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Green. When Elise walked through the uneven dirt roads of Kieferberg, Freya saw green. The murky color crept into the edges of her vision.
It started with Mrs. Bertha's laundry. She had made such a mess, there was no way she wouldn't have gotten scolded. Then word would have spread like wildfire. Her father would be so disappointed in her. No one would trust Freya again.
She clawed at her apron. Her eyes darted between the disheveled clothes, the door, her trembling knees, and the basket of freshly picked eggs. Freya didn't know what to do with herself.
She broke them. Every egg Elise had picked for Mrs. Bertha. On purpose.
Freya wiped her hands clean. Not a trace of yolk or shells to be seen on her. But her hands didn't stop shaking. She washed them, over and over, until Mrs. Bertha came back.
She watched Elise get yelled at from behind a wall. The catharsis made her sick.
Elise's lips trembled. She desperately stood up for herself — the eggs were gathered without a single crack and she had left for only a moment, she asserted. Mrs. Bertha gasped, offended that Elise would even insinuate that someone else broke her eggs.
But Elise didn't relent. She continued to fight, to stand with her feet firm on the ground.
A swirl of bitterness took hold of her tongue. The sheer audacity of Elise to have said all that to Mrs. Bertha's face. She couldn't stand it. She saw green. These feelings were so familiar, yet that was the first time she acknowledged the cloudy presence whenever Elise was around.
Freya was told to head home early while Elise cleaned up. She never ran so fast in her life.
She stumbled through the front door, knowing that her father would still be out helping the lads with renovations. He was always out of the house.
No matter how much Freya washed and wiped her hands, she still had the slimy sensation of her selfishness clinging to her fingertips.
The vicious cycle began there. If Freya dropped Mrs. Elma's apples, then Elise would take the brunt. If Freya saw Elise slacking on wood chopping, she told Mr. Bernhard on her. Any passing mention of Elise got under her skin. Impulsive, careless words spoken without batting an eye caused the villagers to murmur gossip and baseless rumors, sowing mistrust in Elise's skills into the town.
Yet, Elise continued to work, going through each day, unfazed.
She was hardly perturbed. She diligently cleaned Mrs. Mariele's windows. She greeted Mrs. Linda's newborn son. She strolled through town with Lebkuchen at her side for a while, two pretzels in both hands. She sat down on a bench and happily took a big bite out of one. She noticed Freya's staring and glanced around to see if there was someone else that Freya could be looking at, but there was no one aside from Old Wilhelm. She settled on an awkward wave to greet Freya.
It was not fair. Not at all.
Freya reluctantly approached, dragging her feet on the ground. She shyly waved back, smiling the best she could.
"Hi Freya," Elise mumbled through her full mouth.
"Good afternoon, Elise," Freya evened her tone.
"You seem busy lately."
She shook her head. Her stiff neck ached. "I'm fine! It's only a little more than usual. My father's way busier than I am!"
"Still, you've been running around quite a lot. Something going on?"
Her giggles released the tension hiding in her joints. "Well, the festival is just around the corner!"
Elise swallowed everything in one gulp. "Oh, right, that totally slipped my mind."
"Huh?"
Something creaked. Something was giving away.
A nonchalant shrug. Elise broke the remaining pretzel in half. "I dunno… maybe I'll skip this time?"
"But… everyone joins in… everyone in Kieferberg celebrates…" Freya looked to the ground. Her vision blurred, everything was cloudy.
"Uh, yeah. But it's fine if I miss it once, right?" She nibbled on one half. "Not like it should bother anyone…"
All these icky feelings, the sludge that nestled in her bosom, she felt it in her teeth, jaw clenching. Even when she shut her eyes, the green fog refused to leave her alone. It reached inside, wrapping around and biting with thorns. Sudden hot flashes caused her brows to knot.
Why wasn't Elise going? Didn't she care? Was she drifting away from Kieferberg? Away from her memories of Granny Holle? Was she really letting go of the town so easily? How could she be so free?
It wasn't fair.
Why were they cursed to be so different?
"Freya? You don't look so well."
She snapped to attention. Concern in Elise's eyes was clear as day. She didn't want this.
"Here. Eat this."
Elise offered the other half of the pretzel, thrusting it in Freya's face. The fresh smell of Granny Gretel's baking was immediately recognizable. She had just got these. Elise probably hadn't eaten lunch yet and bought two pretzels with her own tiffle to keep herself going.
Despite the awkward air that hovered over their heads, the broken eggshells they still tried to dance around, Elise was reaching out. Her thin hands were cracked, blisters covered her knuckles.
All Freya saw was green. It burned along her veins, like a prickling sensation. Sharp curses lodged into the back of her throat, dying without a voice.
She couldn't stay. Her hand swung out instinctively, slapping the pastry out of Elise's hold.
There was a shout, or a cry, or whatever. Freya didn't know, she already left, turning on her heel, off in the other direction. Needles stabbed her legs at every step.
Freya didn't want to be near Elise anymore.
She got home, locked the door, stormed upstairs, and rolled into bed, her wool blanket tucked under her body to cocoon her in darkness. Thick locks cascaded over her face but she didn't bother fixing her hair. Tears immobilized her, reducing her to a sniffling mess.
"Oh, I've really done it now…"
Alone, cut off from the world, perception of time lost, she easily recalled all the awful things she had done to make Elise's life harder — every bad remark, every blunder, absolutely everything. With each treacherous act, her sobbing worsens.
Freya knew what she'd done was wrong. But she couldn't regret her misconduct whole-heartedly. A part of her felt satisfied after the matter. She couldn't forget that sinful pleasure in winning over Elise, proving herself to be more, better.
Because Elise was better at being everything Freya wasn't. Freya wanted to show that she was here too, wanted to make everyone happy, to make her father proud, and to do right by her mother.
Yet, all the praise was starting to become vapid, meaningless. She was happier, but at what cost?
Heavy knocks rapped on her door, echoing in her room.
"Freya?"
Her father's voice reached her, muffled. It scared her. Freya pushed her face into the mattress.
The door's knob clicked, its hinges whining. His heavy steps caused the floorboards to creak. Her bed shifted as a weight sat on the edge. She heard his dry hands rub together. He was searching for the right words.
"What happened?" Her father asked.
Crushing guilt fell on her like a toppled tree. She said nothing. He definitely heard about what happened. Freya knew all too well how quickly word spread in their little town.
A sigh. There was a long pause before she heard him continue. "I… don't want to force answers out of you. I just want to help, if I can."
He was trying so hard. It made Freya feel so awful. She wanted to hurry up and smile it off. But she just couldn't. She was stuck.
"I don't like Elise," her voice hitched, "I don't wanna be around her."
"Why not?"
"Do you like Elise better?" She blurted out, bracing herself. "Elise is so much prettier, nicer, and braver… I'm nothing like her."
"Freya, you know that's not—"
"I know but I can't stop thinking about it — I get so angry at her and I know I can't but every time I see her I think about how much better she is than me and I don't like it! I don't like her!" Her lip trembled. "Why can she be so nice when I'm so mean? Why can she stand up for herself when I can't? I don't get it."
Weighted silence as heavy as bricks, an atmosphere that put her room on the edge. Freya shrank into herself.
"I'm sorry… I'm a horrible person," she admitted, a pathetic laugh tailing her words, "Mama would be so upset with me…"
There was a lull in the room. It was a wash of shame. Despite Elise being gone from her sight, green resided still.
"Elise… the poor lass lost Old Granny Holle, she has no mother nor father. And losing Heidi… was just as difficult. I haven't been there for you as much as you deserve. I'm sorry, Freya."
She had never heard her father speak so softly. His loud and boisterous attitude was a riot with the lads, yet here in the confines of their home, it simmered. More tears welled up.
"But both of you girls are handling it differently, growing up on your own terms. I could never compare."
Freya stiffened.
"I always thought of your mother as one of a kind, Freya." His laugh was slow, drawn. "Talented, kind… and she had dreams: big ones, bigger than any tree I've chopped down. The kind that could take her out of Kieferberg. Our small town was probably nothing in comparison."
She gripped the sheets. Her father hadn't talked about her mother in what felt like years. Neither of them had, actually. Should they have? But even if they had wanted to, they had no time. Her mother's passing didn't mean the world slowed down for them.
Her memories were all she had.
"But she stayed. We married, and St. Walpurga blessed our town with the most wonderful lass around. Heidi left me with her new dream — for you to grow into a fine lass."
Freya's eyes widened. A heavy hand rested on her head. Her father's gentle pats set her trembling at ease. Assured by the gesture, she tentatively peeks out of her blanket to look around.
The brief glimpse of sadness behind his smile disappeared in an instant. "I know I'll never be as great as your mother, but I want to do a good job as your reliable father!"
"Oh, Papa…" She sniffled, wiping her eyes.
In return, Freya put on a brave smile. It was probably awkward and weak, but her father lit up regardless. He pushed himself off of her bed.
"The same goes for you girls — you and Elise, each in your own rights, are wonderful people. Though, sounds to me like you know that plenty!"
She did. Freya's gaze had been following Elise for a long time. She wanted to be like her. Her golden walk captivated her, demanding attention as she passed by. Her gilded courage, strong enough to stand for what she believed in, so assured of herself and her desires.
Freya wanted to be her so badly, but she never could.
Jealousy.
That was it. That was what it had been all along. She was too much of a coward to see it.
The realization soothed her, a balm for her aching chest, a lavender shower. Her clouds parted, and the bright world invited her once more.
Freya pulled herself out of her blankets. She wiped her face with her sleeve one last time, then counted her breaths. The sting of guilt, the bitter aftertaste of spite, the green haze — it was finally going away.
"While I sincerely hope you make amends," Lebkuchen rested her palm against her cheek, "do not believe that I will ever forget, Freya."
Freya gulped. Her head lowered, shoulders slumping. "I understand… I know I have a lot to make up for," she shook herself out of it, squaring herself upright again, "but I'm ready for it."
Lebkuchen's stern gaze sombered. She reached into the basket Freya carried, carefully taking and placing a crown of cornflowers on her head. "Elise should be at the viewpoint. She's been relaxing there as of late."
"The viewpoint?"
"She's been going there a lot recently," her ambers averted to the side, "I'm not sure why, but you'll likely find her there."
Though she was curious, she was glad to get an answer. Freya set aside her questions, nodding firmly before making her way toward the mountains and waving goodbye to Lebkuchen.
She had never gone this way before until now.
Freya walked under the dappled sunlight. Cicadas and robins are all that broke the silence along the steep path, a tranquil harmony of the woods. Though disjoint, it was uniquely melodic. Freya wondered if Elise liked going up and down the mountain path every day.
Higher, the terrain caused her to slip for a moment. She continued on upwards. Twigs and leaves crunched under her footsteps. The wind whistled to the offbeat tune.
Climbing higher still, the crisp air felt nice to breathe in. Freya could get used to this.
The path split. Signs point to the left and right but Freya didn't need to read them. She looked left towards the grapevine, then right towards the sun. Freya took to chasing the golden light.
Arriving at the viewpoint, she couldn't help but gaze in awe.
Spring's green as far as the eye could see. Rolling hills cradled expanses of farmlands and giant ponds. From here, nothing was blocking the way. It was the highest point she could reach in Kieferberg. In the distance, the white castle spires pierced the sky.
Elise sat in the flowers, knees tucked under her chin, and gazing out at the world.
Freya took a timid step forward, then stopped. Her chest ached. She steeled herself and tried moving again. Another single step. Freya shook, her mouth pressed thin.
Would Elise even want to talk to her?
"F-Freya?!"
Freya jumped. Elise gawked at her, before coughing into her fist and turning the other cheek.
Yes, she was upset. Rightfully so, Freya reminded herself. She was the one who acted out of line. She had been off balance for a long while. Perhaps it was due to overworking, or her refusal to face her grief properly?
Regardless, she would start making her way back to her center, right here, right now.
Freya stepped out of the shadows. She dared intrude in the circle of daisies and dandelions. She sat herself next to Elise, tucking her skirt in, with her basket on her lap.
Elise noticed her and spared a glance. A flash of light filled her honey-glazed eyes and she turned to Freya proper. She played with the hem of her apron, then her fingers. Elise scratched her cheek before shaking her head.
"The festival felt different without Granny Holle," she muttered. Elise idly yanked out blades of grass, darkly chuckling to herself. "We would come here to pick flowers for it, then come to the square throwing petals around. I… couldn't bring myself to do that this year, or last year, or— well, you get the idea."
The last remnant of the fog cleared and Freya saw it for the first time — Elise's sorrow behind her smile, the way her eyes crinkled as they closed.
"But it's because of those memories that the festival is special, for me and you. Trying to push it aside wasn't right. So… I shouldn't have acted so indifferent…"
How could she have overlooked it? This drumbeat of her heart, the nervousness at the thought of Elise — she ignored the signs in favor of hate.
"No! I should be the one apologizing, I acted out of turn and I took out my frustrations on you and—"
"Oh, enough of that! It's the day of the festival! There's a time and place for all that, but what better occasion for cheer than today?"
Elise's smile grew. A little sheepish, but genuine, real.
"In the end, I'm glad you came for me, Freya."
Her chest throbbed. Freya had turned her back to the light for so long, that facing it directly thawed the chill of the dark. The green residing within bursts with fresh splendor. Affection for a new leaf closed her wounds.
Everything Elise was, Freya wanted to be. She wanted Elise. She wanted Elise to hold her and fill in the aching gaps, and someday, she wanted to do the same for her.
There was an ugly stain that would never wash out. This vibrant feeling would never be free of Freya's behavior towards Elise these past few years. In time, perhaps Elise could find room in her heart to forgive her, and they could paint new colors together.
Freya wanted to blot it out, to embrace this glow until her hands bleed, and leave their past in the shadows. She would do anything in her power for that. Even spend a whole lifetime if she must.
"So… why are you here?"
She beamed in earnest, ear to ear, hoping that she could reflect even half of that sunlight. Freya reached into her basket and picked out one assortment in particular, white petals brushing her palms. Without hesitation, she placed the flower crown atop Elise's head.
Freya leaned back to admire how Elise's confusion gave way to awe, and Freya finally said goodbye to her old self.
"Because daisies suit you, Elise!"
.
.
.
Freya opens her eyes. She's greeted with a bright, vibrant world that daybreak brings to life. Spring has come again.
She's been following Elise all this time. This spot on the viewpoint is her treasure — the delicate circle of daisies that pair with Elise so well.
How Freya wishes to be such a daisy befitting her golden tresses.
Even on days when Elise isn't around or when her heart is wrought with insecurities, Freya goes there and knows her love remains evergreen as sure as the sun sees the next morning.