Another Beauty and the BEAST story

Chapter XVI

I love you. I love you. I love you.

And then I'm jolted back into my body. My lungs gasp for air, and I open my eyes to stare into another pair. A cold warmth spreads through my chest. It doesn't hurt, more comforting than frightening. Like a part of myself returning. 

"I..." Elsa looks at me. Tears have crystallized on her cheeks, and I reach out to wipe them away. She presses her face into my palm, whispering apologies I don't understand. But I don't care for them. All I care for is her. 

I sit myself up without problems, the weight in my chest completely disappeared. I look down to find my skin paling to an icy tone, as well as something unfamiliar yet welcoming spreading throughout my body, filling every corner of it with some kind energy making my nerves twitch and my stomach flip. The bangs of my hair falls before my eyes, and I watch in wonder as the brown strands turn white. The arrowhead in my chest is gone, the blood's stopped bleeding and the only evidence of the pain is my ripped and stained shirt. 

Elsa looks at me through all that, observing every change. At first she looks afraid, then almost curious, and then apologetic when she understands what's happened. Her hands have withdrawn from my chest, and that's the only weight I'm actually missing. She backs away when I turn toward her, fiddling with her iced fingers while avoiding my gaze.

"Elsa... It's me," I say to her, my body screaming for her to come closer. I want to tell her, I want her to know. I want her. I love you. I love you. I love you. 

"I'm sorry, I did this to you," She whispers back, and although she doesn't back away when I inch closer she doesn't make an attempt to close in on me either. 

"You showed me so much, the wonder of winter and the amazing knowledge you keep stored in the library. You allowed my eyes to be opened to the truth, not only about winter but about yourself. And when my mother was sick, you let me go... And you just saved me from death, literally," I say, once again inching closer to her as more tears crystallize on her cheek. "After all that, I don't really care if you happened to change the color of my hair," I chuckle. If I wanted to I could reach out my hand and touch her, but I don't want to frighten her. I want her to accept my feelings bleeding out of every pore of my body, screamed from my every nerv, breathed with every exhale. 

"It's not that..." She whimpers, finally looking up to meet my eye. She grabs my wrist, her fingers cool against my skin, and angles my fingers upward. She exhales and her frost obeys, slowly spreading across my wrist. I don't feel it. And then a snowflake materializes in the palm of my hand, beginning in the edges and then shaping in it's own special way. I feel the energy in my body bleeding out of my fingers, and I understand. A winter emissary, just as Elsa. That's what death brought me. And I accept it instantly. 

The snowflake is carried of by the wind, and I turn to her. She looks at me, surprised over how I'm not angry at her, and her hands tremble slowly against her chest. I didn't notice when she withdrew her hand from my wrist, but the frost from her touch remains. I smile at her, truthfully, for what feels like the first time in forever. 

And then I kiss her. Carefully at first, leaning in and lightly pressing my lips against hers, but more once I feel her fingers grab the neck of my shirt. Her lips taste like roses, and I feel her long eyelashes tickling my cheek as she leans in closer. My heart almost jumps out of my chest from the happiness warming my body. And when she draws back, I smile at her once more. 

"I love you," I tell her, pressing my forehead against hers, my white hair blending with her frosted, blond bangs. She laughs a little, wiping away another tear from her cheek and puts her fingers on my cheek. Finally I've told her, the words I've longed to tell her from the first time my heart ached for her. The memories of her flash by with the words; the horse races, the reading sessions, the ordering of the objects, the way she danced and the way she shone brighter than any star when her powers engulfed her in ice and snow, her true nature showing despite her scars and the life in her eyes when it did. Her fingers against my cheek, the scars on her back, and her broken soul oozing out of her as she spent hours staring at the ripped photography in the West Wing. And I want the whole of it. I don't want her to be normal or cured, I want her to be the emotional yet shy personality I've gotten to know. And when I look at her, I see that she acknowledges that from the love weeping out of my gaze. She returns my smile, and for once it looks like the frost on her forearms agrees with her. 

"I love you too."