final part. more notes down the bottom.

thank you for your patience. im sorry for the ending.

once you get about halfway, you should probably have figured out how this is going to end.

part three | a bold flavour of intimacy

❄︎

The first time they share a bed, it's done with far less fanfare than Elsa had thought, but just enough to mark the event. It's not far that Anna's been sleeping on the couch – certainly not for the length of time that she had. So, Elsa had just... told her to stop.

"It's silly," she'd said, not looking at Anna. "My bed is big enough. Much more comfortable." Anna looks at her for a moment before she breaks out in a grin.

It's less uncomfortable than Elsa thought it would be. If she's completely truthful, it's actually... really nice.

And when Anna snuggles in deep, sighing contentedly into Elsa's shoulder, she wonders (not for the first time) whether Anna's right; that is is her who is human, and not Sjel.

But, that's not fair – just because Anna behaves more akin to how a Sjel would (if they were human), doesn't mean anything. And even as Elsa questions it, she knows it's wrong.

She can feel it, in the way her mind always seems to be on the befreckled young woman. The way her heart surges, thumping and beating for Anna. As if her very life force, her very essence, is dependent on this young woman.

It's the way she can't stand to be apart from her. The very thought brings an ache to her chest, and an urge to press close and never let go.

She wonders if Anna feels the same things before brushing the thought aside.

Humans can live without their Sjels. Not the other way around.

It explains so much.

❄︎

The first time Elsa initiates contact, she does so unexpectedly. Though, perhaps any kind of initiation from her is unexpected; it's just... different.

Anna's in the kitchen, talking about her day as she chops up some veggies for dinner.

And suddenly, Elsa's there, hand resting at the top of Anna's arm. Anna falls silent, putting the knife down to flit her gaze between Elsa's eyes and her hand. Both of them watch – are drawn to – Elsa's slender fingers as they make thier way up freckled skin.

Elsa can feel Anna tremble, and it makes something clench in her in a not-so-painful way. Her gaze is drawn to Anna's face – her eyes, her nose, her lips – just as her hand comes to cup her cheek.

They're in the perfect position for Elsa to see Anna's eyes widen as she just stares.

And then Anna's lifting her hands to cover Elsa's, holding them there. Elsa lets her thumbs rub at the skin, and Anna doesn't move.

Nothing else happens, but that's not really important. The fact that she did something... that's what matters.

❄︎

It's hard to fall asleep that night. At least, for Elsa. She's never had a problem before, but now, every time she tries, she's overcome with the urge to just look at Anna. To touch her and hold her.

For the first time in her life, she wants to be touched. And not necessarily to hold hands and share skin.

She wants to be touched in ways that are more undefinable. Ways she'd never really thought about before because they didn't matter and they didn't apply.

Her cheeks warm and her nose flares, and she's torn between leaving and waking Anna up.

Anna would understand, Elsa thinks. She doesn't say much, hasn't ever really offered much about her personal life, but she just exudes confidence. She knows what she's doing – now that Elsa thinks about it, she probably even has experience. Practical experience. Elsa doesn't even have a clue as to what that entails.

Heart sinking a little, she decides against waking her up. Even decides against asking her about it because she doesn't want to seem desperate. Instead, Elsa just presses herself a little closer. Anna murmurs something under her breath, and even in sleep, she opens her arms and lets Elsa in. Elsa can't help but respond.

She has twenty years to catch up on, after all.

❄︎

Then, it all goes horribly, terrifyingly, wrong.

Anna gets sick.

And it's not just "Oh, have a cough?" sickness. No, this is illness. It's bedridden, painful, and Elsa is hopelessly unhelpful.

It goes on for weeks; every time Anna seems to get better, it's followed by a sharp downturn. Eventually, Elsa fears the moments she seems well, because they're always followed by something worse.

Touch becomes their everything, and the moments without Anna at her side are the most painful she's ever experienced.

Finally, she breaks, though. Anna refuses to go to the doctor, a hospital, anything, and Elsa can't understand why. There's no reason to refuse, but Elsa only cracks when Anna bites out something that makes her stop dead in her tracks.

"I thought it was going to be worse than this."

Elsa just stares at her, the words swimming around her head but not sinking in. They can't, because if they do, other horrible truths will come out.

Anna knew this would happen. Has known for a while. How long has she been sick for?

With a voice low, not from anger, but terror, Elsa speaks. "Get up. We're going."

And perhaps Anna realises some things herself, because she doesn't argue.

❄︎

The worst word ever created, Elsa thinks, is "terminal".

The worst sentence is "there's nothing we can do".

And perhaps Anna's even more broken than she'd let on because as soon as the doctors leave them alone, she shatters, and everything comes spilling out.

How she'd always been sick, even as a child.

How she, like Elsa, had never been expected to live.

Her joy at finding her Sjel, her soul, her other half.

"I thought it would get better," she admits one day. "The sickness, and the pain. I thought it would get better when you were in my life."

She's sitting in a hospital bed, gown too big for her now. Her eyes don't sparkle in the same way anymore, and her freckles stand stark against her ever-paling skin.

The words hurt, more than they should, Elsa supposes. Perhaps that shows on her face because Anna looks away.

Her eyes swim, and when she says, "I think I'll have a sleep..." Elsa knows its her cue to leave, no matter how much she might want to stay. No matter how much she needs to stay.

It stops mattering, though, when she gets up to leave.

She doesn't even make it two steps before her vision blacks and she collapses. The last thing she hears is Anna, crying out for her.

❄︎

The doctors have nothing to offer her. They sit, baffled, four or five of them in a pow-wow at a time, debating medical anti-miracles.

Spontaneous total organ failure at twenty-two years of age.

It doesn't hurt. It doesn't even really feel like she's sick. Every time they'd tried to move her elsewhere, her vitals would plummet; Anna was her medicine, her life-saver.

Any anger or bad feelings vanish. They get their own ward and don't sleep much, because how can you sleep in the moments before death? How can you sleep knowing that life and consciousness' time is limited?

The doctors return every day to separate their beds, and every night, they move them back together again. It helps, they think; they don't get any better, but neither do they worsen.

It takes months for either to admit just how tired they are, and when they do, Anna's the first to voice it.

She knows what her death will mean; it means Elsa will die, and there's nothing she can do about it. Sometimes, when the pain becomes too much, Elsa knows that's the only thing that stops her ending it then and there. Some days are better than others. Some days they can hold hands and step slowly through the hospital, out into the sunshine of the lawn and spend a half hour imagining.

Some days, though, are downright frightening. Anna's so much weaker than she ever used to be, and it's only through Elsa's strength that she can make it to the bathroom some days.

Eventually, it worsens, and it doesn't get better. They stop moving the beds; instead, Elsa moves herself, and they huddle close on Anna's cot, holding each other until the morning. They only sleep when they physically can't remain awake, both cognisant of the fact that any night could be their last.

❄︎

It's only early one morning when Elsa feels eyes on her. She must have slipped into her slumber, but Anna hadn't followed.

She's looking at Elsa, tired eyes soft, a thumb rubbing along her cheek.

"Happy birthday, my little Sjel," she murmurs. It's too hard to speak any louder. It's hard to speak at all. Elsa furrows her eyebrows and tries to sit up, but it only brings a groan from Anna as she's jostled.

"Anna?"

The redhead sucks in a breath. She tries to move, too, but can't quite work up the strength.

"I'm sorry, Els," she grits out. "I didn't- your birthday."

Elsa shakes her head, at a loss, though her heart is sinking and her eyes are prickling. Her body knows something's wrong, even if her mind hasn't quite caught up yet. "Anna, shh, don't speak," she says. Begs. "Save- save your strength.

A huff of air that could be a laugh, and the most beautiful smile Elsa's ever seen. A hand comes up, swaying through the air as she scrambles for purchase against Elsa's face.

Guides her down for one last desperate moment together, pain and anguish disappearing for a single moment as their lips meet.

It's Elsa's first kiss, and as Anna becomes limp beneath her, and as the atoms of her being separate, caught in the first light of the morning, she thinks that it's the single most precious gift anyone's ever given her.

okay this wasn't supposed to go this way. the intimacy was supposed to be sex. but then, as i was writing it, that wouldn't work. didn't work. that wasn't what these characters were about.

and i suppose, in a depressing and morbid way, what is more intimate than dying with someone?

im sorry but i hope you liked it anyway. trust me when i say elsa and anna are in a better place here. in a way, it's almost cathartic (for me, as the author). and this is probably the way astrarisks would have wanted it to end ;)

please dont shit on it. im tired of having to justify why i, as an author, choose to write what i do.

fuck you too, anon :)