Chapter Text
The door to Anna’s room slammed shut. A sound like a gunshot, reverberating through the silent apartment. Elsa stood with her back pressed against it, palms flat on the cool wood, as if she could contain the tremor in her own ribcage. She wasn’t breathing. She only heard the frantic hammer of her own blood in her ears and the heavy sobs from the other side of the door.
Anna.
For eight years, she had hated this sound. For eight years, she had done everything to prevent it. And now, she was the one who had caused it.
Her eyes searched for an anchor in the dark hallway. The copy of Anna Karenina she’d read to a twelve-year-old Anna lay on the console table. The worn-out slippers, large enough for a woman but still shaped by the feet of a frightened child. Everything in this apartment was evidence. An archive of her guardianship. Of her now guilt.
An hour ago, everything had been in order. Or in the deceptive, carefully constructed order she called their life. Anna had been in the kitchen, legs tucked under her, intently placing candles on the homemade chocolate cake. Anna had turned Eighteen. Eighteen candles and eight for the years Elsa had given her.
“For you,” Anna said, setting the cake on the table. Her eyes, that strange seafoam green-blue that still looked full of life, held Elsa’s gaze intensely. “Everything is for you.”
Elsa smiled, a tight, controlled smile that moved her face only millimeters. “You should bake it for yourself. It’s your day.”
Anna shook her head, the red hair Elsa still braided every morning because Anna wanted it that way swirling over her shoulders. “I don’t need anything. I have everything.” Her hand slowly slid across the table, circling Elsa’s wrist. The touch was familiar, knowing, maybe even necessary as breathing, and in recent months, it had become Elsa’s torture. It felt too warm… too right.
Then Anna stood up and walked around the table. Was suddenly so close Elsa could smell her soap, the same one she’d used since she was ten. Almond and oat. The scent of safety. Of their home.
“Elsa,” Anna said, her voice quiet but free of the tremor she’d had as a child. “I already have my gift. I don’t want anything else. Anyone else. I just want to stay here. Always. With you.”
Elsa’s breath hitched. “Anna, you will want your own life. University, friends, a boyfriend…”
“I don’t want that.” Anna’s gaze was unwavering, clear as a winter lake. “I want this. Our life. Forever.” And then, with a frightening, calm resolve, she rose onto her toes. Her hands came to rest on Elsa’s cheeks, a hold that was both gentle and unyielding. And she kissed Elsa. Just like that.
It was not a sister’s kiss, not a peck on the cheek. It was soft, purposeful, searching. Full of a devotional innocence that made it so much worse.
Elsa froze and for one second—one damned, eternal second—everything in her melted. The eight years of fatigue, the constant vigilance, the lonely nights, the feeling of being a stranger in her own life. It all dissolved into this one, warm touch. It felt like home. Like the only home she’d ever known.
Then the realization hit like ice water. She is eighteen. You are pushing thirty. You raised her. You taught her how to behaviour properly, how to calculate fractions, how to manage a panic attack. Her hand grew from the size of a grapefruit to the size of your own in yours. You bathed her, soothed her, shaped her. And now you desire the result.
The self-disgust was so sudden and violent that she shoved Anna away with a raw force she didn’t know she possessed.
Anna stumbled against the kitchen table, the cake wobbling precariously. Her face was a mask of wounded confusion.
“What… what’s wrong?” Her lip trembled now.
“You! This.” The words tore out of Elsa, sharp and venomous with panic. “You can’t just kiss me, Anna.”
Anna’s face suddenly hardened, her eyebrows falling. “I’m eighteen, you don’t have to worry about the age anymore.”
Anna was being stubborn, illogical, does she not see how wrong this is on multiple moral levels?
Not anymore.
Had she noticed her gaze linger?
“I didn’t raise you… for this” Elsa hissed. The words were cruel, she knew, but the cruelty was the only bulwark against something more terrifying. “That’s not… whatever you think it is, Anna. It’s… a reaction. A consequence of everything that was done to you. Of what I did to you by keeping you so isolated.”
She watched as the words sank into Anna, eating away at her hope, her entire world. She watched her own upbringing fail in real time.
So now. Separated by a door that was more than wood. On one side, the weeping child she had made into a woman. On the other, the woman who desired her own creation and hated herself for it.
Elsa let her forehead fall against the door. The cold of the wood burned.
What have I made you? she thought, and the question was not for Anna, but for the ghosts of the last eight years. For the lonely decisions, the anxious over-protection, the quiet, possessive joy that Anna needed no one but her.
And worse, came the next, annihilating thought, what have I made myself?
When did you start liking Anna, Elsa?
Was it when she was twelve and still had to sleep in your bed because of her nightmares? When she wore pigtails instead of her two braids and her dimples looked deeper?
No. Of course not.
But you know exactly when it began, don't you, Elsa?
One year ago.
Anna, seventeen, fresh from a shower, padding into the living room in just a long t-shirt and tiny shorts. "Elsa, does this look okay?" she’d asked, doing a slow spin. It was an old shirt of Elsa’s. Past-Elsa had kept her eyes glued to her book, voice tight. "You look fine. Put a robe on, you'll get cold." Anna had just smiled at that, a new, knowing little tilt to her mouth, and curled up on the far end of the sofa, her bare foot brushing Elsa’s calf. "I'm not cold."
It was subtle at first, then Anna grew bolder. Her foot moved from her calf to her thigh, painfully slowly up toward her tummy. Elsa had felt the touch like a brand. She’d told herself it was accidental. A teenager’s thoughtless affection. She's just comfortable with you. Don't make it weird. But when her foot ghosted over her lips…
Elsa’s hand found her foot in less than a second. “What are you doing?” Elsa wasn't looking at her.
She could hear Anna humming and practically see the smirk curled on her lip. Was this a game to her?
“I bumped into the cabinet. Will you kiss the pain away?” Her voice was laced with feigned innocence.
“You are not ten anymore.” Elsa still held her by the bridge of her foot.
Anna’s bare foot was still hovering a few inches from her lip. Her toenails were painted in Elsa’s favorite color. Teal, like Anna’s eyes. It was an unusual color for nail polish. Elsa wondered if it was intentional.
Then, almost automatically, she closed her eyes and absently pressed her lips to Anna’s skin. Her heart skipped a beat, and without thinking, she parted her lips and kissed it deeper.
Only a small moan drew her back. Her eyes widened, and she sprang from the couch as if on fire.
“I’ll be in the kitchen.”
She got up to make tea, her hands trembling slightly. She hoped Anna didn’t notice, because what in the world was she doing? Kissing her foot like a lover. Mental.
But this wasn’t the moment she realised something was off. That she was indeed deviant.
Later, as Elsa lay in bed, staring wordlessly at the ceiling, the image flashed back into her mind. Not the foot itself, but the sensation of Anna’s skin against her lips. Elsa didn’t even notice her own hand slipping beneath her underwear.
Anna’s eyes.
Her fingers found her own center.
Anna’s hair.
Her thumb moved in slow, deliberate circles.
Anna’s face. The freckles. The nose.
The lips…
Anna’s lips… their soft fullness, their color.
Elsa came in an embarrassingly short time, and the first thought that flew into her head was:
I just masturbated to thoughts of my underage sister.
She wanted to kill herself. Rightfully so.
After that day, Elsa could never look at Anna normally again. Every time Anna made any kind of suggestive remark, Elsa told herself it was only in her head, a product of her own monstrous inner longing. She wished it were true. Elsa had practically raised Anna like a daughter. There was a time when Anna had called her “Mama.” Everyone at her school thought Elsa was just a young mother.
It was hell. She was afraid to look at Anna for too long, but her eyes betrayed her anyway. It was like a moth drawn to the light, only to die in it.
The next day came painfully slow. Elsa hadn’t slept a wink. Her dark circles were deeper than usual, and she was grateful she could work from home. Having her office in the house had its perks. The only drawback was that it meant spending more time with Anna. They hadn’t spoken once since yesterday.
The sun streamed through the walls of glass in her penthouse, offering a perfect view of the city. The rays, which usually felt warm on her skin, now only served as a reminder that she had to face Anna. She couldn’t ignore her, even if she wanted to. It was seven o’clock. Anna would be up soon, and Elsa had to drive her to school. The ride would be torture.
Anna woke up ten minutes later. Elsa heard the stairs creak under her weight but paid no attention. Their apartment was huge—Anna practically had an entire floor to herself. The light fell on the sculptural furniture, and Elsa watched it reflect in the empty wine glass on the kitchen counter.
Anna bounded down the last few steps and almost ran to Elsa. Without a word, she jumped into Elsa’s arms and buried her face in her shoulder, a reaction Elsa hadn’t expected. She thought Anna would ignore her after what happened yesterday. Was the whole situation only uncomfortable for her?
Yes, because it was probably just a joke. Teenage rebellion. And it only feels this huge to you because deep down in your fucked-up heart, you actually want her to want you, her mind screamed.
“Good morning,” Anna whispered against her shoulder.
Elsa’s breath hitched audibly. Anna’s voice alone could make her body break out in goosebumps, spreading like wildfire.
“Good morning… Anna, move, please. You’re crushing me,” she tried to sound steady, but her voice wavered at the edges.
“Hmph.” A sound somewhere between a whine and reluctant agreement. Anna had made that noise since she was a child whenever she didn’t like something but was obedient enough to do it anyway.
Anna stood up far too slowly and stared at the wall behind Elsa for a few seconds. Her eyes looked full, as if a thousand thoughts were racing through her head. Then she smiled at her, widely and dreamy.
“You’re still driving me to school, right?”
If it were up to Elsa, she wouldn’t. But she couldn’t neglect her responsibility just because she had a problem.
“Of course, Anna.”
Anna hopped with joy. Elsa only saw her red braids swing as she skipped up the stairs with unsettling speed. Elsa knew Anna was up to something, her reaction to what had happened wasn’t normal, and Elsa knew her. Anna would never act like this unless she had some plan to make everything okay again.
If Anna could just forget the whole thing and they could go back to being normal sisters… that would be a dream. Even if nothing between them could ever be normal again, they could at least try.
Anna was ready an hour later, and when Elsa laid eyes on her, she just stared, perplexed by her outfit. She was wearing a black fitted polo top layered over a white collared shirt, a pale pink pleated skirt that was far too short, and worst of all; white thigh-high socks.
It wasn’t just school-inappropriate; it would have been borderline even if that skirt weren’t, like, two inches long. Where had Anna even gotten knee-high socks? Elsa said nothing about the outfit, but her look screamed disapproval. Elsa grabbed the keys from the table and walked silently to the door. Anna followed quickly behind, grabbing her arm just to hold her back as they walked. Was Anna always this clingy?
Once Anna was in the passenger seat, she let her weight sink into it, pulling off her right shoe with her other foot, then stretching her legs out and planting her feet on the dashboard, pressing them against the windshield. Elsa had a clear, unobstructed view of her bare legs.
Anna then leaned forward slightly to reach the car’s touchscreen to put on some music. Her hand hovered a little too long over Elsa’s arm, it made Elsa nervous. Anna’s body radiated so much warmth that Elsa could feel her presence as if they were touching.
What was Anna doing?
Elsa never really liked it when Anna put her legs up, it had always been like this, and Anna had supposedly stopped doing it long ago. So, why this now? Elsa’s gaze slipped accidentally from her long, bare legs up to her far too short skirt, and what she saw next nearly caused a car crash.
The steering wheel jerked briefly in her hands before she wrested back control. The skirt was so short that from this angle, she was able to see her underwear. God, Anna wore thongs now? She still remembered Anna with her colourful shorts collection.
Of course she did, Elsa, she was an adult.
In the background, some Lana Del Rey song was playing, it was a little ironic, given yesterday’s situation. All of this felt a little too planned. What was Anna trying to do?
“There’s this guy that’s into me…” Anna started, staring out the window.
“Hmm,” Elsa tried to focus on the road as much as possible and selfishly, she didn’t want to know about Anna liking someone.
“He’s older.”
Elsa finally glanced at her. “How much older?”
The redhead pressed her feet harder against the windshield. “Five years…”
Elsa stayed quiet. Her grip on the steering wheel tightened, and her jaw visibly clenched. She didn’t like that age gap, but saying so out loud would be hypocritical. She was the one who was nine years older and still desired her.
Anna sighed loudly and finally took her feet down. “Elsa… do you not like me anymore?”
Why would Elsa not like Anna anymore? Anna was her sister, of course she loved her. That wasn’t in question. Only how much she loved Anna remained unspoken. Too much.
Her face fell in confusion. “What?”
“Is it because I grew up? Five years ago, you would’ve gotten all possessive if I mentioned a boy…” Elsa could tell Anna was pouting even without looking at her.
Because she grew up? Anna isn’t thirteen anymore, she shouldn’t care if Anna is seeing boys.
“I wasn’t possessive, I was concerned. That’s what sisters do,” Elsa said, her voice sharper than intended. The last part felt more like a reminder to herself.
Sisters.
“‘That’s what sisters do…’” Anna repeated her words. “Well, I used to sit on your lap. Can I still do that?”
What kind of conclusion was that? Was Anna just trying to provoke her? The music in the background throbbed in her head, suddenly feeling far too loud. She tapped the screen a few times to turn it off.
“No, Anna,” she declared.
“Why?”
You know why.
Elsa wasn’t sure she could hold herself back if she had Anna sitting in her lap. It was awful, she felt predatory, but that’s exactly what she was at the end of the day. Lusting after your younger sister was predatory.
Elsa gave her no answer. Ten minutes later, they arrived at the private school.
They didn’t talk, Anna left wordlessly the car, Elsa felt bad.