Greetings, this is another tribute to Elsa and exploration of her personality! There was meant to be more of a story to be handed over here, but then I decided that I could post it as a separate chapter, to give it some spacing.

One thing that highlights my appreciation for Elsa is her abilities (but not how she treats them for most of the story). If I was during that time and I saw her conjure random things out of snow or ice, I'd be flailing-gesturing to what she was doing. But how much does she fully accept and administer her powers? After the time she thawed the kingdom, you know? She did make a palace out of you-know-what. And maybe, with all her time occupied in her rule, she has nightly outings and it sometimes goes like this.

Also, I wish this story makes sense.

Disclaimer: Disney owns Frozen and its awesomesauce characters.

Joy

A two-shot

Chapter One

The moon was full tonight, marking the end of July as it glistened onto the lake and fjord with its natural luminescence.

In the heart of it all, was Elsa. Dressed in ice like weeks ago, she stared at the celestial shapes silently, soaking up their brilliance as she reached the sandbar leading to the waters. Its surface reflected a young woman instead of a child playing dress up, a sight that comforted her. In the moon and stars, she felt small, although she was connected to nature on a grander, more innate scale.

Here she stood, no longer confined from using her powers, manning the kingdom as she would without the pressing judgment that came when her powers were the subject.

To experiment, she set a heel above the water, marveling when the near contact brought crystallization. Each stride triggered thin, sturdy platforms spreading in controlled pulses as she traveled further down the lake, the water lapping at her creations with ripples. She halted in her icy peninsula, trusting it to support her weight.

Well. This is quite an experience. Elsa clasped each of her elbows and gazed at the moon, blinking heavily as if she was in the sun's glare. A breeze skimmed past her, accenting the solitude that came with a calm night. Only very few would have moments like these in their lifetime. Pivoting, she counted twelve platforms and many meters, intrigued by her own snowflake motif. Another glance returned to the stretch of the fjord. She could do so much more.

Exploration in ice and snow, to be exact.

Even if the instances she used her abilities shadowed the amount from the course of thirteen years, more than half of her life, she had second thoughts. Thinking before she leaped was her second nature, unlike the bold acts by her sister frequently made, although well-meaning. No one wanted another summer chill, even if her people had come to accept her powers. Well, most of them have.

Elsa sighed, taking a final look at her reflection. With a step, she swept her arms broadly. Swirling powder flourished from nowhere, and she raised her hands, curling them into fists.

The snowflakes halted in midair, and she squinted at them wonderingly. They were like brushstrokes on a painter's canvas. Even if what she made would not always be large, the details pleased her.

A thought popped into her head, and out of curiosity, she clapped.

They burst like confetti, and she almost blundered off her platform and into the water. She pinwheeled her arms counter-clockwise to remain dry. "Wow," she breathed after regaining her balance, slicking back the bangs that had slipped onto her forehead. Finally, it's beautiful. For once of a few times, ice bent to her will and became a harmless presence.

Her heart flipped in her chest as she conjured stalagmites, then shapes, then suspended snow, then countless things that resembled objects.

Elsa almost generated the guts to make a pair of oars and a boat, but caught herself in time. Her powers were fresh, still foreign to her. Extents remained questionable. Ice had a dangerous yet delicate nature simultaneously, all left with her.

Just as it crossed her mind, her excitement diminished. During the rush, she had reached the middle of Arendelle's deep lake.

If she had released it too far…

Doubts were forming on her conscience as she dispelled most of her creations with cancelling motions while retreating to the sandbar, noting dully that the moon was winked out by altostratus clouds. She was clearly getting past curfew. The work of a ruling monarch ended with their final breath. It's too far to be getting these ideas, Elsa. She chided herself. While she enjoyed the release, she wished Anna could have seen her practice. Or she could make one more.

"One more." She repeated to herself, voice barely over a whisper. Not as soaring and broad as the castle she preserved in the mountains, but this was her dabbling in a rare art. She was her only teacher, unfortunately.

How would you judge ice sculptures? To make it different—a good different? Her younger sister's words involuntarily placed a smile on her lips. She wanted to capture a feeling she could not name.

The platform beneath Elsa wavered slightly, and the young woman caught herself, stabilizing it with fresh sheen of frost. Get to work. Perform, orchestrate. She quickly placed a hazy image in her mind. Just let it be.

Taking a deep breath and long strides, she straightened and positioned her hands at front, glazing the lake's surface; she wanted her creation to hold. Soundlessly, she scoured the view with her eyes, absorbing the silence, waiting for nothing in particular. She bit her lip.

Elsa thrusted coils over the waters, urging them upwards to swirl like liquid silver. With precision she paved smooth edges and ragged splinters onto a translucent spire that rose high, giving the structure a frayed appearance while it climbed to a height that seemed to match against the mountains.

Rough ice—they formed nodes. Smooth, looping swells—they formed four petals and more curling within, blooming above the stem. Their gentle curves drooped back to show wrinkly details.

Elsa was out of steam once she conjured ice to hold her creation afloat. Chest heaving, she slipped to the end of her platform and sat, allowing a satisfied smile cross to her face. The moon had returned, casting light on the broad shape, which she examined from afar, humming thoughtfully.

It was like a kaleidoscope of blue, broken shards of the color shining on the water and illuminating the surrounding night. She wanted to look at it forever, but when a chill unrelated to her abilities settled on her bones, she pushed off, resigning for the night. From her experience, she hoped dearly that the ice sculpture would remain in sight when she woke up.

What could it look like from the view from the window, in the morning? She could only dream.

Frozen gives me lots 'o feels.

Okay; the title was sort of inspired by "Joy to the World", which could've been the title of this story, but I don't do justice in expressing one big emotion. I was also listening to Claude Debussy's Danse Styrienne Tarantelle, Reunited and Sante Fe by Emily Bear, and maybe Tchaikovsky's Waltz of the Snowflakes, and anything of them could be picked up if you want to get in the moody accompaniment.

This was a lot of internal conflict here. Is what she's thinking pretty clear? If so, I'm glad.

I can take constructive criticism and reviews, if I left something hanging, tips, and if this does sound like Elsa? (I know she's pretty expressive but repressed.)

Also, even if I poke around with this, there's bound to be some grammatical errors and punctuation problems. It should be pointed out.

Sincerely,

Pianist707

P.S. Creation symbolism is in here~!