ROTBFTD : Broken & Beautiful

12

Jack pov

The frosted air bit at our faces as we finally reached the ice factory. The place was eerily silent, a stark contrast to the bustling hive of activity we'd expected. We split up, each of us determined to find Elsa. Hiccup and I, fueled by a mix of worry and adrenaline, scoured the rooms, each one colder than the last. The machinery hummed a mournful tune, its rhythmic clanging echoing our anxiety.

The last room, shrouded in a chilling darkness, held the answer. Elsa, our beloved friend, was chained to the wall, her eyes wide with fear. Hiccup, ever resourceful, found a key tucked away in a dusty corner. He unlocked the chains with a click that felt like a symphony. Relief washed over me, a warm wave in the icy chill. Merida's suggestion, a thick blanket, now felt like a beacon of comfort. I draped it over Elsa's trembling shoulders, feeling her shiver despite the freezing temperatures.

'Elsa, we're here! We found her!' I yelled, the words echoing through the factory. The others, drawn by my call, rushed in, their faces etched with relief and concern. Then, Rapunzel's scream pierced the air, shattering the fragile hope that had bloomed within us. 'There's a body behind the door!'

My heart lurched. I pushed the door open, the stench of blood assaulting my senses. Elsa's father lay slumped against the wall, a crimson stain blossoming on his chest. A knife, glinting in the dim light, protruded from his heart. He was gone.

Flynn, with his usual calm amidst chaos, barked, "Come on, we need to get her out of here." I scooped Elsa into my arms, her fragile frame heavy with the weight of her grief. We fled the factory, the echoing silence of the place a stark reminder of the tragedy we'd witnessed.

Kristoff, ever the resourceful one, called 911. Ten minutes felt like an eternity before the police arrived, their arrival a beacon of order in the chaos. Elsa, still pale and shaken, was rushed to the hospital. We waited, a group of friends bound together by a shared tragedy, a silent vigil over our friend.

My mind raced. Who had done this? How could someone have gotten to Elsa first?The questions swirled in my head, a whirlwind of confusion and fear.

The doctor, a stern-faced woman with kind eyes, finally emerged. 'Elsa is in stable condition," she announced. "However, her vocal cords have been damaged. She may never speak again." She paused, her gaze meeting mine. "She's in room A13."

We followed her to the room, a sterile white space smelling of antiseptic. Elsa lay in the bed, her face pale, her body swathed in bandages. A single tube snaked its way from her arm to a bag hanging on an IV stand. 

The sight of her, so vulnerable, sent a wave of sorrow crashing over me. We had saved her, but at what cost? The thought of Elsa's father haunted me. Who had taken his life, and why? The questions gnawed at my mind as I sat by her bedside, a silent promise to be her strength, her voice, her protector. In the face of this tragedy, we had to be her anchor.