lost child. I recall a voice, most likely imagined, luring me away from the house, deeper into the trees. I wanted to get away, be alone, truly alone, without being dogged by the voice of guilt. But I was so small, so slight, and it was so cold. It wasn't before long that I collapsed against a tree, my hands shaking, my hair practically frozen to my head. I sat in the snow and shivered, and even to this day I'm not sure how I survived.

All I remember is eyes. I think at the time I thought it was a snow fairy, an angel perhaps, I'm not sure. But I distinctly remember a pair of eyes, guiding me to my feet, gently reminding me that laying in the snow would do nothing but bring more grief. Those eyes were bright, kind, and every now and then at the edges of my psyche there is a smile that goes along with them. There for an instant, then gone again. But those eyes, Anna… the eyes of the illusion that brought me home… they were yours. The same color. The same exact shade. The same sparkle. I don't understand it myself, don't ask me to explain how it happened or why, but it's the truth. From the first day I saw you in the Visitor Center (my parents were there, I'm sure you must not have noticed us. The Visitor Center used to be a lot busier than it is now and I don't wish to wonder why that is) something in me recognized your eyes and wanted to thank you. I know it's ridiculous, crazy even… but I am tired of hiding things from people I want so deeply to care about without guilt.

…I'm not quite sure how to end this, Anna, so I think I may just have to wish you well and say 'goodbye' for now. One day soon I hope to see you again, and I hope that you are happy and that you are not lonely. I know I was not much in the way of real company… I know you were lonely, Anna. I am glad that you have made new friends, and I hope you continue to make more. If there is no more room in your life for me when I write to you again, I understand. I will miss you, but I will always be grateful that you took the time to talk to me. To spend time with me. And I sincerely hope that I was able to bring some joy to your life as well.

Yours,

...Forever yours,

Elsa Helland

P.S. I've asked my mother to enclose an assortment of truffles. I kept track of every single one you brought me. I hope that when you enjoy them, whether or not you share them with others, that you will look back on our time together and not be entirely saddened.

P.P.S. You are beautiful.