"Miss Arendelle?"

Elsa blinked. Her tutor looked at her expectantly.

"Oh, my apologies," she replied, shaking her head and shuffling her papers around only to realise that the very first on the pile was the one she needed. "Um, here it is. I had some trouble with one of the equations last night. I think you may need to explain the formula to me again."

His expression was almost nervous. His cleared his throat to mask his discomfort, but his eyes always gave him away to Elsa. He had been tutoring her for months now, but he was neither quite used to being in Arendelle Manor nor being around Elsa. She knew the people of her town very well—their natural instinct was to search out familiarity, and both she and her home were far from being things to which they were accustomed. The townsfolk were the kind who enjoyed small talk and relaxed environments. A class would be taught by someone who was either your father's poker buddy or your cousin's wife's god-sister. That closeness between teacher and student was something Elsa did not have with any of her tutors. They all had to go through the "strictly business" model with her, and some were able to deal with it and get the job done. Others found it too taxing to handle hours of trying to get through to a girl whose only communication would be the answer to the question on page sixty-eight.

This particular tutor was a small, shifty older man with a comically bushy moustache and an even more ridiculous toupee. He had since retired from the high school though often gave supplementary classes (for a hefty fee) on the weekends. During the week, he'd work with Elsa. She did not particularly care for this one—he was a bit too much sometimes—but he was the best at what he did and Elsa couldn't replace him, especially as she was already so particular about who was hired. Most of her educators consisted of retirees or teachers in their forties; she specifically requested that none of the applicants be any younger. Older people may have been likely to ask more questions (questions, while irksome, could be ignored or left unanswered), but younger people made her painfully aware of the possibilities of her life. She didn't want to think about things like that, of what she might be missing. She was content studying, and in a couple months' time, she'd be able to sit her tests, get a diploma and be done with it. She'd be eighteen soon and that would make her a dutiful child and responsible adult who finished her high school education as per her parents' wishes.

Her tutors all agreed that Elsa had the ability to do extremely well, enough for a scholarship to a university (though with the inheritance her parents had left her, Elsa had little need for extra financial aid). She'd be easily accepted otherwise to very good schools with her aptitude and grades. Most of the teenagers of Arendelle were unlikely to go further; they were happy to take over or be employed under some family-run business or local franchise, start their own homes, work with or as shippers and traders. Everyone was content remaining right where they were. Elsa had thought about actually applying for a university at some point. Leaving would mean she could get away from a place that was, in more than one way, an inescapable part of her identity.

Would that be "running from myself", then?

"You're as distracted as a three-legged mongoose in a chicken's coop," her tutor said, interrupting her thoughts again, and Elsa felt her chest tighten with unwanted anticipation for the question she knew was coming next. "Is there something wrong? Would you… like to discuss it?"

Elsa looked down at the sheets on which she did her homework. She collected the papers, arranged them neatly and handed them to the tutor.

"I wouldn't," she replied. "Thank you."

He accepted them, his face ruddy with discomfiture. He began rifling through the sheets.

"Well then let me take a look at your problem question."

"That won't be necessary. I think our time here is up, Mr. Weselton."

"Are you sure? We still have thirty minutes left!"

"I'm done for today," Elsa said with a tone of finality.

He nodded far too vigorously and pushed the glasses he wore further up his nose bridge. Elsa disliked being so severe with people, but she knew if she didn't insist, he'd continue asking questions and that was the last thing she wanted.

"I didn't—I mean I understand your wishes, Miss Arendelle."

"It's fine," Elsa reassured him. "I apologise for being curt. I have a bit of a headache. You'll be compensated for the entire session, so please see Gerda before you leave."

"Comprehensible, absolutely comprehensible! So, I'll just correct these and bring them back to you tomorrow. We'll continue with this lesson, not a problem!" he fretted, gathering his things and putting them into his briefcase. "Good day to you, Miss Arendelle."

"Good day, Mr. Weselton."

He tipped his head politely, and Elsa had to conceal the smile that threatened to cross her face when his hairpiece shifted out of place. He saw himself out of the study, giving her a final flourishing toodle-loo before exiting. Elsa leaned back in her chair, exhausted, covering her eyes with a hand.

Get it together. There's only one more week of this and then you'll be off for the holidays.

She almost chuckled at herself—"holidays". For someone who stayed at home as a near-permanent fixture, she found it amusing that she still gave herself breaks for the winter. But she knew her tutors would be busy with Christmas festivities. The town loved the season more than any other time. Elsa did as well, when the gates of her home were open, and people came to ice-skate on the lake. There was a rink in town, but there were always those who preferred the aesthetic of the open air surrounded by woods, and away from what little hubbub the town had to offer. Since she had shut them out from entering the premises during Christmastime, she knew she had gotten an unsavoury reputation amongst the younger residents especially. She had heard a group of boys arguing once about there being a "selfish snow witch" living in the manor (Elsa had no doubt they had appropriated the term from some older siblings, and in their case, "witch" was probably spelt with a "b"). Arendelle Manor had been a hotspot for adolescent dates during the wintertime. She probably ruined quite a lot of teenagers' tentative hand-holding or snogs off in the woods. She had been walking Marshmallow and the children had not seen her, but the minute they did they scampered off, most likely terrified that she was going to turn them all into snowmen.

Being cold IS your speciality.

She had to admit that she missed it, not only the company, but skating as well. She hadn't been to the lake in ages. Not since Anna had fell through the ice that night. She couldn't go near it after that.

She could've frozen to death.

She rubbed her eyes, a real headache threatening to begin.

Because of YOU.

Why did Anna have to come back? Elsa had managed to go a stretch without berating every aspect of her existence. She had a routine, a way to face the day to day without event. The status quo was acceptable. Now Anna showed up with her willingness to make things better. Elsa believed herself to be completely unworthy of having someone like that in her life in the first place. Anna was all motion, and Elsa was satisfied with stasis. She was the kind not to rock the boat but Anna was the one who'd jump out of it without a life-vest on. For Elsa was fine with keeping things safe; Anna on the other hand was always in the business of saving.

She hasn't given up.

Elsa went to the study's window and pulled the thick curtain back to peer outside. Mr. Weselton was on the ground below, hurrying out. Kai had Marshmallow on a leash, and from what she could hear through the glass, the dog was barking rather aggressively. Kai never liked Mr. Weselton. Elsa had suspected some bad blood remained between them; she had heard from Gerda that they were once classmates as boys and had been antagonistic to one another back then. Elsa didn't see, but she was sure Kai was wearing a smug grin on his face as Weselton nearly slipped on some ice on his way out the gates. His hairpiece fell off entirely, and he scooped it off the ground, hustling to get to this car. It was the kind of sight that made her wish Anna was around so they could share a good laugh about it.

Why hasn't she given up on me?

The question bothered her more than anything else. Anna was the dearest person she had ever met. Anna's kindness was apparent in everything she ever said or did, with every card Elsa had ever received, for all the months that Anna had spent sitting outside her door talking to her. She knew that Anna was pure light. If God could be bothered with the craftsmanship of a single soul, he personally approved the blueprint of hers. Her inexhaustible goodness reminded Elsa that even someone as wretched as herself could still be loved by someone like Anna. She already was—wholly, willingly—if yesterday had proven anything to her. After all, she did show up and try to talk to Elsa, and still attempted a reconnection despite the bitter reception. Elsa was gifted with something she disrespected, and she felt a strong shame with herself for that. But what else could she do?

She's trying to do the right thing. And I'm being an ungrateful fool.

The distance had to be kept. Elsa knew she didn't deserve a selfless friendship like that. Not only did she reject it, but she had corrupted the very essence of the thing, muddied it with her own impure emotions which (and if last night were a testament to anything) still existed strongly.

Don't feel, don't feel, don't feel.

She had thoughts, fancies, and even dreams about some of the things she had read in books over the years. They were the kinds of things she'd open her eyes to in the morning and feel as though she'd been running in her sleep—her heart would've been beating that much. They were vivid daydreams during less-than-inspired essay-writing afternoons. There were days she would press her forehead against the cool glass of the attic window, trying to ignore the heat coming off her skin. There were nights where she'd be at her desk, crossing her legs to contain the feeling between them.

How could she think that I hate her, when…

When Elsa was sure that there was no other girl on the planet she had loved as half as much.

"What do you know about love?" she whispered to herself, pulling the curtain back into place and going back to her work station.

Her notebooks, folders and stationery were unusually scattered across the oak desk. No doubt Mr. Weselton noticed the mess. She generally had her belongings laid out before tutors like they were on perpetual display. Her transparency could disappoint her sometimes. She wasn't like Anna, whose heart thumped in a happy beat on her sleeve. Elsa considered her occasional obviousness as less than charming; it never revealed positives about her personality, just all her shortcomings. She started packing the stationery away: mechanical pencils and ink pens into the pencil case, loose sheets of paper back into their respective folders, the text books stacked from largest to smallest from the bottom up.

Don't think. Just do.

There it was—order, neatness. Organisation helped her make sense of everything. Things had their own place. Sequential design. Sensible distribution.

The books in the study looked at her and she recalled her own volumes that were piling up in the attic, unshelved, but making their own neat little stacks in the corners closest to the window.

"Everything has its right place, Elsa," he father said to her, taking the book out of her hands and slipping it into the empty slot on the shelf. "The books go?"

"Back on the shelves!" a young Elsa answered eagerly.

"Your dolls go?" he asked, giving her a knowing wink.

Elsa gave him a small smile.

"In my toy chest."

"And not?"

"On the floor."

"Don't give Gerda any more work than she already has, okay?"

He stepped down from the ladder and rested a hand gently on her head.

"It's a lot easier to just leave things as they are. But is that 'right'? The easy way to do something can at times be the wrong way to do it. And the wrong thing is sometimes the easiest thing to do, isn't it? We're Arendelles, and we should try to do the right or proper thing all the time. Even if it's boring or difficult, like making sure our rooms are tidy or doing well on tests or helping someone, even if it puts us out of the way."

Elsa considered what he had said and then brightened.

"It's easy to do the right thing, papa. Look."

She went to the sofa where she left an ancient copy of Struwwelpeter. Her father watched as she returned with the book, pushed the step ladder down a few shelves and began climbing. With some effort, she managed to put the book back.

"That wasn't hard," she said triumphantly, climbing down.

He laughed, "Maybe it's simpler than I thought. But that one should be kept under 'H' for Hoffman."

"I know papa, but I think it would be better here."

"And why is that?"

"If you put it on this shelf, then it's with all my other picture books."

"Even if it's a picture book, it belongs in the H section."

He walked over to the shelf Elsa had spent the last week organising, and started removing the books, looking down their spines to get the authors' names.

"Remember, Elsa. Everything has a place where it's supposed to be. Now let's get all those books of yours sorted."

Elsa gathered her things and left the study. She had another tutor visit scheduled for the afternoon. Normally she would wait in the study until they arrived, but she felt the need to get out. Perhaps she could skip this afternoon's session as well (even though it would mean more work tomorrow). She deposited the things in her bedroom and left to find Gerda, who was in the kitchen peeling potatoes.

"Gerda, did Mr. Weselton find you?" she asked.

Gerda looked up from the sink and gave Elsa a cheery smile while continuing to peel.

"He did," she answered. "And he made sure, as usual, to count every single bill before he walked out of the house, the old miser. As though this household would ever cheat him! When you get to our age, dear, you'd think you'd relax a little."

"Gerda, is it all right if I stay here for a bit?" Elsa asked. "I-I won't trouble you."

You've known this woman your whole life. Relax.

"It's no trouble, dear. I'm glad for the company."

Elsa stood closer to Gerda, watching her handiwork. There were times she felt like this and would just want to be near her or Kai while they did some task or the other. They thankfully never made a big deal about it even though she was sure she was disturbing or distracting them, in spite of whatever they had said to dissuade her otherwise.

"May I help?" asked Elsa, eyes following the long peel of brown skin unravelling smoothly from the creamy white spud.

Gerda opened her mouth to object, but then closed it, pointing her chin to the small bucket of potatoes on the floor.

"Those need washing, Miss Elsa. Would you be a dear?"

Elsa nodded, deeply appreciative for not being dismissed as too dainty to wash dirt off potatoes. Normally Gerda would fuss about Elsa doing anything close to menial, but on occasions like these, Elsa was sure the old woman knew when relenting was an act of benevolence. She stationed herself on the other side of the double sink, feeling the warmth radiating off the other woman.

She remembered what Gerda had instructed the last time she got to wash vegetables: fill a basin with water, wash the dirt off, empty the water when it's too muddied and then fill it up again with clean water. ("Don't waste the running water!"). She got a bowl that Gerda had out for that purpose and filled it up. She raised the small bucket up to the counter so she'd have easier access. Now she had to get into the rhythm of washing. She took one of the potatoes and submerged it. The water was tepid against her fingers and the grains of dirt scraped lightly against her skin. The only sounds in the kitchen were the sloshing of the water in the basin and the crunch of a knife against potatoes.

"We'll have this and chicken for lunch today," Gerda began. "Would that be all right?"

"You know I'm fine with anything you cook."

"Some days aren't 'chicken and baked potatoes' days. It's always good to make sure!"

Elsa laughed, replying, "Maybe today really isn't a chicken and baked potatoes day. But we've already made the decision, so I suppose there's no turning back."

"Oh no, dear," she responded, shaking her head, the soft fat of her cheeks jiggling. "You can always change your mind, and there's nothing wrong with that. There's always something else to cook up."

They worked together in silence after that until Elsa had finished washing every potato from the bucket. She handed the now-clean potatoes to Gerda.

"You make it look so easy," Elsa said, watching as Gerda seamlessly slid the blade against the skin.

"It's not that special. With enough practice, it becomes a second nature," Gerda clarified.

"I like that. How it works. The pattern of a singular motion," Elsa struggled to explain, very aware that she was going to sound ridiculous. But in that moment, she desperately wanted to share this sentiment lodged in her chest. "There's a set method, a structure to what you do to get the desired result. You keep at it and it works, all the time. I-I like how foolproof the technique can be once you master it. It's complete control."

Gerda's countenance gave away her confusion, and Elsa instantly felt mortified. But the older woman's expression soon softened and she held up a half-peeled potato.

"Look at this."

From what Elsa could see, parts of it were blackened on the inside.

"Even if I know how to peel one of these without looking, there's no controlling this. You get ones like these, and then what good is my peeling know-how?" said Gerda, pitting the rotted piece out. "You just have to change up what you're doing. I don't know about you Miss Elsa, but peeling potatoes would be dull if I got good ones all the time!"

Elsa conceded that it would have been.

"Now come on, get a knife from the drawer and start peeling."