A Yandere Elsa x Reader Fanfic
When Anna dies by a frozen heart, Elsa doesn't crumple or wither in despair. Instead she lets the darkness she's been holding back for years emerge. The Ice Queen has blood on her hands and doesn't plan to hide her wic...
Chapter republished because of Wattpad glitch again sorry :(
(Y/N)'s POV
Olaf is busy twirling on the icy floor as Elsa glides behind him. Her dark blue icy dress follows behind her, the fabric billowing above the ground as she skates like a pair of fallen wings.
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The same goes for her blonde braid, the braid flying back in resistance as she skates with her snowman family.
I gaze longingly at the two, both amazed and intimidated by their talent. While they skate about on the floor of the main entrance of the castle, laughing and smiling, my hands remain on the railing of the ice stairs; my knuckles are probably white under my thin gloves.
I could count the number of times I've skated on my fingers, and even then, most of the times I skated were when I was a child.
The last time I skated, if you could call it that, was yesterday, and it didn't end too well. I internally cringe at the memory of sliding before the queen.
I sigh. At least this time Elsa conjured ice skates over my boots, so I actually have a chance at skating this time. Then again, Elsa made the ice floor extra slippery to make skating more 'fun', soooo, ok, I'm probably doomed.
"Come on, (Y/N)!" Olaf bubbly shouts and motions to where he and Elsa are skating. "We're going to play Marco Polo ice skating version!"
"Coming, I'm just, umm testing the ice," I respond, using the tip of the ice skates to tap the ice, pretending a serious face as I do so.
Elsa continues skating but cocks her head to the side.
"You're testing my ice?"
My heart races, feeling the chilling gaze of the Ice Queen on me.
"I mean, umm, haha. Safety first."
Oh boy, this is awkward. Is it too late to run toward the wolves outside?
Olaf chimes in,
"That's silly, (Y/N), Elsa makes the best ice."
With one hand. I slowly let go of the railing to rub the back of my neck.
"Haha, yeah. What was I thinking?" My legs wobble and start to do the splits before I wildly latch harder and straighten myself on the railing.
Olaf whines.
"Please (Y/N), it's always just Elsa and me playing; I want you to join us, so let's play!"
The snowman gives me pleading eyes that I can hardly stand to look away from. How is an almost ten-foot-tall snowman monster so cute all of a sudden?
A sigh escapes me. I'm too nice (or too weak toward cuteness) for my own good.
The fear of embarrassment and determination to succeed courses through my veins, as my fingers feel the inner turmoil of letting go or holding on to the railing.
