🕑 Added 2014-10-30 19:40:17 +0000 UTC
Elsa wasn’t sure quite what to do. Ingrid had told her to get comfortable with her body, but it was her body. How could she be uncomfortable with it? It was only her powers she was uncomfortable with, and even them she was growing familiar with.
She tried to make herself more comfortable than comfortable. Took a hot bath—which even she could enjoy—washed herself, combed the tangles from her hair. Then she tried touching herself how Ingrid had. In the place Ingrid had.
Nothing happened. It wasn’t unpleasant; there was a kind of tickle that resonated warmly up her stomach. She tried to rub harder and increase the sensation, but it only let to a painful cringe between her legs. She took her hand away, not sure what she was doing wrong. Not even sure what doing it right would entail. Anna was counting on her to know these things and once more she was failing her.
In desperation, Elsa tried to do what she only half-thought she had seen Ingrid do. She extended a single slender finger and brought it inside her. It was tight, awkward—then a sharp jolt of pain had her whipping her arm away. With a curse, Elsa froze the bathwater into brittle ice, breaking free of it as she rose. It came off her in sheets of snow. She looked at her body, pale and sharp, and thought of how useless it was. Even if she were beautiful as Ingrid, what good would it be? Her power was around her neck like a millstone—even if Arendelle needed a weapon, they had Ingrid.
“Is it cold in here or is it just me?” Ingrid asked, looking the picture of royalty in the doorway, hands clasped in front of her just so, eyes concerned ever so slightly, mouth upturned in a just right smile of reassurance.
