The Coldest Moon

Summary: Little Red Riding Anna, you don't see, huh? Elsa is struggling, and her whereabouts are puzzling. Now, murders are abound, it's better if you're safe and sound. Please don't fright, your sister won't bite (much). Every month may be a hint . . . now what's this 'imprint'? *AU, Elsanna, Icest*

This is an AU and an Elsanna story in which they are sisters. So, I gave you a fair warning, therefore if this subject triggers something please don't flame me. But this chapter is very low-key on the incest. Now, speaking of the next . . . *nervous laughter*

Warnings: Graphic Images, Blood, Gore, Language, and eventual Incestuous Love in later updates.

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Chapter 1: Aftereffects

No, not now! I need more time!

Elsa struggled against every instinct within her being. But every said fiber was insubordinate to her orders. Her body, crippled on the forest floor, exploded in untamable flames within her muscles and her bones—formerly civilized and merciful—grind together, breaking and shifting into another place.

I need . . . time!

Her neck was the first to go. It snapped to the side as it bulged with a newfound placement. That formation was always the most painful. Next were her ribs. She arched her back and pushed her body up on all fours. They scrap against her flesh, moving to their fresh arrangement. White hot pain—torture more like it—coursed through her cells as she screamed, ailed and savage. Elsa cried out again, more from the forsaken side of her than her actual sane self.

"Elsa?"

Her crystal eyes, brimmed with scorching tears, widened and flickered to the source of the sound.

No!

She tried standing, but the pain was too much. The mossy ground met the side of her face. The girl ground her cheek into the littered floor as another sharp stab protruded from the base of her back.

"Elsa?" More frantic, more urgent, more worried. The person in question knew the source.

Must . . . away!

She grabbed at the grass, clawing at the earth for anything that could avoid the origin of the voice.

Go!

Elsa tried standing again. Her legs made it three steps before they buckled and she whipped the ground again with her skull. Yet the pain of the impact was moot for the anguish for her body outweighed it.

Away . . . Far . . . Hurt . . .

Simple words filled her mind. Rudimentary sounds and commands. Feral talk.

The voice came into the darkness once more, closer. Even still, Elsa could barely place it, her own cries of anguish washing it out. Then, a glint of copper came into the darkness. It bobbed up and down until it was in visage of the sprawled out woman.

One word entered Elsa's mind before the curse settled in, before the ferine animal overtook the civilized human.

Anna . . .

. . . . .

Six Lunar Cycles Earlier

. . . . .

This was not the first time the blonde had woken in a meadow starch naked.

Most people may think she was abandoned by a serial killer, assaulted by someone, or—what the consensus may think because of her age and beauty—partied so hard she striped in a drunken hazy and then passed out. Which, she thought in retrospect, would be better than the actual truth.

Platinum locks sprung up from the grass and whirled around frantically.

Dear God, not another meadow.

Flashbacks of the last time she recovered at a field sprinted across her mind as she recollects her nude body, the dried blood smeared across her mouth and chest, and a very . . . surprised male hunter. Nevertheless, that did not make her day—but it sure made the huntsman's. Elsa blinked back the black dots in her eyes as they adjusted to the blinding sun and gradually crawled across the hayfield, in hopes to make it the edge of the forest before another 'lucky' man strolled through this part of the woodland. Scrapping her knees was certainly a fair price to pay if it meant avoiding another awkward conversation with a poor, horny human.

Making it safely, and consequently unseen, the young woman stood by the embankment and tried to locate herself.

Okay, by the way my shadow is pointing means that west is there and east . . .

Absentmindedly, she folded her arms across her middle and headed north toward the highway. Being nude certainly is not in the wilderness survival guide, because as soon as she trekked along the naturally littered floor, the infernal twigs and debris stabbed the raw pads of her feet. Tiptoeing, Elsa hiked carefully away from the open space. Her senses were still hyper from last night's adventure by every chirp of a bird and clopping of a deer caused her to flinch and shrink further into herself.

The naked form traveled along her mental map of the familiar forest as the sun continued to rise in the azure sky. A cool breeze fluttered amongst the trees, making the girl shiver in all of the wrong places.

I can see why some of my kind calls this a curse. If a hunter doesn't kill you, you'll sure as heck die from isolated embarrassment.

It took another fifteen minutes of painstakingly brittle twigs stabbing her soles and perverted-feeling Fall air before Elsa came across where she shed her clothes. Raking the forest floor, her eyes landed on a black blouse. She practically sprinted to it.

Her eyes caught sight of the torn fabric that was her bra as she started to button up the top. In the midst of the wild night she had (the woman chuckled to herself as 'wild night' seemed too innocent and well . . . normal), the blonde didn't have time to rip off her underwear. Once she was semi clothed, she strolled over to the ragged cloth, picked it up, and sighed. Frankly, she goes through more bras and panties than a slut on Valentines. And don't get her started on the amount of shoes she shreds with each escapade.

She disregarded the, now useless and ugly, lingerie and searched for the other half of yesterday's attire. It was a few meters away when the denim of her jeans, peeking above a log, caught her eye and soon covered her stark bottom. Though she groaned as she realized that these were skinny jeans, some chaffing would be bearable in contrast to not being decent (once more flashes of the cheeky hunter passed through her mind).

When covered, Elsa stood and tilted her head down. Taking a deep breath, she closed her eyes and took in her surroundings. A bombardment of noise slammed into her ears as she sorted through the cacophony of the timberland—deer trotting along the meadow she was just in, a couple of huntsmen a mile or so away reminiscing about the girls they banged back in high school, and two squirrels getting it on were just distractions. Finally, through the clamor of life in the forest, she found the inconstant vrooming of cars and trucks along the highway.

She smirked, dried blood cracking and chipping along the contorting skin and muscle, and made her way home.

. . . . .

Elsa slinked back into the estate, silent and hoping that the other resident is still slumbering. She rapidly ran up the stairs, two at a time, and abstractedly navigated to her room. Once in the sanctuary, the woman flopped down onto her plush bed, exhausted.

A sigh of relief escaped her lips and then she, without even standing or sitting up, shimmed her way under the covers. Before her head even slid onto the pillow, she was out.

. . . . .

I'm insane, I am smart

Elsa groaned as the song erupted from somewhere across the room.

All it takes, is a spark, to ignite my bad intentions

Crystal eyes peeked through the comforter, eyeballing the digital clock that blinked 7:02.

And do what I do best to your heart

She wondered who would call her this early in the morning. All of her friends were either too busy or hypersomiacs like her sister. A small smirk etched its way to her usual stoic features as she thought of her childlike sibling, hair in tangles and mouth agape in its own cute way.

Don't be fooled, I was raised by the wolves

However, that one miniscule smile vanished as Elsa sprung from underneath her covers as she recognized the selected song for a specific person. She jumped from the bed and slid across the polished wooden floor. Nearly smashing into her dresser, the blonde snatched by her phone and answered.

"Hi, Belle."

"Geez Elsa, I thought you would never pick up," the caller laughed, a slight accent of French origin in her voice.

A nervous laugh, the blonde replied, "I was sleeping off last night."

There was a sigh of discernment on the other end, "I know, Adam is doing the same thing. He's been out for hours."

Forgetting that the other girl cannot see her, Elsa nodded, "Did he tell you anything about the run?"

"Just the usual: changed, sought you out, and hunted. Nothing in particular happened."

"Yeah," the young woman responded. "That's what I remember too."

"Where did you wake up at?" Belle asked inquisitively.

Another anxiety laugh escaped her lips as she said, "Another meadow. Thankfully, no hunters this time."

The French girl chuckled, fully aware of Elsa's previous escapades. "Pauvre de vous."

"Oh, shut up." Despite being alone, the pale girl still buried her face into the crook of her elbow on her dresser, embarrassed by her past endeavors. Why did she divulge that to them again?

Oh yeah, because they are the only people you can tell it too.

"Well . . . I guess I shouldn't tell you about Adam's morning. . ." Belle trailed off teasingly. This perked the blonde's attention.

"Please say it was unbearable."

"Oh, no, it wasn't that just . . . very, very embarrassing." Mirth laced through the caller's voice, making the other female eager.

"Well, go on."

A breathy laughed buzzed in Elsa's ear as the girl tried to contain her laughter. Finally, when the giggles subsided for now, she said, "He woke up in a pig sty—"

"Oh, God."

"—spooning a resident pig."

She lost it. Elsa covered her mouth with her free hand to stifle the laughs, in hopes to not arouse her sister, who was—by her knowledge—still sleeping. Tears brimmed her eyes as she squeezed them shut and bowed her head. Her stomach and sides hurt by the time she controlled the titters.

All she could stutter out was, "Poor Adam."

Belle, on the other hand, was still in the thick of her own irrepressible laughter. The golden-haired girl concluded that she had been dying to tell her this. She can see why.

"Poor Adam?" The caller ultimately stated, once coherent. "More like poor Wilbur! I feel sorry for the sorry piglet that had to cuddle with his smelly, temperamental ass."

A smile stretched across Elsa's face as she chided, "Now, now . . . don't get mean. Plus, you are the one dating that 'smelly, temperamental ass'."

There was a considered silence, probably Belle thinking it over. Finally, she surrendered, "Okay, okay fair enough. I guess he is my stinky, moody ass."

The two girls chatted for some time after that, exchanging light-hearted stories about past experiences and abashments. Elsa felt at allay as they talked. Belle was quiet possibly her best friend, behind a certain burly blonde (which was shared with her sibling, so he wasn't entirely her best friend). This girl knew about Elsa. She knows her deepest, darkest, and most abnormal secret. It was blessing to have someone to talk to, besides Adam, who shares the same fate and continuous struggle as the blonde. It was nice, calming.

Yet, the merriment ended when the applicant for best friend brought up a sensitive subject.

"Speaking of which, have you . . ." she sighed, a disheartening sound to the platinum-blonde. "Elsa, you need to tell Anna." Firm, absolute. No room for argument.

The solace vaporized from her. The pale female didn't reply, deterred by the abrupt change in subject. But, she eventually pronounced, "Belle—"

"I know you don't like talking about it, but the Ascension is drawing near and—"

"I know that!"

A tense pause settled over the conversation. Elsa solemnly lost her cool, even still, it was a raw—still sore and agitated that it still seemed afflicted just yesterday—topic, that the blonde was an expert in compartmentalizing it. She agonizes to the precise day and minute how far away it is.

After a few more taut seconds, she sighs and concedes, "Sorry."

Belle replied immediately, attempting to appease the other woman, "No, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have brought it up." The blonde opened her mouth to react, however the caller continued, "And though I apologize, I am still standing steadfast to my opinion."

Crystal eyes narrowed, confused. "What do you mean?"

"You should tell her, Elsa. And soon. The sooner, the better, right? Well, if you keep postponing this, it will get even more complicated."

The pale girl shook her head. "It's already complicated."

"But it will increase when the day draws closer and the pressure increases too. And you know best how she reacts to pressure and complications."

Elsa suddenly fell mute. Instinctively, she wrapped her free arm around her center and bit her lip. Her eyes scanned the room for something to preoccupy her wandering and worrying mind. Then, they landed on the digital clock. It blinked 7:24.

She quickly evaded the subject. Yes, she was good at circumventing harsh issues. That's what she has done for most of her existence. "I have to go. See you at school, Belle." She paused, then added as an afterthought, "And tell Adam to bathe."

Before the other could say anything else, the blonde ended the call, shuffled to her bed, and plummeted face-first into the cushion. Dread filled her aching and fatigued body at the mere thought of considering Belle's proposal. How was she going to tell Anna the truth? It's not like telling someone that you are a democrat or gay. This is even more rarified than that. The blonde groaned and pivoted her head up to the clock. 7:31.

Aug, why did it have to be a week day? School is bad enough without having the hangover.

Gradually, Elsa dragged her throbbing body from her bed and headed for the shower. Or she was, until she caught sight of herself in the mirror. There she stood. Shirt and pants stretched to the strained integrity of the fabric, ashen by the dirt and grime of the forest, and the only thing that stood in the way of pure, unadulterated flesh. Her platinum hair was free from its usual bun, wild like a lion's mane (or her sister when she wakes) and had sticks and leaves tangled within the tresses. Yet, probably the most deplorable thing was the dried deer blood soiling her lips, chin, and neck. The thick substance was nearly brown for it was now hours old and had bits of raw meat sticking to her skin. The smell, oh the scent, was irony and musky.

Elsa glowered at her reflection, frowning at the stranger's feral appearance. Her cerulean blue eyes still had the remnants of a predate glow and it filled her with disgust. Belle's advice barged its way into her mind as she gave her countenance one last look as she stomped to the bathroom. And internally scoffed at the unneeded monition.

How the heck are you supposed to tell your sister that you're werewolf?

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So how did you like it? Good? Bad? Horrid? Interesting?

By the way Belle's translation: 'Pauvre de vous' means 'poor you' in French. Even still, I used Google Translate so if any of you are French or have learned the language please correct me if the translation is wrong or needs tweaking.

Oh, and that song as Belle's/Adam's ringtone is Raised by Wolves by Falling in Reverse. Great song and fitting, don't you think?

Thanks for reading and please review.