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Nature had painted Arendelle in breathtaking hues of red, gold, and yellow as the autumn season rolled in. More logs were needed to fuel the fires as the temperature slowly starts cooling, the flora and fauna were preparing themselves for the hiemal season, and an abundance of the season's harvest was to be expected. After that particular interaction with the princess, Constance had thought that it would be smooth sailing from then on. Alas, it wouldn't be that easy to break through the enigmatic blonde. So for the past few weeks of her job, she tried her best to try and pull the anchor that weighed the tension, but to no avail. She sighed and left herself to deal with a stranded ship for now.
Though not all was lost for Constance. Unbeknownst to her, Elsa had seemed to be a bit more engaged when they greeted each other every day. Small bows and monotone greetings were being thrown out halfway through the window. Those mundane 'good morning's and 'hello's' were still spoken, but the princess would stare a little longer at the raven-haired girl and would offer the faintest smile whenever Constance entered her chambers. Sure, it was subtle, and Constance could not notice a flying fuck about it, but it was better than nothing. Elsa was always hesitant and awkward—she still is, but a crack in the wall could shatter a whole building, and Rome was not built in a day, but it could burn in one.
It was a normal afternoon on Constance's break, the crisp leaves swirled outside the windows, when a guard came to inform her that Queen Iduna summoned her. The raven-haired girl was quick to drop her book and left to follow the guard towards the sitting room, where the Queen waited. She smoothed down her skirt as she stood in front of the door and wondered if she had done something wrong.
Upon entering, the thought left quickly when Iduna greeted her with a warm smile and gestured for the younger girl to sit on the sofa across her.
"Constance, how have you been? How is the work treating you?" Iduna asked as the raven-haired girl too her seat. The Queen gestured at the tea set, a silent offering, to which the younger girl responded with an affirming nod.
"I've been well, Your Majesty. The work is going fine." Constance leaned to pour herself a cup of tea, the scent of fresh floral tea whirling around her nose.
"And Elsa? How is she?"
"She's been alright, Your Majesty. Polite as always," she hesitated, then added carefully, "I think she's adjusting to having me around."
Iduna's expression softened with something like relief. "Good. That's good to hear." She poured tea for herself.
They chatted for a while about small things, the changing season, the upcoming harvest festival, and how Constance was finding life in the castle.
Then Iduna's tone shifted slightly, becoming more thoughtful. "I've noticed some books missing from the poetry and language section of the library."
Constance's eyes widened and placed her tea cup back to its place to wave her hands vaguely. "Oh, I apologize, Your Majesty. I borrowed a few to read during my free time. I was planning to return them once I finished."
"I don't mind at all. Reading is a wonderful habit to have. I'm just curious, actually. Most people tend toward stories of romance and fantasy around your age, but you seem to prefer poetry, language, and linguistics," Iduna chuckled as she noted the particular subjects.
"I find them compelling and beautifully tragic or tragically beautiful," Constance said, a smile forming from her lips at the subject of her favored interests. "The way words work, how they change meaning depending on context and structure. Sometimes they're just wonderful words connected with no distinct structure."
"That's a lovely way to look at it." Iduna set down her teacup. "Which brings me to a favor I wanted to ask of you."
"Of course, Your Majesty. Anything."
The Queen rose and moved to a cabinet, retrieving a book that looked ancient and well-worn. She returned to her seat as she held it carefully in her hands. "I need help translating some pages from this book. The language is old and unfamiliar, even to our scholars. Given your interest and skill with languages, I thought you might be willing to try."
Constance watched in shock at the old book being offered to her. She glanced up at Iduna with visible confusion. "But if your scholars aren't able to translate this, then what more can I contribute, Your Majesty?"
"I understand this. However, I sense that you may be able to find a way to translate it. You seem to look at things a little differently than most scholars approach it. I don't expect you to translate it immediately, but I believe you have… potential." Iduna extended her arms further, a small but genuine smile plastered on her face.
Constance hesitated a tiny bit, but accepted the book anyway. She ran her fingers over the aged leather cover. The text inside was indeed strange, with characters she didn't immediately recognize. "I'll do my best, Your Majesty. Though I can't promise I'll be successful."
"That's all I ask. Take your time with it, and please don't overwork yourself. Come to me if you're able to translate anything, even just fragments." Iduna paused, her expression becoming more serious. "And Constance? Please keep this to yourself. Don't let anyone else know about this task."
"Of course, Your Majesty."
The dismissal came soon after, and Constance found herself walking back to her room with the book tucked carefully under her arm. As she moved through the quiet hallways, her mind began to turn over the request. Why the secrecy? It wasn't unusual for royalty to ask for discretion, but something about the way Iduna had emphasized it felt significant. Maybe it was just common sense to keep quiet when the queen asked a favor from a servant. But this particular favor didn't seem embarrassing or inappropriate. So why the need for secrecy? How peculiar.
She arrived at her room still lost in thought, trying to piece together reasons that made sense. Personal matter? Political sensitivity? Something to do with Elsa? The more she analyzed it, the more questions she had, and the fewer answers she found. With a defeated sigh, Constance set the book on her desk. The thinking was getting her nowhere, and she had work to resume. She decided that she'd puzzle over it later.
The week that followed was a strange one. Constance found herself stealing moments between tasks to study the book as she was trying to decipher the unfamiliar script. The characters were ludicrously inconsistent, sometimes resembling Nordic runes, and other times looking more like ancient Greek. She made notes in the margins of her own paper, cross-referencing with other language books she'd borrowed, slowly piecing together fragments of meaning.
But the task was draining as she went on, and combined with her regular duties, she felt the ever-growing exhaustion creeping in at the edges. She also found herself noting the small oddities around the castle, things that didn't quite add up at first glance. Thanks to her cold receptors, Constance had been aware of the slight drop in temperature in certain hallways and most peculiarly whenever she entered Princess Elsa's chambers, but never had she really dug deep into her thoughts and analyzed as to how that seemed possible. The windows were always closed, the fireplace almost always lit, and yet that subtle chill lingered. Overtime, she'd grown used to it, but in the back of her frontal lobe (how paradoxical, though there is actually a "back" of the frontal lobe, which is the precentral gyrus if I studied Ana-Phy right), something felt odd, like a missing piece to the puzzle she started playing unknowingly. Her added height of awareness and other senses due to those thoughts led her to begin listening in more within the hushed halls and rooms, noticing how servants would sometimes exchange meaningful glances when discussing the royal family.
Constance was starting to think she was going to go insane, and so, she told herself it was nothing. It's probably because old castles had drafts and stone walls were held cold. There were dozens of reasonable explanations, yet nothing was reassuring to her restless mind, and the thoughts lingered anyway, adding to the growing list of questions she couldn't quite answer.
By the end of the week, the raven-haired girl felt the toll of her divided attention. She'd been working on the translation late into the nights, sneaking time during her breaks as she was pushing herself to make progress. It was on a crisp Friday afternoon when everything caught up to her.
She was in Elsa's chambers, and the princess was away attending to her studies. It was time to change the bedding, a routine task she'd done countless times ever since she started working for Queen Sigrid in Keldavegr. Constance gathered the old white sheets and bundled them carefully in her arms. But as she bent to lift the basket, something went wrong so suddenly.
Her head erupted in sharp, sudden pain. Her heart began to pound erratically, with each beat having a spike of agony in her chest; her arms trembled, and the sheets slipped from her grasp, tumbling to the floor.
No. Not now. Please, not now.
Constance dropped to her knees beside the bed, one hand clutching her chest as the pain intensified, the other holding on to the side of the bed for dear life. She squeezed her eyes shut, forcing herself to breathe through the immense ache coursing through her body.
Deep breaths. Slow. In and out. The way her mother would've done when she was in the similar predicament.
The minutes stretched endlessly as the pain seared through her relentlessly and familiar. She'd felt this before, though never quite this intense, and eventually, mercifully, it began to fade. The sharp edges dulled to a manageable ache, and her heartbeat gradually steadied as well as her breaths.
Constance sat there on the floor for a moment longer while catching her breath. Then, slowly but surely, she rose to her feet, barely standing up straight as her legs felt weak, but not weak enough for her to push through and forced herself to ignore the swelling pain. She sighed tiredly and gathered the fallen sheets back into the basket carefully.
She lifted the basket up, and as she was just turning toward the door, it opened. The blonde princess stepped inside her chambers, and Constance was quick to straighten herself up immediately, forcing a polite smile despite the exhaustion weighing on her like a dozen of anchors. "Your Highness," she greeted as she bowed her head formally.
Elsa dipped her head slightly in acknowledgment, then noticed the basket of old sheets and the fresh linens on the bed. Her gaze flickered to Constance's face, and something shifted in her expression. Concern showed briefly on the blonde's face before she stepped aside and held the door open for the raven-haired girl.
"Thank you, Your Highness," Constance murmured, grateful for the gesture. She moved past Elsa and out into the hallway, feeling the basket getting a little heavier in her arms as the seconds passed.
The door clicked shut behind her, and Constance took a few steps forward, her vision blurring slightly at the edges. She blinked, trying to clear it. She just needed to walk a little further before reaching her destination, though the destination in mind was also starting to blur, and her movements felt like there were heavy metal weights tied to her body. She tried to brush it away, but unfavorably, her body had other plans for her.
The world tilted and turned into a blur of mess. The basket slipped from her hands, and she felt nothing as darkness consumed her whole. Constance, you foozler!
Elsa sat on her freshly made bed, staring at the door absent-mindedly. Constance had looked tired when she left; perhaps more than tired, actually—exhausted. There had been shadows under her eyes, a pallor to her skin that hadn't been there before—not that she would actually notice such changes. Besides those, the blonde could feel the heavy and tired tension surrounding the older girl. She experienced a similar feeling when she was exhausted herself, though not the exact same, it was indeed a familiar feeling to her.
Had she been overworking herself? Elsa frowned at the thought as guilt started creeping in. Maybe she'd been too demanding. Perhaps-
A sudden thud echoed from the hallway outside.
Elsa's head snapped up, and for a short moment, she sat there frozen. Then instinct took over, and she rushed to the door, flinging it open with enough force to hit the wall.
On the cold floor, Constance lay crumpled and unconscious, the basket overturned beside her, and the sheets were scattered across the carpet floor.
"Constance!" Elsa dropped to her knees beside her, panic bubbling at her throat. She reached out a hand, and hesitated, then swallowed the lump in her throat as she forced herself to place a gloved hand on the raven-haired girl's shoulder. "Constance, wake up."
Silence responded. The older girl's eyes were closed and her breathing was shallow.
"Guards!" The princess' voice rang through the hallway. "I need help!"
Two guards appeared almost immediately, their expressions shifting from alert to alarmed when they saw the scene.
"She fainted," Elsa said quickly; her voice shifted into a steadier tone, though she herself felt otherwise. "Help her to her room, carefully."
Without further questions, the guards lifted Constance with practiced care. And as they were doing so, Elsa rose to her feet. "I'll get my mother."
She didn't wait for a response—she couldn't. So she turned quickly to find her mother.
Iduna's door flew open suddenly under Elsa's hurried knock. The queen looked up in surprise, which quickly turned to concern at the sight of her daughter's pale, frightened face.
"Elsa, what's wrong?" She stood up and went to wrap her arm around her first-born.
"Constance fainted. In the hallway. I found her—she just collapsed." The words tumbled out in a rush.
Iduna was already moving, calling orders to a nearby guard. "Fetch the royal physician immediately." She turned back to Elsa and took her gloved hands in hers. "Take me to her."
The two hurried through the castle together, and after a couple of turns, they arrived at Constance's room to find her lying on the bed, still unconscious. The guards stepped back respectfully as Iduna and Elsa entered. The princess stood by the door, her hands clasped tightly in front of her as she did her best to remain a neutral expression. She couldn't bring herself to get closer, not in this delicate situation. The sight of Constance lying there, so still and pale, made something cold and sharp twist in her chest. She glanced down to check on her gloved hands, taking a deep breath to keep her powers from acting up.
To distract herself, she let her gaze wander around the room. It was modest but personal as the raven-haired girl made her chambers look like a cozy space. Books were stacked on the desk, and a few on the nightstand. A small vase with dried flowers was placed beside the stack of books on the desk. An old-looking shawl draped over the chair. Scattered papers on her desk, covered in random scribbles of text, and a blunt pencil next to them. She was witnessing the little pieces of Constance's life in one room.
Had she been overworking herself because of Elsa? The thought made her stomach turn. If Constance had pushed herself too hard trying to please her, trying to be the perfect handmaiden, and it had led to this—
The physician arrived, breaking her spiral of thoughts. He moved to Constance's side and started checking her pulse, her breathing, her temperature, and other things. The princess and the queen watched carefully and intently.
Finally, after some time, the physician straightened. "She appears to have overworked herself. Likely a combination of exhaustion and lack of proper rest and sleep. She needs time to recover. Perhaps a few days of rest at minimum before resuming her duties."
"Thank you, Doctor," Iduna offered a small, polite smile. The guards escorted him out, leaving Elsa and her mother alone in the quiet room.
Silence enveloped them, save for the low and steady breathing from Constance. Elsa stared at the raven-haired girl's unconscious form as thoughts began to swirl, and guilt was starting to gnaw at her. Her eyebrows knitted in worry as she frowned at the thoughts and feelings.
"Did… did she overwork herself because of me?" The words came out smaller than she intended. Elsa crossed her arms, shifting them as she hugged herself.
Iduna turned to her daughter and placed a hand on her shoulder, her expression soft with understanding. "No, sweetheart. This isn't your fault."
"But—"
"I gave her some… additional tasks this week," Iduna said gently. "I should have been more careful about her workload. If anyone is to blame, it's me," she lifter her free arm to tuck a strand of blonde hair behind Elsa's ear, then moved to cup her cheek gingerly.
The blonde wanted to argue, but the look in her mother's eyes stopped her. Iduna caressed her daughter's cheek softly with her thumb, hoping it'll give her enough comfort.
"Constance will be alright," she said firmly. "She just needs rest. Let's leave her to sleep."
Reluctantly, Elsa nodded. She cast one last glance at Constance before following her mother out of the room, the door closing softly behind them.
With the situation now resolved, the blonde was left alone with her own thoughts and inside her chambers. Elsa glanced around her room; it was lonely, but she was safe here. Her eyes spotted a particular piece of paper on her desk. She approached it and picked up the paper. The unfinished poem by Constance, who let her keep it despite the artistic mess she left on the paper. The princess slowly walked to her bed as she read the unfinished poem, then slowly sat down on the edge. She let herself think. Think of what was exactly happening. Think of these past few days. Think of the subtle ways she's changed ever since the raven-haired girl arrived. Think of how she feels about this small change. Think of unlocking the door that led to herself. Think of Constance.
She paused as she lifted her head from the paper she held; her eyes widened a bit at the sudden thought of her handmaiden. The blonde looked back down at the unfinished poem and let out a steady breath.
There are many hallways she could walk through, yet she chose to confine herself in a room, where snow fell ever so often and the cold was a reminder that stepping out into the sun would only hurt her. And yet, the more she remained in her confined chambers, the colder it'll only get, and no matter how much the cold never bothers her, it will persist. It will endure, and it will leave no stone unturned. It will find a way to eat its way to a beating heart, and before you know it, you're covered in frost and unable to leave, trapped in a frigid and numbing cage.
Elsa stared at the one line in the poem that gnawed at her. She'd read it many times before, but it seems reading it over and over wasn't enough. She felt the need to do something, but all she could do was stare at the line. She huffed in frustration and placed the paper to the side before sighing in weariness. Elsa looked around her room once more before letting her gaze land on the door. She locked herself in her chambers; who's to say she couldn't unlock it? Why would she? There were a plethora of reasons why she shouldn't, and yet, here she stood in front of it. This could go wrong in so many ways, and it could also go right in so many ways as well; it was just up to her to determine which was which and what she could do about it. So, with a trembling hand, she reached for her door and unlocked it.
She could walk through many hallways, and she would, in time. With the beginning of a small step towards the terrifying unknown, perhaps she could finally walk through those halls. And perhaps something—or rather someone was awaiting for her from the other side of the unlocked door.
The blonde took the poem back into her hands, a small smile curling up from her lips as she caressed the ink stains with her thumb. Constance is a beautiful poet. She had just realized in that moment.
Hours later, a servant informed Iduna that Constance had woken. The queen made her way to the room immediately, knocking gently before entering. Constance was sitting up in bed, looking disoriented and guilty. When she saw Iduna, she immediately tried to sit straighter.
"Your Majesty, I'm so sorry—"
"Hush," Iduna said, moving to sit in the chair beside the bed. "You have nothing to apologize for."
"But I fainted. In the middle of work. I caused a scene—"
"You pushed yourself too hard, and your body demanded rest. That's not something to apologize for." Iduna's voice was firm but kind. "I'm just glad you're alright."
Constance furrowed her eyebrows and looked down at her hands, her fingers twisting in the blanket. "I should have been more careful,'" she sighed softly.
"And I should have been more mindful of how much I was asking of you." Iduna sighed in dismay, turning her gaze downward. "The physician has instructed you to take a few days off to recover properly. I want you to rest, which means no translating and no physical labor. Do you understand?"
"I—Yes, Your Majesty," the raven-haired girl wanted to protest but stopped herself as she felt that it would be of no use to argue with the queen.
Iduna made sure that Constance had everything she needed, reassuring her that her position wasn't in jeopardy, and that she and Elsa were simply concerned for her wellbeing. Soon she stood to leave, encouraging Constance to sleep.
"Thank you, Your Majesty," Constance said quietly and dipped her head slightly in a small bow.
Iduna gave her a small smile as she paused briefly by the door. "Rest well."
The door closed, and Constance was alone in her room again. She let out a tired sigh and cursed herself for fainting in front of the princess and the queen. How utterly embarrassing. She shook her head in disappointment and pulled her knees to her chest, curling onto her side. The exhaustion was still there, bone-deep and heavy, but it wasn't just physical tiredness weighing on her now as the dark thoughts haunted her. Having to grow up knowing your mother could die at any fatal moment, the familiar feeling of fear followed her everywhere, disguised as her own shadow.
The illness her mother had died from—the one Constance had inherited—was always there, lurking in her blood. She suffered the same episodes as her mother had before, but none had ever been this severe. Perhaps she wasn't present when it happened to her mother, but it was never bad enough to make her collapse and faint.
Hot tears pricked at her eyes, and she squeezed them shut, but it was no use. They spilled over anyway.
She was only seventeen. A girl who should have been worried about whatever was deemed normal to girls at that age. Instead, she was counting down the years she might have left. How many years did she have left? Would it be enough to fulfill her duty? How many more episodes before one of them didn't pass? Before the pain didn't fade and the darkness didn't lift? Before someone found her cold and still, just like they'd found her mother?
She pressed her face into the pillow, trying to muffle the sob that tore from her throat. None of this was fair. She didn't ask to carry her mother's death sentence in her own veins. She didn't ask to live every day knowing that her body was slowly betraying her, that time was a luxury she couldn't afford to waste.
Yet she couldn't help but keep her mouth covered and her neck wrapped with her own hands, halting herself from revealing the words to anyone. Because she couldn't bear the thought of someone else weeping over her death just as she had done with her mother. She wouldn't let anyone else feel the way she felt. She was terrified of the pain, terrified of the darkness, terrified of the inevitable end, terrified of leaving behind a life barely lived, and yet she could not speak about it to anyone.
The unending tears soaked into the pillow as her shoulders shook with the force of sobs she couldn't hold back. She cried for her mother, who'd tried so hard to hide her own fear. Then she cried for the childhood she'd lost to worry and dread. And then she cried for the future that felt like it was slipping through her fingers before she'd even had a chance to hold it. The shadow of her illness loomed over her the way it always had, and the way it always would. It had followed her from the beginning, and a tragic fate she couldn't escape.
She was seventeen, and she was tired of having to think about death. So she let herself drown in her sorrows and let sleep consume her. As for even in her dreams, her shadow followed relentlessly.