One-Shots @ Random

10. Dark Jelsa Project - Nyctophilia

A/N: Dark Jelsa Project #1 This is my first ever Jelsa Project and I had fun with it. Also, in the future, I might make a fanfic out of this because it has potential. :) Reach out if you want the discord server link!

Nyctophilia: (n.) love of darkness or night; finding relaxation or comfort in the darkness

#jhavenproject2020

WARNING: The following writing may cause angsty feels because of the theme of the writing project. 

~Jelsa_G45PRINGLE

Far as we can go North, across the trolls' territory, The Snow Queen lingers in her ice palace. You can never miss it. Basic building shapes of cylinders and prisms were created by her bare hands. The fractals branched out from the chandeliers hanging from the ceiling, on the tables and the ornaments. They were immensely detailed! Only a perfectionist and a person who favours geometry can align the architecture of such a massive personal place. Most of her works were made from her thoughts.

Her thoughts inside her brain were quite intense. They might even be trying to eat her up.

She is intelligent and cunning.

She is not one to mess with.

As the snow blizzards cover up her breath-taking palace, the more deadly the area becomes. Silence is violent. The more often you bottle-up your feelings, the higher the chance you are likely to explode.

Elsa's heart was like that.

Encased with a layer of frost, her delicate heart was more worrying to touch. Her centre was agonisingly hard to reach. You would have to go through her insecure, pragmatic, anxious and artistic parts to finally attain to her true centre.

If she uses her heart to make her moves, you are in one hell of a twisted ride.

You see, Elsa magically crafted her late loved ones into statues. She had a stage of grief.

A century has gone. Her first quarter was talking to the statues as if they were in her daily life. Every sweet greeting in the morning, from creating frozen solid breakfast she imagines in her head – fully coloured, instead of plain white and blue ice. Next, she was fuming, destroying the statues and re-building them afterwards due to guilt. Soon enough, there were several rooms Elsa had made for each emotion she encountered. The rooms were ordered in chronological order.

She cups her icy hands on the cheeks of a two-braided young woman slightly an inch shorter than her. Perhaps the heels she wore gave a boost: a boost of confidence to swallow the shards of ice down her throat.