▌╳ SHATTERED.

TAGGED BY. @ushcr.

(ROUGH.) hands.  (HIDE.) hurt.  (FOOLISH.) people.   (SAD.) arendelle.   (HATE.) urn.   (LIGHT.) love. (DARK.) trapped. (MOTHER.) bitter.  (FATHER.) birthday.   (CHILD.) happiness.   (MARRIAGE.) pointless. (LOVE.) everything.   (SOFT.) helga.   (PET.) cat.   (DREAM.) real.   (DIVORCE.) dramatic. (WATER.) cold.   (LOUD.) unpleasant.   (ANNOUNCEMENT.) loud.  (SMACK.) cruel. (POWER.) thrilling. (FIGHT.) struggle. (WHITE.) winter.  (SICK.) death. (KISS.) unwanted. (HUB.) core.  (HURT.) sisters.  (HAPPY.) childhood.

she still trembles, eyes wide && glistening, hands covering her mouth. yes. it is simple enough to follow a path. but it’s DARK, that’s the problem !! madeline is scared of the dark— of the unknown !! she doesn’t want to go alone. the thought is almost too much to bear. her too-long sleeves cover skeletal hands && she hastily wipes a few tears away, but still stands there, petrified, unwilling to move. she just shakes her head, hoping that death won’t be the price to pay for FEAR. 

“it’s dark. it’s still dark. && i get scared when i’m alone. please come with me. please. we don’t even have to hold hands. please.”

of course, hand-holding is a bonus !! but the beautiful woman doesn’t like touch. madeline still feels heavy guilt for attempting to HUG the other. 

“please.”

               it is UNFATHOMABLE, at first, how one can be so frightened of the dark; it’s just shadows, after all, just a lack of light. as a child she had never been scared of the dark. she had only been very truly & deeply afraid of herself, and as she aged that fear had persisted. but the dark was just that — something that could not HURT you. ingrid knows this, can count the few things she fears and none of them happen to be darkness.

               then she thinks of the urn — of being enclosed into that tight, empty little space for years, the blackness like a VOID which she screamed into and her pleas would ECHO back to her, all as loud as the ringing of a gong. she tries not to think of that time. and here she is, thinking of it.

                           her throat  constricts the second she feels ingrid’s touch —— it makes no sense to her, how she wishes for it to revolt her and comfort her all at once, but her mind races so quickly she feels very little at all. her own fingers raise, so slow she can barely feel the air against her skin, until the pads of her own hands are pressed, feather-light, against the curves of her aunt’s hand. 

                                   ‘ that’s just  it —- I KNOW that, ever since I’ve known you I have known, but… ‘   she wants to say that’s not enough, that she’d tried to BREAK the bond between she & her sister, however fragile it already was. that she couldn’t just DECIDE on her own who was family and who was not. but she can’t tell her, can’t bring the words from the frozen, acidic taste in her throat. her eyes crinkle, refusing to cry in front of ingrid, but just the icy TOUCH of her aunt’s fingers could bring her to her knees somehow. she crumples into ingrid, cursing herself for doing so, but she falls into her frame anyway, eyes slightly wet, body limp against her, begging her —- understand me, validate me, tell me this isn’t how I’m supposed to feel.

               her niece’s COLLAPSE is inevitable; ingrid knows this — but she does not expect such a physical fall, and it is more than possible to compare it to a cave-in, a breaking & folding of slender edges altogether, and ingrid SOFTENS at the sight of it. her niece does not deserve this AGONY, but it is perhaps necessary, and it is not something that she likes to watch — but necessary things are not often enjoyable things. her softening is as very inexorable as elsa’s falling apart. she BEARS the slight burden of elsa’s weight pressed all-too-sudden against her, pale-clothed limbs tangling around the girl, pulling her close. it is as much an embrace as it is an attempt at keeping them both on their feet and steady.