This is a little one-shot collection I will update infrequently when the mood (or inspiration) strikes, but I got stuck in my multi-chapter story and needed to clear my head. Suggestions are welcome.

Firsts

First moments are precious.

Doting parents wait for the first smile. First steps. First word.

First ice.

Then the world changes, and wary traded glances say: our child . . . is cursed.

But still, the line of firsts will continue; her first birthday, her first snowfall.

And when another arrives, and now she's the first child, all the firsts come again – words, and laughter, and crawling, and steps.

They are running out of firsts; it's soon the second time they build a snowman together in snow that has not come from the clouds. Then it's the second time Anna rolls out of bed in her sleep and lands on the floor hard enough to startle Elsa into wakefulness. It's the second time she wakes Elsa in the wee hours of the morning. It's the second time she asks 'do you want to build a snowman?'

Then it's the third time. Fourth, fifth.

Elsa loses count.

Then it's the first accident. The first freezing. The first fear. The first day of isolation.

Soon the world stops; day blends into night, weeks into years. She loses count of everything. She stops waiting for 'firsts', and starts wishing for 'lasts'. She wants this to be the last time Anna knocks with a small plea that must be rebuked. She wants this to be the last time she freezes a pair of gloves. She wants this to be the last time her parents go away.

She gets that much, but it isn't what she wanted. Not like that. She never gets what she wants. She doesn't want the gloves, she doesn't want the fear, she doesn't want the isolation, she doesn't want the coronation.

But it comes anyway, and it brings a whole lot of new firsts, good and bad. The first time she smiles at Anna. The first time they laugh together since the funeral. The first time she interrupts Anna – it was just rambling nonsense anyway about soup, roast and ice-cream, and marriage. The first time the glove comes off.

It's not the first ice, but it's the first time, in a long time, anyone other than Elsa sees it.

The fear is familiar, sitting ever present at the back of her mind and just letting her know that it is still there, for as long as she needs it, because even if it's something she loathes it's something that she knows. The screaming is new; no one has screamed at her before, no one has called her a monster in so long. If she hadn't been running she might have noticed that there was no fear in Anna.

'My sister's not a monster.'

She missed that; the first time Anna defended her against her own demons.

Because she was running away, and the further she ran the quieter the fear became. It was the first time without mind-searing dread, but instead a delicious sense of peace, pushing the fear into a corner where it was waiting patiently until she called for it again. The first time using her powers for herself, to create with no one watching, no one judging.

The past is in the past.

From here on out, everything was a 'first'.

Except for freezing Anna. That was the second accident, the second freezing, the second time with fear rising to her side as her one and only companion.

And the world made little sense around her; it was twisted and red, it was yellow and angry, it was aching and sharp. It kept spiralling downhill, from the fear of 'Anna has not yet returned' all the way to the gut-wrenching despair of 'your sister is dead . . . because if you'.

The world stops. It stops with more force than she would have believed possible. It stops so suddenly, so assuredly, that she can't even keep herself upright. And then she's on her knees, everything hurts, and that's a first, too, because the cold never bothered her anyway.

It feels like death, it comes oh so close to it.

But it wasn't death, it was a second chance. A second life. A second beginning.

And this new life begins so sweetly, with a first hug, first wanted touch, first holding of hands, first declaration of 'I love you'. First realization that 'love will thaw'. First time her heart races with something other than fear.

And afterwards, there is the first time she wakes with Anna next to her. The first time she runs her hands along the banister and there are no gloves anywhere. The first time she feels the desk she has worked on for years, but never truly touched. The first time she touches Sven; he's rougher than she thought he would be. The first time holding onto Anna as she tries to skate. Her clothes feel different to the gloves. Warmer.

They run out of firsts, and Anna makes more. First moonlight walk. First midnight snack. First day off doing nothing – "No working allowed! Princess's orders. We're gonna stay in bed and do nothing all day."

Elsa loves these firsts, loves finding out all the things that she's missed, all the things Anna wished. There appears to be no limit.

"There's a first time for everything," Anna said, as they walk with hands entwined for the eighth, ninth, tenth time; she loses count fast these days. "Even if it's for the first time in forever."

This is the first time walking through the gardens together, with the flowers in bloom. Firsts can be simple; they don't have to remain etched into your mind forever. The feeling will, even if the memory fades.

"We'll do this again," Anna concludes later, then adds a little shyly. "But the first is always the best."

Elsa looks at her little sister, her eyes equal parts sad and adoring, and she feels the need to point this out: "No, Anna. The first isn't always the best."

Anna just smiles back, and Elsa gets the feeling she hasn't understood exactly what Elsa means.

Elsa tightens her grip on her sister's hand. "Sometimes the second is so much better."