Why Isn't She Knocking?

One day, Anna's optimistic, hopeful knocks at Elsa's door ceased. Elsa had become so accustomed to hearing Anna's bouncy footsteps stop outside her door that at first she didn't notice when the knocks and pauses had ceased. But as days of silence stretched into weeks, Elsa could not fail to ignore its absence anymore.

At first, Elsa didn't mind not hearing Anna's knocking on her door, the way one of her shoes sometimes knocked against the wood as she did so. Without the daily knocks, Elsa's heart did not squeeze in her chest, her breathing did not quicken, and nor did she desperately swallow down ten years of unsaid apologies and answers. Ten years of responses buried as deep as she could until they were hidden in some unconscious portion of her heart.

Without the daily knocks in the morning, Elsa slept in—just a little, not enough to worry her parents. She could have told the approximate time of morning simply from Anna's knocks at the door, which always came between nine and ten. But now without her knocks—just two feet drumming past without a caesura in their daily music—Elsa's sleep shifted. As weeks turned into months, the time of her waking shifted to around eight instead of seven. She woke to ice-encrusted walls, frosted bed sheets, and frost coating the skin of her hands. Elsa's room wasn't empty, as she had her bed, a desk, a bookshelf, and other assorted items. It didn't feel soempty in the past, when Anna used to knock at her door. But without the knocks at her door in the mid-morning, somehow the room seemed emptier for the loss of Anna's company.

One morning, Elsa woke to her yawning bedroom, ice covering the wall next to her bed. The sun was still an hour away, but the sky had already lightened to a deep blue-grey. Stars winked from the cloudy heavens, blinking out as clouds smothered them as they scuttled past. A lone bird piped its call outside her window. To Elsa, the bird sounded as painfully alone as she felt. Now that Anna no longer knocked on her door, she could not look forward to the mid-morning again. Long gone was the brief relief, no more aching to answer. Now she ached so much for Anna to knock that it physically hurt.

Why isn't she knocking?

Elsa bent her forehead to the cool surface of the window panel, closing her eyes. The little bird still called its sorrowful, pathetic tune nearby.

You're not the only one feeling alone, little bird.

Tears like dew-drops clung to Elsa's long dark lashes. Faint lines creased her porcelain brow and the sides of her small mouth as she fought to press down a swelling in her throat. Something large and heavy sat in her belly, perhaps the tears and love she'd pushed down for ten years.

Conceal, don't feel, don't let it show.

Her tears refused to be locked back, falling down her pale cheeks tinged by the oncoming break of dawn. Her bedroom felt at once an endless chasm with no exit in sight and as a cell with all four walls pressing tight on her body.

It's my fault isn't it? She won't knock because I won't see her anymore.

A sob caught in her throat, Elsa scrunching her eyes tight against more tears.

She's…moved on, hasn't she? She's moved on without me.

"Oh, Anna," Elsa choked out, tears blurring her vision, the stars drowning in a blur of twilight blue. "You…you have, haven't you?"

Elsa buried her face in her arms, muffling her released sobs in the fabric of her nightgown. Her shoulders heaved, back bowed in misery, sharp frost flaring on the floor and window pane.

It was going to happen. Just don't forget me, please, Anna. Just…remember I'm still here. Please don't forget me, even if you've given up on me.

Nearly a year later, Elsa found herself curtseying a farewell to her parents, fear pounding in her heart at the thought of them gone for a fortnight. Two weeks yawned ahead empty of knocks—only the heart-breaking silence at her door. Anna's feet would pass without pause. She would have her sister, but from all she heard from her now, Anna may well have gone with their parents.

Please don't be longer than two weeks, Elsa prayed, I can't bear it alone.

Elsa hated watching her parents leave for the ship—attending some wedding, they had told the daughters. Just two weeks, and they would be right back. The castle already seemed lonelier without her parents' presence, than with. Anna stayed at the castle too, but Elsa found minimal comfort in this knowledge. Anna had moved on, leaving Elsa alone. How could Elsa be selfish enough to ask her sister to knock at her door again, keep her company? Even a relentless optimist like Anna had to move on eventually. And she had. Elsa was now completely alone, with no knock to greet her, to cheer her up, in her mid-mornings. Her parents had come by daily, knocked at her door, but what hurt most was knowing her sister had given up, ceasing to knock at Elsa's unyielding door.

They got the news three days later. A grim messenger had passed a telegram to Kai, who had to take on the terrible burden of informing the princesses of their parents' death at sea during a torrid storm. Elsa endured the message with controlled emotion on her face, even as she collapsed into grief on the inside. She had to look the image of a queen completely in control of her emotions from the very moment of the news of her parents' death. Now that their previous queen—their mother—had died, it would soon be time for Elsa to take up the throne when she came of age. A "no!" and frantic footsteps drew Elsa's attention to Anna as she had stood there in the hallway with Kai. Anna didn't look back at her sister, even when she slammed the door shut, likely to cry and scream her grief out alone.

I'm going to be a queen, Elsa realised numbly, I don't want to face it. Thank God I don't have to for three years.

How was she going to face the next three years with silence from Anna? Without her sister's mid-morning knocks at her door, Elsa knew she had a very long three years ahead. How could she endure coronation day without Anna at her side? Who would support her outside of the servants and council?

I will be alone.

Imagery of herself standing at the throne with the sceptre and globe in her hands, Anna missing from the scene, popped uninvited in her brain. Would she have to face being queen of all Arendelle on her lonesome?

I'll never be ready to be a queen…

Elsa couldn't—wouldn't—go to her parents' funeral. It wasn't just the terror of her powers being exposed holding her back. It was the thought of standing next to Anna, knowing she had moved on, left Elsa be. Left her behind. Left her to grieve alone, more lonely with Anna in the castle, than if her parents had been there, alive. But they weren't. Today, two empty coffins were lowered into the solemn earth, guarded by two tall, grey monuments bearing the late king's and queen's names.

Elsa spent all morning the day of the funeral huddled against her door. Snowflakes hovered in her room, still and stricken in the fathoms of a sorrowing daughter's grief. Ice radiated like the lifeless rays of a full moon, flaring up over the door, walls, and floor. Elsa hunched her shoulders, her head, expecting nothing at her door. When she heard the familiar footfalls of Anna's approach, Elsa expected her to just pass on by, as she had for nearly a year.

Except that she didn't.

Knock, knock, knock.

"Elsa?"

Elsa's heart hammered painfully in her ribcage. Anna had knocked, spoken her name—but so quiet, so not like her.

"Please, I know you're in there."

Elsa listened to her sister's stricken voice, knowing Anna was barely holding back tears. The urge to open the door and hug her sister, comfort her, manifested as a physical ache. But Elsa's monstrous curse would hurt her sister—and Anna would know of her powers. Anna's courage was faltering with her voice, trying to hold on to her sunshine spirit, chasing away in vain the black cumulonimbus clouds of grief. Elsa heard Anna slumping to the floor, her back against the elder sister's bedroom door.

"What are we gonna do?"

Was Anna asking her? Or was she asking herself? What could Elsa do at all? What had she done for Anna?

I wish I knew what to do, Anna, I really do.

Unable to hold back the swelling sob, Elsa buried her head in her arms, drawing knees to chest. She knew it not, but Anna did the same on the other side of her door, drawing herself into a black-clothed ball of grief. Separated only by a few inches of wood, but by ten years of isolation, the two sisters mourned together. Elsa's loneliness ebbed away a little, the castle now more comforting than lonely and cold. Anna still needed her, still yearned to reach out to her ephemeral older sister.

Please knock again, Anna. Please come back.

The next morning, as the first tentative threads of light poked over the Eastern horizon, filtering through the curtains closed over her window, Elsa carefully lifted a letter on her desk into her hands. Her eyes studied every single word written there on the page, making sure everything that she'd wanted said was said. Thus satisfied, Elsa turned to face the imposing door of her bedroom. Her heart pounded, her breathing restricted. Ice tickled the creases of her palms and on her fingertips.

I need to do this. For Anna. For myself.

Shutting her eyes to concentrate on keeping calm, Elsa allowed herself to take several deep breaths. Still shaky, but now with eyes open, Elsa strolled with cautious footsteps toward her door. One hand pressing on its wood, Elsa crouched down, sliding the folded letter under the crack of the door, and through to the other side. Standing up, she let her hand slip from the door. Elsa didn't need to look down to know how badly they were shaking from the very action of reaching out to Anna, even in as few words as she had in the letter.

Elsa crossed her arms over her mid-section as she heard the approaching footsteps of her sister outside. An anxious part of her yearned to just pull open the door and quickly take the letter back before Anna saw.

No. You have to do this. Elsa reminded herself. You need this.

Outside her door, Anna's footsteps stopped short, followed by the rustling of her dress as she bent to pick it up.

"What's this?" Anna asked aloud. "A letter?"

Elsa stood extremely still on the other side of the door, breath a little shallow from her nerves, as she heard the letter rustling open. The door's wood was thin enough for Elsa to hear Anna's sharp intake of breath, followed by a slow, shuddering exhale. Silence, sharp and clear like an icicle, followed the exhalation. Yet, there was no sound of footsteps walking away from Elsa's door. Instead, Anna knocked for the second time in twenty-four hours.

Knock, knock, knock.

"Elsa? Can you hear me?"

Elsa forced out one word, "Yes."

A heavy few seconds of silence passed—Anna likely trying to think of something to say next.

"Elsa, I promise I will knock every day from now on. You won't face the next three years alone, and I wouldn't want you too." Anna paused, before continuing in a choked voice, "If…if you'd told me that you missed me knocking at your door…you could have said so. But now I know, and you won't be alone. I promise."

Elsa didn't care about the tears now running down her cheeks as she leaned her forehead against the door.

"Thank you, Anna."

"I do mean it," Anna reiterated, "I will knock on your door again every day. I promise."

Anna kept true to her words.

For the next three years, Anna knocked every day, Elsa's mornings no longer so lonely. She had something to look forward to, to wake up for. Anna really was there for her all along.

All Elsa had to do was ask.