Elsa,

Feel lucky for what you have, when you have it. Happily ever after doesn’t mean happy forever.

It burned, it yanked, pulled, and it still hurt.

The initial numbness had fallen away, and with nothing but herself she was retreating into her thoughts. Her brain was screaming to not think, just work and move on. But she couldn’t. Trying to forget was like telling someone to drown themselves, she couldn’t unless someone forced her to stop loving and yearning. There were no weights to tie her down, and so she was stuck floating out in a rough ocean for eternity.

She ground her teeth, trying to not cry. That’s all she ever did anymore, and it sucked. Instead of being the one who is known as happy, she was that girl that stood in the corner. She was quiet, solemn and dying inside. The fire was burning from within, and was beginning to weaken the framework now. So much was already lost in the initial fire, but now the smolders were slowly consuming everything else. Nights were sleepless, and happiness was so hard to fake.

Maybe it was because there was one last place they could be. Before she had begged like a desperate mother for Gaucho to find her children. It was unfortunate that he was the closest thing to family she had now. He was the only one who understood Oxy, and who wasn’t wary of his every move. Had he been able to find them? Surely he would’ve sought her out, but then again, he had much bigger problems to worry about. A bedraggled mother was not on his radar. Elsa had always pegged him as a warrior, and that seemed to be his soul. Emotional stability was something she didn’t expect him to have.

However, worrying about Gaucho would do nothing. It doesn’t matter if he cares for her, or her children. It was another coping mechanism for Elsa’s brain to deploy. It was a last attempt to keep her grounded in the Edge, and to not let her leave. Following her emotions had only led to her pathetic downfall. It took her down the path of destruction, pain, and darkness; she had finally taken the path less traveled.

Night was in full swing, the worst of times for her. The anger and sadness had finally built up again, and she lashed out. She struck out her front left hoof and hit the tree she was under as hard as she could. The jolt traveled up her leg, providing a terrible reminder that she was still alive. This was not purgatory or hell, she was very much alive. So she had to go. She had to.

Edgar screeched after her, begging her to stay and not to wound herself more, but she would not stick around. With a large wooshing noise she ascended into the air, headed toward the Dragon’s Throat. She had to know. If they weren’t there, she would bury it. She would simply take out all the ashes and embers and work with the little framework that was left. Somehow she would manage to shove herself back together with work and monotony.

Elsa didn’t remember the flight at all, and suddenly she realized she had made it. She stopped before the throat, looking out across the ocean towards the island. It was pale against the moonlight, the water reflecting in such a way to tease that it was a little sparkle of hope. So she sat and watched. What would she say if they were here? How could she justify her presence if they weren’t here? Nerves rushed around her body, as she stood rigid and waiting. She was too afraid to move for fear of shattering. Edgar took to the skies, flying above the Throat. If they were there, they would recognize the feisty bird. 

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