Chapter 1

Anna

Left.

Now right.

Now left.

That's it, one step at a-

Anna shivered, almost stumbling as she felt the sensation twist up her spine and into her heart, like spikes - no. Not like spikes. Like a simpler time, more than a decade ago, when she and Elsa were playing, building a snowman. Anna had been searching for a pair of rocks that would make the perfect buttons, when suddenly there was the tingly, tickly sensation of snow being stuffed down the back of her coat and a teasing but never mean-spirited giggle. Yes, that's it. Tickly. Happy thoughts. Happy thoughts to keep her going forward. Just keep walking, just keep walking…

Another shiver, even worse than the last one, jammed its way up her body, forcing her to stop. No. It can't end like this. Anna tried to call up another memory, another happy thought, but it was just so difficult when the details were so fuzzy. All she could remember was being happy at...something, but the specifics disintegrated like a snowflake caught in a fiery grip, like having a word on the tip of the tongue but being unable to spit it out. So instead Anna bundled her arms together, grit her teeth in resolve, and then took another step forward, then another. The howling snow was blinding, and the wind bit at her exposed face, but she could barely make out a moving shape thundering toward her.

Kristoff…

Two, three more steps ahead. Another shiver, frigid, unyielding.

Yes, think of Kristoff. You have to get to Kristoff. Another step. Not of Hans. And another. Hans, who had bedazzled her. That's it, one more. Hans, who had charmed her. You got this. Hans, who had betrayed her.

It was harder now. The shivers were becoming more frequent and severe, such that they were not so much localized shivers as spasms of needling pain all over her body, like some frost giant had seized her and was driving a corkscrew into her spine-

No, happy thoughts. The first snowball of winter. Roasting chestnuts inside the great hall. Hot chocolate, the beans from the Summer Isles, the machine from Wesselton, the sweet sugary garnish from the Westerlands. Elsa begging to try their father's warmer-upper drink, looking quizzically at the clear liquid, taking a tiny sip before spitting it all across the dining room table. Oh, how they had all laughed then. Simpler times...

"Kristoff," Anna called out weakly. Was that him calling back? She wasn't sure. Another two steps, and finally her legs gave out. No. Keep going. Ice-skating. Remember ice-skating? She tried to remember. There was something there. The details were fuzzy. But there was a fall. And someone - Dad? No, he was entertaining Wesselton. Mom? Overseeing dinner. The servants? No, too large.

"Elsa," she whispered through chattering teeth. From her vantage point, Anna could see her sister, right in the center of the storm where it was thickest. Wait, wasn't the storm supposed to calmest at the center? And something at the back of her mind rolled its eyes and noted that of course now was the time to recall her childhood grammar tutorials, before moving on to the important bit. Yes, Elsa had helped her up then. But she was far away now, and with...Hans?

"If only there was someone out there who loved you."

Anna did not know whether the shivers triggered the memory, or the memory the shivers. All she knew was suddenly feeling as if a jagged mirror shard slid up inside her chest cavity. She clawed at the ground with numb fingers, trying to climb back up to her feet, but her limbs kept sliding against the ice, as if the gloves and boots no longer held traction, as if they had frozen over…

Oh no.

"Anna!"

Kristoff. Yes, that was him! How did Olaf describe him? Like a...a "pungent reindeer-king?" She could see him now, atop Sven. She looked back to Elsa again - and to Hans. He was saying something to her.

"He's lying," Anna wanted to say. "Whatever he's telling you, don't believe him!" But her teeth were chattering too quickly to make any sounds now. She was helpless to see the prince's words worm their way into Elsa's heart, just as they had wormed their way into her own.

And then the storm stopped.

Indeed, it seemed as if the world had taken pity upon Princess Anna of Arendelle, and time itself stopped for her. She could see it clearly now.

Hans, grim determination on his face as he drew his sword.

Kristoff, grim determination on his face as he pushed Sven into an even faster gallop.

And now that the snowstorm no longer raged on, no longer obscured everything, Elsa's gaze meeting her own, across the sea of ice. Her elder sister's expression changing from one of grief and devastation, to shock and relief, to outright horror as Princess Anna of Arendelle froze solid before her eyes.