I don't think I realized, as a child, how I had been hiding things from my family. Well, from my parents, anyway- I couldn't really reveal anything to Elsa whether I wanted to or not.

It would have seemed natural, at any rate- hiding things is a normal thing in this family. Just ask my parents or Elsa- they're certainly hiding something from me.

But I guess, even subconsciously, that after seeing too many dark smudges beneath my parents' eyes, after catching Mama in tears or Papa slumped over his desk, lightly snoring, my childish mind, even then, led me to feel that I should be less of a burden to my overwrought parents.

Anna, Papa once told me, a princess must be strong for her kingdom.

Strong for a kingdom? I didn't know anything about that- I had barely even seen the kingdom except from the windows of the castle.

But being strong for my family? Well, I had a lot more experience with that.

After Elsa stopped talking to me and hid away in her bedroom, things changed. Besides me not seeing her much anymore, that is.

Elsa! I used to call, hammering on her bedroom door. Come out and play! Do you want to build a snowman?

No Anna, go away.

It wasn't that bad, at first. I had other things to do and other people to play with. Gerda would play dolls with me for a bit, sometimes, and Mama made sure to have weekly tea parties with me.

Papa would take me outside sometimes. He helped me during riding lessons and started games of tag. Even a few of the guards would play hide-and-seek with me as they patrolled the hallways.

But Elsa didn't come out of her room. Elsa didn't seem to be playing with anyone inside of her bedroom, either. It was always quiet.

When I saw Mama and Papa leaving Elsa's bedroom, I asked, were you playing with Elsa?

They shared a glance- an unreadable glance that I now just recognize to mean "how much do you want to tell Anna?"

No, Sunflower, Papa would say to me. Elsa has to work on some things, now.

I didn't know why Elsa wouldn't talk to or play with me. But she should at least be playing with somebody.

That night at dinner, I came to the table with my knit puffin doll.

It's for Elsa, I said, solemnly holding the puffin out to my parents, head bowed. She needs someone to play with.

If I couldn't be there to play with my sister in person, I had to provide someone or something that could.

Mama says that when she was pregnant, Elsa asked for the baby to be a sister for her third birthday. When I was born, it only took a minute until she couldn't leave me out of her sight.

I love my sister so much, even now, and I'm used to the way our relationship works. But I can't help wondering to myself- what changed?

I hate my hair - tangled masses of bright coppery-red. Papa used to call me his sunflower because of the color of it.

It's funny- you'd think with my coloring I'd be like the sun, while Elsa, with her pale skin and hair so light it's almost white, would be like the moon.

But this universe here at Arendelle Castle works differently. I'm used to it, now- Elsa is the sun. And I'm the pale, pockmarked moon orbiting around her.

My tenth birthday had been pretty nice, as far as birthdays went in the castle after Elsa shunned me.

Papa cancelled all of my lessons for the day and he and I rode our horses to a small stream within the castle grounds. Mama surprised us (well, probably just me, as I'm sure Papa knew about it), as she later rode up to us on her own horse, carting around a large picnic basket.

We sat under the sun and ate my favorite sweets while I did cartwheels in the grasses and even went for a quick dip in the water. Papa didn't even get mad at me when I splashed them.

Later in the early evening, Mama and Papa came into my bedroom, their arms loaded with wrapped gifts. I chose to open the smallest one first. I had learned long ago that the fun lasts longer if you save the best for last.

As I was struggling to untie the bow, suddenly there was a crash from down the hallway followed by some odd whistling and cracking sounds. My hands stilled as I stopped to listen. It sounded like it may have been coming from Elsa's room.

Mama and Papa had already stood up and were by the door. They shared that look again as someone knocked on the door, booming and quick.

Both Kai and Gerda walked in. They looked tense. Kai's posture was stiff - tight like he was being drawn up by puppet strings. Gerda's hands were in fists by her sides.

Your Majesties, Kai started, there is an urgent matter we need your assistance with. His expression looked like he was trying to tell Papa something else entirely. Gerda threw me a sympathetic look, her eyes resting on my fingers still ensnared in the strings of the ribbon on my first present.

Mama and Papa ran out of the room and down the hall.

I opened my gifts alone that night.

When I was younger, I used to cry over everything. The tears would let loose if there was no more chocolate cake, if I scraped my knee, when I didn't get a math concept or couldn't conjugate a verb in Swedish.

But when I started seeing Mama crying, I felt that maybe I shouldn't be crying so much anymore.

In the beginning of Elsa and my separation, Elsa would still come down to meals a few times a week. As time went on, it became more of a surprise occasion when I saw my sister at dinner. One time when she was sixteen a whole month passed when I didn't see her at all.

But even when she came to dinner, she usually didn't stay.

Sometimes after I said something, or even when I had been totally silent, Elsa would startle. Sometimes her silverware would clink as it fell from her hands and hit her plate. Sometimes she'd snatch her hands away from her water glass, the liquid sloshing out and making a puddle on the tablecloth. Or sometimes nothing would happen at all, and she'd just stand up abruptly and ask, no, more like plead to be excused.

Half the time she didn't even wait for our parents' answer and would just run out the door. Those were the times I saw tears sitting in the corners of Mama's eyes as she turned her head to watch her eldest daughter go.

Elsa hadn't finished her peas, but I don't think Mama was crying over that.

Mama always came to tuck me in at night. First Elsa, then me- that's the way it was ever since Elsa got her own room.

Mama would tuck the blanket in around me and then stroke my hair as I fell into deep slumber. But sometimes after running her fingers through my hair, her hands would continue - tracing my eyebrows and lips, fingertips fluttering over my eyelashes. She'd rub my shoulders, run smooth hands down my back and stroke my legs until she reached my toes. It all tickled and kept me awake 'til she was done. But I let her do it- on those nights that she touched me more she came in with reddened eyes that dripped hot tears on my skin and sheets. I didn't think she was touching Elsa like that, for some reason.

Other times, when I was in my own room, I would hear yelling from down the hall - Elsa's room.

What's all the commotion? I wondered.

The loud arguments seemed to peak in Elsa's teens.

You'll be moody too, Anna, when you're a teenager, Papa would say when I caught him and Mama outside just after leaving Elsa's room. It's a rite of passage everyone goes through.

He would slip his arm around Mama's waist as he said this, pulling her close and giving her a comforting squeeze.

But if this was a normal thing for teenagers, then why were tears coursing down Mama's cheeks?

I saw Mama's tears so much, even though I don't think she meant for me to see them.

My own tears, on the other hand, stopped – there seemed to be enough crying in this family already; I didn't need to add to it. I would be a good, strong girl, and brave, I told myself. I won't add to their troubles.

They both loved me so much, I know that. And they always did their very best job to show me that they loved me. So to show them how much I loved them, I tried my very best to be less of a burden.

One night, when I was thirteen, I woke up in the middle of the night and couldn't fall back to sleep. I decided to take a quick trip out to the gardens- maybe some fresh air and the stars gleaming above me would clear my head and allow my mind to rest.

Passing my father's study, I stopped just outside the door when I realized the candles were still burning inside. Father must be staying up late tonight working. That was when I heard the hushed whispers inside.

I can't, Idunn. I won't stop until I've found answers.

There's nothing helpful in those books, Agdar, you've already tried! They're just stories, and that's all.

I will not rest until I've found an answer. There must be something, some way…

Agdar, you're killing yourself. And me. This isn't helping anybody. We're all hurting and worried, I know. But driving yourself crazy isn't going to help our family. Or the kingdom, which is beginning to suffer in your obsession.

BAM!

I jumped back, startled.

Do not tell me what I should or should not do. My father's voice became dangerous and deep. I am working to save everyone- our Elsa especially. You know, Idunn, what will happen if I do not succeed.

Mama sniffled, her voice breaking. I know, Agdar, I know. I'm just….I'm just tired. Tired of all of this.

I know, I'm exhausted too.

I hurried off to the garden. As tired as I was, too, I didn't think I'd be able to get much sleep that night anymore.

Just a year or two ago, now, I was on my way upstairs from the kitchens after sneaking a quick snack. It was time for another lesson soon and I was dragging my feet. Why did I have to learn all this stuff if Elsa was the heir?

Turning the corner, my eyes widened and I came to a halt, nearly stumbling over my own feet in my surprise. Elsa was huddled in the corner of the hallway, right outside of the main conference room.

I couldn't believe she didn't notice that I was standing there, watching – Elsa always seemed so cognizant of everything going on around her. I knew from past experience that if I made myself known she'd dart away like a rabbit. So I stood there and observed for a moment.

She looked so much like Mama now it was uncanny. Except that Mama didn't shake like that. Or breathe like that.

Elsa was hugging herself, trembling against the wall. I could hear her breaths, short and ragged, all the way from where I stood out of sight.

My eyes darted to the conference room door. She must be expected at a council meeting. I guess she's…nervous?

Elsa? I called softly, stepping carefully around the corner so she could see me. Her neck snapped up to me, her eyes growing wide at the sight of me but they were unfocused and hazy. Her stuttering breaths became even more rapid and uneven.

I took a few steps closer as she pushed herself into the corner as if she wanted to disappear into the wall. I stopped where I was, then – I knew Elsa liked her space.

I couldn't do anything – I'm not smart like Elsa, or well-spoken like Papa, or gentle like Mama. But I tried to be everything I loved about my family.

It'll be alright, Elsa, I told her. I wish she would let me hold her hands. You're going to make a great Queen someday. Papa told me that you're so smart. All those stuffy old men are going to listen to you more than they do to Papa.

I don't know if what I said helped- she still was trembling, her gloved hands still fisted in the pockets of her jacket, and her chest was still heaving. But I think that she was shaking less, and her fingers might've loosened, and I think she may have shown me just a ghost of a smile before she turned away from me and entered the room.

I stopped asking Mama to practice French with me. I stopped asking Papa to help me with my math lessons and history. My grades didn't drop, much. I had a lot more time to study without a sister to play with.

I stopped asking for help with my own problems because I saw that everything was weighing heavily on Mama and Papa - they were already stressed and busy what with running the kingdom. But mostly, I knew that they had their hands full with whatever was going on with Elsa. I know, I know - she's the heir, she should take priority.

But sometimes I was struggling. Mama and Papa do their best with me, I know, to show they love me with the scant time they have. But I never told them about how the diplomat's son, who I exchanged letters with often, broke my heart. I never told them about the weird cold spells I used to get some nights, waking up shivering and unable to warm myself. I never told them about that one guard that smacked me, about how I wanted new paintings to talk to, or that I didn't want to celebrate my birthday if it was just going to make me sadder.

I just knew they couldn't take one more weight on their shoulders by worrying about me.

I know my family loves me - well, I know that Mama and Papa do - but ever since Elsa shut me out, Joan is the only one that really knows me. (I think she does, anyway – sometimes she can be a bit forgetful).

And now it's just you and me, Elsa. What are we gonna do?

I can see that you're trying to stay strong when you walk to your meetings, now. I'm trying to stay strong, too. I won't bother you like I used to. You're going to be a great Queen, soon. And even if you don't want my help, I'll always be there if you need me – your right hand.

I don't mind being the moon if you're the sun, Elsa- but especially now, when it's just the two of us and the days are so dark- I wish I could see the sun sometimes (and not only from the shadows).