Voices

Chapter One

Tragedy

She could remember the exact moment she first heard the voices.

It was the day after the accident that nearly took her sister's life. One day—could it really only have been one?—after she—Princess Elsa, heir apparent to the throne of the kingdom of Arendelle—in a moment of childish merriment unleashed her unique abilities—her gift, her mother called it—and struck her younger sister in the head with a concentrated blast of arctic energy.

In that moment, Elsa realized, despite her mere eight years of life, that her powers were not some trinket to be frittered about for her own amusement. The fact that her sister's life had been spared through the intervention of an ancient and mysterious race of magic wielders did nothing to alleviate her guilt, her sorrow, her shame. Rather, the past 24 hours had seen her emotional state precipitously decline.

Her parents had quickly decided that Elsa was to be shut away from all human contact until she learned how to control her powers. As soon as they had arrived back at the palace from visiting the healers who saved her sister—no, Anna; my sister has a name, it's Anna!—Elsa was taken to her bedroom, without the opportunity to say goodbye to anyone, least of all to Anna. She had begged, bargained with, pleaded with her parents to reconsider—It was an accident! I can control it! Please don't take me away from Anna! Mama! Papa! I'm sorry! Please don't hate me!—but the king's decision was final. She could still remember the look on her father's face as he locked the door behind her, the image forever etched into her mind: a haunting mixture of fear, misery, regret, with perhaps a touch of shame, embarrassment, despair.

Had it really been only one day? For Elsa, it seemed as if it had been a lifetime. She spent that first day huddled in the corner, not daring to move lest she unintentionally unleash another wintry wave of destruction. Painful sobs racked her body over and over again; no matter how hard she tried to suppress them, they continued to pour out of her. At mealtimes, an unknown servant brought her tray, but Elsa never left the corner; she had neither the desire nor the energy to eat.

As painful as the first day was, it was nothing compared to what she experienced when she fell asleep. Instead of blessed slumber, Elsa instead saw Anna giggling in the ballroom—Make it snow, Elsa!—skating, dancing, oblivious to anything but the exhilaration of an indoor winter wonderland. Elsa could see herself laughing along, carelessly conjuring ice and snow, mountains and mountains of snow, without a care in the world. Without warning, her vision shifted: she saw Anna leaping from snowbank to snowbank—Look at me go, Elsa! Higher! Higher!—as dream-Elsa conjured larger and larger powdery towers to support her sister as she played. The room swirled in her mind, faster and faster, as she struggled to keep pace with her exhilarated sister—Slow down, Anna! I can't keep up! But Anna didn't slow down, and as the Elsa in her mind desperately tried to keep up with her sister's reckless pace, the real Elsa tried to stop the madness—Anna! Stop! I can't! I can't! she screamed at Anna and dream-Elsa, neither of whom acknowledged her existence—while simultaneously trying to will herself out of this nightmare. Wake up! Wake up! WAKE UP!

But despite her protests, she did not wake up, and the horrific scene continued to play itself out before her eyes. Anna leaped too high, Elsa slipped on the ice—she never slipped, why had she slipped?!—her magic missed its target and struck Anna in the head, flinging her across the ballroom and landing her in a heap against the wall: unconscious, unmoving. And in her mind, Elsa screamed over and over again, for even though her conscious mind knew that Anna was okay, that she had survived, her subconscious instead showed her that the Anna in her dream would not move, would not breathe; she was colder than ice, and no matter how much dream-Elsa cradled her in a vain attempt to warm her, to bring life back to her frozen body, Anna would not wake, and the ice and snow swirled around both of them while her father screamed at her You did this! You killed her! How could you? and her mother wailed in despair. And the screams and cries of her parents joined the cacophony as hundreds—or was it thousands?—of faceless forms joined the throng—Unnatural! Unholy! they chanted relentlessly—as dream-Elsa and real-Elsa screamed—Oh, God! Make it stop! Please make it stop!—and screamed and screamed and screamed until—

Until Elsa woke, still screaming, her room covered in snow and ice unwillingly conjured by her gift—her curse—that mocked her, reminded her of the crimes she had committed against her sister, her own flesh and blood.

As she pulled herself to her feet, a fresh wave of sobs wracked her body and she collapsed to the floor again, no longer attempting to contain the anguish that tormented her soul. And as she wept, she heard it for the first time, ever so slightly, in her mind: Unnatural! Unholy!

Elsa lifted her tearstained face, nervously looking around her room. "Hello?" she called out, her voice little more than a whisper. Wiping away the tears from her eyes, she looked around the room for the source of the voice. "Is someone there?"

Of course no one was there, Elsa told herself; her father had made absolutely sure of it when he locked her in. And then she heard it again. This time, it was a laugh. Not a giggle, not a laugh of merriment, but a low-pitched cackle, growing louder and louder in her mind. Over the laughter, Elsa heard the voice once again: Unnatural! Unholy!

Terrified, the princess covered her ears, the temperature in the room dropping noticeably, frost beginning to coat the walls. "This isn't real, this isn't real, this isn't real," she whispered to herself, trying to convince herself that she was imagining things, that she was exhausted, that she had been through a traumatic experience and was hearing voices that weren't real.

But the voice wouldn't go away, and it was growing louder: Unnatural! Unholy! it repeated over and over again, an endless litany in her brain, pushing her, goading her.

Elsa clamped her hands harder over her ears, willing the voice to leave as she paced around the room in a desperate effort to drive it out of her mind. "Go away, you aren't real! Go away, you aren't real! Go away you aren't real go away you aren't real goawayyouaren'trealgoawayyouraren'trealgoawayyouaren'treal GO AWAY!"

Elsa fell to her knees in front of her mirror, and for the first time since the tragedy of the previous day she saw her reflection. A gasp escaped from her lips as she saw the striking change in her appearance. Gone was the light that always shone in her eyes; they were now dull, heavy, bloodshot, full of sorrow. Her normally immaculate hair was disheveled and scattered about. Her typically rosy cheeks were now white and pale, while her lips—so used to being turned up in a smile—was drawn and taught. What is happening to me? the young princess thought, a lump catching in her throat.

Yes, what is happening to you, you vicious little demon? The voice was back, louder than before. What, you weren't happy sharing the kingdom with your sister? You wanted her out of the way so you could rule unopposed when your father was dead? Is THAT what happened? IS IT?!

"NO!" Elsa cried, shaking her head in denial. "That's not true! Go away NOW!"

To her horror, her reflection smiled back wickedly at her and laughed. Go away? Go away?! I'm not going anywhere! I'm a part of you, dearie. Elsa recoiled as somehow, impossibly, inexplicably, her reflection leaned forward, reached out of the mirror, and touched her right above her heart. Right here!

"Get away from me!" Elsa screamed, scooting backwards across the floor, away from whatever devil was in her mirror, a thin layer of ice forming where her hands came into contact with wood.

Her reflection cackled again. You can try to hide from me, dearie, but I'll always be a part of you. The part of you you don't want to admit exists. What you fear more than anything! The part of you that almost killed your sister and will hurt anyone you let get close to you!

Tears began to stream down Elsa's cheeks once more, despite her best efforts to contain them. "Why are you doing this? I don't want to hurt anyone! Please . . . just leave me alone!"

Her reflection threw back her head and laughed maniacally as the chant began again, multiplying in intensity and volume in her mind. Over and over and over, unceasingly, in her mind it rang out: Unnatural, unholy! Unnatural, unholy! Unnatural, unholy! Building and building as Elsa closed her eyes, covered her ears, and tried to be somewhere else—anywhere else where she didn't have to be reminded of what she was: a freak of nature, an abomination, something unnatural and unholy; unworthy of her father's affection, her mother's care, Anna's love.

The crescendo of voices in her mind reached its climax and, with the power of ten thousand voices dripping with hatred and venom, a single word ripped through her consciousness: MONSTER!

Elsa screamed—in rage, despair, anguish, she didn't know—and a stream of ice erupted from her fingertips, shattering the mirror into thousands of tiny crystalline pieces that scattered about the room. The voices in her mind were immediately silenced; all Elsa heard was the quiet tingling of glass fragments hitting the floor and her own gut-wrenching sobs. So distraught was she that she heard nothing else that day, not even the quiet knocks on the door and a young girl's voice pleading, "Elsa? Can you please come out? I miss you. . . ."

The voices never truly went away, but, with time, Elsa learned to ignore them, to suppress them in the same way she was able to suppress her growing powers. Conceal it, don't feel it! became her credo. It did not matter to her that she was miserable inside, lonely, depressed, full of fear and self-loathing. All that mattered was that the world—that Anna—was safe from her. For despite appearances—the poised, regal manner she worked so desperately to maintain on the rare occasions when she was forced to interact with others—Elsa knew the truth about herself: she was indeed unnatural, unholy. But for the sake of Anna and her subjects, she carried on, even if she had to suffer in silence, from a distance, alone and unapproachable.

And suffer she did. For to her horror, Elsa discovered that no matter how much she tried to suppress it, to fight it, every night her dreams would be exactly the same. Anna would be dead, killed—no, murdered—by her own hand. And the throng of specters would rise and curse her and revile her, over and over again without pause, until she would finally wake herself up with her own screams.

And every night before she went to bed to face her demons again, she would think the same thing: I may be a monster. But, Anna, I swear I will never harm you again. Ever.

And every night as she closed her eyes, she would remind herself: Conceal it, don't feel it!, ignoring the cackling in her ears and the growing fear that she was on the verge of losing control not only of her powers, but of her very mind and soul.

AN: This is the first piece of fiction I have published for public consumption. This particular idea got in my head and would not leave until I wrote it down. My plan is to create a series of vignettes exploring Elsa's mental state at various points during the film Frozen. Feedback and reviews are greatly appreciated.