Disclaimer: Don't own them.

It had started with a muted disagreement over dinner—Anna had asked if she could be allowed to go on the voyage across the sea, to Weselton, her father had said no, and the conversation had escalated until:

"What are you going to do? Are you going to lock me in my room like you did with Elsa?"

The sudden silence rings sharply in the deserted dining hall.

"Anna," her mother says, voice quiet and measured.

It's a plea for restraint, but Anna doesn't care—she's never wanted anyone to hurt quite like she does now. "Yeah, I figured out what happened. She did something bad, right? So you shut her away, to punish her." She's been thinking about this for years, and all the pieces fit—Elsa wouldn't have just left her overnight, it couldn't have been her idea. Her voice cracks, and the anger worms away, replaced by a desperate something that she can't quite describe. "But I don't understand—why can't you just—forgive her? She's your daughter."

I am, too, Anna doesn't say, I'm your daughter too—don't you want us to know each other? Don't you want this family to be together?

"Why won't you—"

Her father slams down a fork, his face a strange mixture of anger and helplessness. "That's enough. Elsa is performing her duties as heir to the throne, and I expect you to—"

But Anna is done. "You don't care about this family!" she shouts, and runs from the table, ignoring her mother's call.

In her room, she grabs the old dolls and crawls under her bed on a whim. "I don't understand," she whispers to the Elsa-doll, her breath hitching. "I just don't understand. Why won't anyone explain?"

There's no response; she is fourteen years old and talking to a doll. She throws them back into the closet and lays on the floor of her room. The patterns on the ceiling begin to blur, so she squeezes her eyes shut, ignoring the prick of tears.

She watches from a hidden doorway when her parents take their leave. Elsa curtsies carefully, the picture of poise; Anna tugs on the white streak of her hair, and waits for the emptiness to pass.