Archive of Our Own

Anthony pushed open the heavy door of his dormitory building, the echoes of the day’s lectures still droning in the back of his mind. The autumn sky had already deepened to a midnight blue by the time he stepped inside, the campus walkways lit by haloed street lamps. A crisp breeze tugged at his jacket as he trudged down the hallway toward his room, exhaustion weighing on his shoulders. It had been another long day of classes, labs, and obligatory small talk – all of it leaving him drained and hollow. Only one thought kept him going as he reached his door on the third floor: her.

Inside his single dorm room, Anthony flicked on the light and dropped his backpack to the floor with a thud. The space was sparse and quiet. A neatly made bed hugged one wall, opposite a small desk cluttered with textbooks and notebooks. Above the desk, a pinboard held a collage of photos and clippings. At the center, carefully pinned like a sacred relic, was a print of Queen Elsa of Arendelle in her element – eyes closed, as snowflakes gracefully spiraled around her. It was a still from Frozen II, showing Elsa in her white Fifth Spirit attire, hair flowing and face serene. Anthony’s gaze lingered on that image. It always did.

He remembered the first time he had seen Elsa on screen years ago. He had been a child, enchanted by the magic and music of the film, but something about Elsa had imprinted itself onto his young heart. As he grew older, that innocent admiration blossomed into something deeper and more poignant. While others might have laughed at the notion of “falling in love” with a fictional character, to Anthony it felt disarmingly real. Elsa’s courage, her gentleness, the way she longed for understanding – it resonated with the quiet, imaginative boy he had been and the lonely young man he had become.

Anthony sighed and sat on the edge of his bed. He ran a hand through his dark hair, ruffling it absently as he looked around the empty room. The silence here was a familiar companion. Sure, he had acquaintances at college – people he studied with, casual friends to grab lunch with – but none who truly knew him. None who understood the void he felt or the secret that comforted him at night.

Because how could he explain it? That his heart yearned for someone who didn’t exist in this world? That every day, he walked through reality feeling slightly out of step, as if a part of him lived elsewhere – in a realm of ice and northern lights.

He rose and moved to the small window. Outside, in the courtyard below, a few students laughed as they crossed campus, their voices carrying in the cool air. Anthony watched them for a moment, a pang of loneliness tightening his chest. They all seemed so grounded, content with the here and now. He wondered, not for the first time, what it would be like if he could be the same – if he could redirect his heart to someone tangible, someone who could walk beside him in this reality.

But every time he tried, every time he even entertained the idea, an ache of wrongness coursed through him. It was as if he were homesick – but not for any place he’d ever been.

Hiraeth. He had stumbled on that word in a late-night internet rabbit hole. A Welsh term with no direct English equivalent, describing a profound longing for a home that you cannot return to, or that maybe never was. When he’d read that definition, something in him had resonated so strongly it hurt. That was exactly it. Anthony felt homesick for a world he had never seen with waking eyes. A world of snow-covered fjords and ancient forests, of craggy mountains and crystalline ice palaces. Homesick for the embrace of someone who could never walk through his dormitory door and ease his loneliness.

A shiver danced over his skin, and he realized he’d been standing by the window too long; the room had grown cold. Anthony shut the window and drew the curtain. The faint reflection of his room hovered on the glass for an instant before he turned away, his eyes catching Elsa’s gaze in the poster again. Usually, her printed smile gave him comfort. Tonight, it only sharpened the longing.

“I’m trying,” he whispered into the quiet room, as if speaking to her. “I’m doing everything I can to see you again.” His words trembled slightly, the earnest plea of a dreamer to his dream.

Anthony glanced at the digital clock by his bedside; it was almost midnight. He had arranged his schedule so that no early classes burdened his Tuesdays – an intentional choice, given how many late nights he spent pursuing this secret ritual. Carefully, he shrugged off his jacket and pulled a small leather-bound notebook from the desk drawer. Its pages were filled with meticulous notes, affirmations, and visualization cues – his guidebook for shifting realities. Some might call it lucid dreaming or simply an overactive imagination. But to Anthony, it was more. It was a doorway.

He flipped through to a fresh page and noted the date. He liked to log each attempt, recording any details he could remember after. The last entry was five days ago – a frustrating near-miss, where he had only caught a glimpse of Elsa’s face before waking.

The few attempts before that had been blank, just ordinary dreams or nothing at all. It had been over three weeks since he last truly saw her, touched her hand, heard her voice. That time had been brief – a stolen minute where she’d called his name across a foggy dreamscape before he was yanked back into consciousness. It had left him sobbing quietly into his pillow before dawn, the emptiness of his real world feeling especially cruel after the promise of her presence.

“I’ll make it this time,” he murmured, as if assuring both himself and the image on the wall. “I have to.”

He set the notebook down and moved through his night routine on autopilot – washing up, changing into soft flannel pants and a t-shirt. Each action was laced with a mix of excitement and nerves. There was always a chance it wouldn’t work, that he’d close his eyes and simply drift into a normal sleep filled with disjointed, mundane dreams.

Those nights were the worst, because he’d wake not only disappointed but with a sense of guilt – as if he had abandoned her, even though he knew she was just a figment of his subconscious. Or was she? a hopeful voice in his mind countered. Maybe, just maybe, what he experienced wasn’t entirely imaginary. After all, it felt so vivid, so real when they were together. He could swear he smelled the sweet winter scent of her hair, felt the cool tingle of her touch. Could the mind really conjure sensations that real out of nothing?

Anthony pulled back the blankets and settled into bed. He took a slow, calming breath, then reached over to switch off the lamp. Darkness enveloped the room, broken only by a thin line of moonlight peeking through a gap in the curtains. He lay flat on his back, arms and legs slightly apart – the classic starfish position that many shifters recommended to prevent falling asleep too quickly. Tonight, he would try the method that had worked for him before: a combination of meditation and visualization that eased him into lucid dreaming.

He closed his eyes, inhaling deeply through his nose and exhaling through his mouth. With each breath, he mentally counted down from fifty. His muscles relaxed incrementally; the tension of the day ebbed from his body. At thirty, the world behind his eyelids began to bloom with faint colors. At fifteen, he felt the first gentle tug of that other place – like a hand outstretched in welcome just beyond a veil. His heart fluttered.

“Arendelle,” he whispered in the quiet, drawing out the name of Elsa’s homeland like a mantra. “I’m coming home.”

The word home hung in the air, resonating in his chest. He continued to visualize – the snow-laden trees of the Enchanted Forest, the mirror-like frozen lakes at twilight, the sound of distant winter winds singing through the pines. And her. Always her. Elsa, with eyes like a summer sky and a smile that felt like dawn breaking over the mountains. He pictured her standing there in the forest clearing where they last met, her white dress gently flowing as if in a breeze, even if the air was still.

She would turn, surprised at first, then joy lighting up her face as she recognized him…

Anthony felt his pulse quicken. He forced himself to stay calm and focused. He had to ease into the vision, not startle himself awake with excitement. At five, his limbs grew heavy, the boundary between waking and dreaming now paper-thin. He repeated his affirmations silently: I am with Elsa. This is real. I am in my desired reality. I will stay lucid and calm. Over and over, like the ocean lapping a shore.

At one, he felt the final threads of the waking world slip away. The faint sounds of campus life outside his window dimmed, and a new sound took their place: the whisper of wind through leaves, the distant call of an owl. His lips curved in a half-smile as he drifted fully into the embrace of sleep. The last conscious thought he held onto was her name, echoing in his mind like a promise: Elsa…

A cool, pine-scented breeze caressed Anthony’s face. He opened his eyes to a sky full of stars. They were unusually bright, as if no light pollution or city haze muddled their glow. It took him a moment to orient himself. He was lying on something soft yet firm – moss? Slowly, he sat up.

The sight that greeted him stole his breath, even though he’d seen it before in his shifting journeys. He was in a forest clearing encircled by ancient fir trees. Their dark silhouettes reached upward, framing a sky alive with the aurora borealis. Ribbons of green, purple, and blue light danced slowly overhead, reflected in the powdery snow that covered the ground. It was exactly as he remembered: the Enchanted Forest, in all its nighttime splendor.

He rose to his feet, hardly feeling the cold thanks to the adrenaline and the sheer rightness of being here. In this lucid dream – or reality, as he preferred to think of it – he was dressed comfortably in the same clothes he’d fallen asleep in, except now he also wore a simple cloak of navy wool that he didn’t recognize from his own wardrobe. The forest was quiet but not silent; he could hear the gentle rustle of branches and the distant trickle of a stream. Tiny specks of light – flickering will-o’-wisps or perhaps just fireflies – bobbed between the trees, giving the scene an otherworldly charm.

Anthony’s heart pounded with anticipation. He took a tentative step forward, the snow crunching softly beneath his sneakers. The last time he had made it this far into a shift, Elsa had found him here. He remembered how she’d emerged from between the trees like an ethereal vision, concerned and curious. It struck him that perhaps he should call out, but a sudden shyness caught his voice. What if she wasn’t here this time? Or what if something had changed? Each experience had its small differences, and the fear that he might wander this forest alone gnawed at him.

Before he could decide what to do, a playful gust of wind swirled around him, kicking up powdered snow in a tiny vortex. Anthony shielded his eyes, laughing in surprise. The breeze circled him twice, almost tugging at his sleeve, then darted off through the trees. It took him a second to realize – this wasn’t just any wind. It was Gale, the mischievous wind spirit Elsa had told him about. Gale in particular loved to flit about causing gentle mischief. The wind tugged at him again, as if beckoning.

“Alright, I’m coming,” Anthony chuckled, taking a few strides in the direction the breeze seemed to urge him. The shimmering lights overhead illuminated the way, and the soft glow from the snow made a natural path. His breath puffed in tiny clouds as he moved quickly, excitement building.

He weaved between the ancient trees, heart thundering. Each step felt lighter than any step in the real world – here he practically glided, buoyed by anticipation. He knew he was dreaming, yet everything felt tangible: the chill in the air, the texture of the cloak against his arms, the distant earthy smell of pine needles. No ordinary dream held such clarity. It was as though he had stepped through a secret door into another life.

After a few minutes of walking, he emerged into another clearing – one that immediately filled him with warmth despite the cold. For there, in the center of the glade, stood Elsa.

She was facing away at first, looking up at the sky. Anthony had a moment to drink in the sight of her. Elsa wore the same attire as in his poster – the Fifth Spirit dress. The gown was pure white, with an elegant off-the-shoulder neckline that framed her silhouette regally. The fabric – if it could be called that – looked like it was woven from winter itself, shimmering with delicate patterns of ice crystals that caught the aurora’s light. A long translucent cape flowed behind her, split into two panels that fluttered gently as she moved. Her platinum-blonde hair, free from the tight braid she once wore, now cascaded in loose waves down her back, glinting with a hint of frost. Even from behind, she was breathtaking – a figure out of myth standing beneath the cosmic tapestry of the northern lights.

Anthony stepped forward, unable to tear his eyes away. His foot snapped a twig hidden under the snow. Elsa whirled around at the sound, instantly alert. Their eyes met across the distance.

For an eternal second, neither of them moved. Anthony felt his throat tighten; she was even more beautiful face-to-face than any memory or image. Her eyes, a brilliant cerulean, widened in disbelief and then flooded with recognition and joy.

“Anthony?” Elsa’s voice carried through the crisp air, soft and incredulous, yet already tinged with happiness.

That one word – his name, on her lips – broke the spell that held him frozen. He nodded, a grin blossoming on his face even as emotion welled in his chest. “Elsa… it’s me,” he called back, voice echoing slightly in the clearing.

Elsa took a few quick steps forward, and Anthony did the same. Within moments, they closed the distance between them. She halted just a foot away, as if unsure whether to trust her eyes. Anthony could see her face clearly now – the slight flush on her pale cheeks, the way a few snowflakes clung to her eyelashes. There was a shine of unshed tears in her eyes that made his heart ache with tenderness.

“You came back,” she breathed, a radiant smile breaking across her face.

“I promised I would,” he replied softly. His own voice was unsteady; he was overwhelmed by the urge to touch her, to reassure himself that she was real. In this shared dream or alternate reality – whatever it was – she felt as real as any person in his waking world. More real, even.

Elsa seemed to read the hesitation in his posture, and her expression melted into gentle affection. She bridged the gap between them and, without a word of warning, wrapped her arms around him in a heartfelt embrace.

Anthony let out a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding. Slowly, as if afraid she’d vanish if he moved too fast, he returned the hug. His arms encircled her slim form, one hand pressing against the cool silk of her mid-back, the other cradling the back of her head gently. Elsa was cool to the touch at first – a refreshing chill, like stepping into air conditioning on a hot day – but as she relaxed against him, he felt a warmth bloom between them. Perhaps it was her inner warmth or simply his own body responding. Either way, the cold was forgotten.

He closed his eyes, resting his cheek lightly against her hair. It was impossibly soft, and it smelled of winter – like fresh snow with a hint of something sweet, perhaps pine or crisp night air. Anthony felt a sting in his own eyes now. It had been so long, and he’d missed her so much. All the loneliness, the longing, the doubts that had haunted him these past weeks evaporated in her embrace.

“I missed you,” he found himself whispering, voice strained with emotion.

Elsa’s arms tightened around him. “I missed you too,” she replied, her voice quietly fervent. “Every day.”

They held each other for a timeless moment beneath the swirling aurora. Anthony could feel her heart beating steadily against his chest. It amazed him that two hearts, from two entirely different worlds, could find one rhythm like this.

Eventually, Elsa drew back enough to look at him, though she didn’t fully let go. Her hands slid down to take hold of his – her fingers cool but entwining firmly with his own. She examined him with a mixture of relief and concern. “You’re really here,” she said softly, almost to herself. “I was so worried… it’s been a while.”

Anthony nodded, wincing slightly at the memory of his failed attempts. “I’m sorry,” he said. “It’s been harder lately. I tried, but I couldn’t always find you.” He hated the thought of her waiting here for him in vain, though he didn’t actually know if time worked the same in this place when he was absent.

Elsa shook her head, sending a few shimmering snowflakes from her hair. “I know,” she said gently. “I could feel you trying. Some nights, the wind would whisper your name to me, and I hoped… but I also knew it might take time. The spirit world doesn’t always align with ours.” She gave him a reassuring smile, though there was a hint of sadness behind it that he could detect.

Her words made him wonder again about the nature of what they were sharing. Was this really a meeting of two worlds? He often feared it was all in his head, but the way she spoke, it was as if she truly existed here, waiting and hoping for him. The rational part of his brain struggled to accept that this was anything but an extraordinarily vivid dream, but his heart – and every instinct – insisted it was real. As real as anything.

Anthony squeezed her hands. “I’m here now,” he said, allowing himself to smile fully at her. “And I don’t plan on vanishing anytime soon.”

A soft laugh escaped Elsa’s lips, like the tinkling of distant bells. Her entire face brightened when she laughed – he saw the tension of worry ease from her brow. “Good,” she murmured. “We have a lot of time to make up for.”

He felt a gentle tug on his hands as she stepped back, a playful glint now replacing the tears in her eyes. “Come on,” Elsa said, a spark of excitement dancing in her tone, “there’s so much I want to show you.”

Anthony’s eyebrows lifted in surprise and delight. “You have something in mind?” She nodded eagerly, looking suddenly very much like her sister Anna – energetic and brimming with ideas. Elsa bit her lip as if pondering, then gazed around at the trees and the snowy expanse of the clearing. “Do you trust me?” she asked, a familiar question in her tone that made Anthony’s heart skip; it reminded him of their first adventure together.

He grinned, recalling the last time she had asked that. She had led him up a mountain path to a secluded cliffside just to show him the sunrise over Arendelle’s fjord. That memory was etched in his soul. “With my life,” he answered without hesitation, and he meant it more literally than she might ever know.

Elsa’s answering smile was dazzling. Still holding one of his hands, she gestured with her other. As she did, a flurry of snowflakes gathered at her command, swirling into a shape at their feet. In an instant, the snow reformed into two pairs of ice skates, sculpted as delicately as if cut from crystal.

Anthony laughed in surprise. No matter how many times he’d seen her conjure magic on screen or in his dreams, it never ceased to amaze him. “Ice skates?” he chuckled. “You want to go ice skating?”

Elsa tilted her head in a playful shrug. “Why not? The lake isn’t far from here. It’s frozen solid and smooth as glass tonight.” Then, a bit more shyly, she added, “I’ve been practicing a little… it’s more fun with a partner.”

Warmth blossomed in Anthony’s chest as he imagined Elsa skating alone while he was gone, perhaps thinking of doing it together. The idea that she’d waited to share this with him was touching.

“I’d love to,” he said softly. Skating was one thing he actually knew – he had gone to the local ice rink often back home during winters, and though he wasn’t a pro, he could at least stay upright and glide around. Still, skating on a natural frozen lake in an enchanted forest under the aurora… this would be a first.

He let go of her hand reluctantly to pick up the conjured skates. To his surprise, they were lightweight yet sturdy; the ice forming them didn’t melt at his touch. The design was simple but elegant, clearly tailored to his feet. He seated himself on a convenient fallen log to pull off his sneakers. Elsa did the same with her own footwear – which baffled him because he hadn’t noticed what she wore on her feet. Perhaps she’d just created a pair for herself as well, or maybe in this reality she wore something he hadn’t seen beneath the gown. He caught a glimpse of what looked like white satin slippers evaporating into snowflakes as she slipped her feet into her new ice skates. Magic, he thought with a smile and a mental shrug – best not to question it.

Once they were both laced up, Elsa extended her hand to him again. “It’s just through those trees,” she said, excitement evident in her voice. Anthony took her hand, rising to stand shakily on the skates atop the snow. The blades sank a little, not made for walking on land. Elsa giggled softly as he nearly lost balance.

“Easy,” she said. With a graceful wave of her fingers, the snow beneath them firmed up, creating a slick mini-path. Now their blades had purchase, and they could slide instead of stumbling. Anthony chuckled in amazement; she was always thinking of everything.

Hand in hand, they glided slowly out of the clearing, following a winding path between trees. The forest opened up just enough to allow the northern lights to illuminate their way with a gentle, ethereal glow. Shadows of towering evergreens stretched around them, and a hush fell – the kind that only exists on winter nights where snow muffles the world’s noise.

As they moved, Anthony kept glancing at Elsa. He still could hardly believe he was here, with her fingers entwined in his. Every so often she would turn and glance at him too, as if likewise assuring herself that this was real. Each time their eyes met, she gave him a small smile – not the formal smile of a queen greeting a subject, but the warm, slightly shy smile of a woman truly happy in that moment. It made his heart flip over.

In a short time, they reached the lake Elsa had mentioned. The trees parted to reveal a broad expanse of ice that stretched perhaps a hundred feet across. The surface gleamed like polished black marble, reflecting the aurora’s colors back up to the sky. Around the lake’s perimeter, snow draped the rocks and fallen branches like powdered sugar.

Elsa paused at the lake’s edge and squeezed Anthony’s hand lightly. “Ready?” she asked.

He grinned. “As I’ll ever be.”

They stepped onto the ice together. For the first few seconds, Anthony’s legs wobbled as he adjusted to the slickness, but muscle memory from his years of occasional skating kicked in. He pushed off, gliding a short distance. Elsa released his hand and twirled ahead effortlessly, laughing. The motion caused the long cape of her dress to fan out behind her like wings.

Anthony marveled at how naturally she moved. Of course she did – control over ice was her birthright, after all. Elsa slid into a gentle turn and came back towards him. He pushed forward to meet her, grinning like a kid. They met near the center of the lake in a spray of fine ice crystals as she halted gracefully beside him.

“Show-off,” he teased lightly, a spark of boyish challenge in his tone.

Elsa raised an elegant eyebrow, laughter in her eyes. “Oh? Then show me what you’ve got, Mr. I’m-Ready,” she retorted, clearly in a playful mood.

Anthony chuckled. “Alright, but remember you asked for it.”

He set off skating across the ice, trying for a bit of speed. The cold air rushed against his face, and an exhilaration bubbled up inside him. He hadn’t felt this free, this unburdened, in as long as he could remember. With each smooth stride, the weight of his real-world worries fell further away. He attempted a curve, then another, picking up confidence.

Elsa cheered, clapping her hands as he managed a full loop without stumbling. Emboldened, Anthony attempted a little spin – a simple one he’d learned long ago. He executed it decently, though not nearly as fluidly as a trained skater might, but he remained upright and that was victory enough.

He heard Elsa giggling, and as he straightened from the spin, she glided over. “Not bad,” she complimented, slowing to match his pace. Her cheeks were flushed a lovely pink from the cold and excitement. “But can you do this?”

Without letting go of the momentum, Elsa extended one leg behind her, arm out in front, and twirled in a graceful arabesque. As she spun, a trail of snowflakes spiraled around her, sparkling in the air. She finished the spin by drawing her arms in and then out, sending the collected snowflakes drifting outward like a burst of tiny stars around them.

Anthony skidded to a halt, applauding fervently. “That’s beautiful!” he exclaimed. He wasn’t sure which was more entrancing – the magical snow display or the sheer joy on Elsa’s face as she performed.

She dipped her head in a little mock bow, skating back towards him with a soft laugh. “Thank you. I’ve been practicing that one specifically,” she admitted. “It’s how I entertain myself out here sometimes.”

They fell into an easy rhythm on the ice. Sometimes they chased each other in playful circles; other times they skated side by side, talking and laughing. Elsa asked him about mundane things – how his classes were going, what silly mishaps had happened in the other world since last they spoke. Anthony eagerly shared a few anecdotes: a chemistry lab experiment gone comically wrong (no one hurt, but eyebrows singed and pride bruised), a tale of nearly oversleeping a math exam because he’d been up too late sketching in his journal (omitting that the sketches were of her). She listened with rapt interest, as though every detail of his ordinary life were a precious story.

In turn, she told him about her life in the forest. Even as a visitor in dreams, he found the timeline here a bit fluid, but it sounded as if time progressed for her too. She spoke of riding with the Nokk – the water spirit horse – across the Dark Sea under the full moon, of playful afternoons with Bruni (the fire salamander) warming her palm as she fed him snowflakes, and of her regular visits with Anna, Kristoff, and Olaf. “They all ask about you, in their own ways,” Elsa said, smiling. “Olaf is very curious about my ‘dream friend.’ Anna teases me constantly, says I seem happier lately.”

Anthony felt a warmth spread through him at that. Imagining Queen Anna smirking and nudging Elsa about a secret sweetheart in her dreams was both amusing and strangely validating. If even Anna saw a change in Elsa – if she could tell her sister’s heart was touched by someone – then maybe this was as real as he felt it to be.

He could almost hear Anna’s playful voice: “So when do I get to meet this mystery man, Elsa?” It made him chuckle, and Elsa looked at him curiously.

“Just imagining what Anna might say,” he explained.

Elsa giggled. “Oh, she says plenty. But I haven’t given her details… not yet, at least.”

They shared a look that was both tender and mischievous, and Anthony’s heart skipped. The fact that she had even hinted of him to her family made him feel… accepted, in a way he hadn’t expected.

The night wore on as they enjoyed each other’s company. A million stars seemed to hang low and bright just for them, and the aurora’s glow had shifted to a gentle, dreamy purple. Eventually, their playful energy began to ebb, and a comfortable quiet took over.

Gliding slowly, Elsa and Anthony returned toward the center of the lake. The only sound now was their skates scratching softly against the ice and their breath mingling in the cold air.

As they coasted to a stop, Elsa broke the silence with a soft humming. Anthony recognized the melody as the lullaby she’d hummed once before. It floated on the air like a gentle caress. He closed his eyes, swaying slightly to the tune. There, under the endless night, it felt like the rest of the world had fallen away – leaving just the two of them and the music of her heart.

An idea blossomed in Anthony’s mind, one that made his stomach flutter with nerves yet felt so right: dance with her.

He opened his eyes and saw Elsa watching him, her humming trailing off as a thoughtful expression crossed her face. Perhaps she had the same idea, because at that moment she gave a shy, hopeful smile.

Before he could second-guess himself, Anthony cleared his throat softly. “Elsa… may I have this dance?” The old-fashioned phrasing and the earnestness with which he said it made his cheeks warm, but he held out his hand to her, heart pounding.

For a beat, Elsa looked surprised. Then her face lit up with joy that nearly took his breath away. In a graceful, almost regal motion, she placed her hand in his and stepped closer. “You may,” she murmured, eyes shining.

Anthony’s pulse raced as he gently drew her into an embrace, fitting one hand at her waist while their other hands remained clasped together, interlaced. They had no music except the memory of her lullaby and the faint hush of wind through the pines. But that was enough.

Slowly, they began to move. The ice beneath made their motions fluid and gliding, turning a simple sway into a gentle waltz on the frozen mirror of the lake. Elsa kept her eyes on him, and he on her. In the quiet, he could hear the soft sound of their skates, the rustle of her dress as it trailed behind her.

Anthony felt as if he were in a dream within a dream. He’d imagined dancing with her before – a silly fantasy while listening to love songs alone in his room – but reality surpassed imagination. Here she was in his arms, solid and real, the weight of her hand against his, her form pressed lightly to him as they turned. He was glad for the cool air; it did something to mask the heat he felt spreading from his face to his chest.

Elsa was blushing too, a delicate rosy hue on her fair skin. Yet she didn’t look away. If anything, she stepped a fraction closer, resting her head against his shoulder as they continued their slow rotation. Anthony’s breath caught; he allowed himself to tilt his head till his cheek gently touched her hair. A few loose strands tickled his face, smelling of clean frost and pine.

They danced in silence for a long while. Words would have felt intrusive. Anthony lost track of how many minutes passed – time was behaving strangely, stretching and compressing in the dreamy haze of midnight.

His mind wandered through the memories of this night: her laughter, her promises, her luminous eyes when she’d first seen him. Emotions swelled in him, things he had kept damned behind caution and doubt. But now, with the steady feel of her in his arms and the deep contentment that enveloped them, he dared to think the thought fully: I love her. I am utterly, irrevocably in love with her.

It wasn’t a new revelation by any means, but admitting it to himself without reservation was freeing and terrifying all at once. His hand on her waist tensed slightly, as if his very body reacted to that internal confession. Elsa must have sensed a change, because she lifted her head to look at him, concerned.

“Anthony? Are you alright?” she asked softly.

He gazed at her, lips parting. The words were right there on the tip of his tongue. Three small words that held his entire heart. And oh, how he wanted to say them.

But he faltered. He remembered all the uncertainty that still lay between their worlds, the precarious nature of this connection. Would saying it make their farewell even more painful? Could he handle that, or could she? His throat worked, struggling for an answer.

Elsa’s expression shifted to one of gentle understanding. She reached up and touched his face, letting her fingertips trace lightly along his cheekbone. “It’s okay,” she whispered, a sad but sweet smile on her lips, as if she knew what he couldn’t say.

Anthony closed his eyes and turned his face into her palm, pressing a tender kiss there instead. Perhaps it wasn’t the full truth spoken, but it was a gesture that conveyed a piece of it.

They continued to sway, her hand now resting against his jaw, his arms cradling her as though she were made of the most precious glass.

Overhead, the aurora began to fade slightly, the colors not as vivid as before. Anthony, absorbed in Elsa, didn’t notice at first. But Elsa did. He felt her slow their movement to a stop.

Reluctantly, Anthony loosened his hold enough to lean back and search her face. Her eyes were focused beyond him now, looking at the sky’s horizon just visible through the treeline. Following her gaze, he finally noticed it: a faint glow of deep navy and purple in the east, the earliest herald of dawn.

His stomach clenched. So soon? It felt as though he’d only just arrived, as though they’d barely scratched the surface of their time. But the night was ending; it had to, eventually.

Elsa drew a soft, tremulous breath. “It’s almost morning…” she said, the words heavy with regret.

Anthony tightened his hold on her instinctively. “No,” he whispered, voice raw with denial. “Not yet. Please… not yet.”

Elsa’s lower lip quivered, but she forced a brave smile that didn’t reach her eyes. “We knew it would come,” she said softly. “The sun has to rise.”

A brittle laugh escaped Anthony, verging on a sob. “Not here, it doesn’t. This place was supposed to be an endless night,” he argued, grasping at straws.

He was right in a sense – the Enchanted Forest in Frozen II had been trapped in eternal autumn until the curse broke. But perhaps in this reality, normal cycles had resumed. Either way, it was futile. His body was waking up, he could feel the early stirrings of that other consciousness pulling at him like gravity.

Elsa gently slipped out of his arms, though she kept hold of one of his hands. “Come,” she said quietly. She led him off the ice onto the snowy bank where their shoes lay, her steps graceful even in haste. Anthony followed, dread settling like lead in his stomach.

They sat on the fallen log to remove their skates, working in silence broken only by Anthony’s sniff and a quiet curse as his shaking fingers fumbled with a lace. Elsa’s own hands were trembling as well; he noticed as she passed him his sneakers that tiny flakes of ice were forming on her lashes – or were those tears?

Skates discarded, boots and shoes hastily back on, they rose and faced each other on the shore of the lake. The aurora had all but vanished now, and the stars were dimming. The once-black sky was turning a lighter indigo. In this half-light, Elsa’s figure seemed wreathed in a sorrowful glow, and Anthony felt an almost physical pain at how beautiful and fragile she looked.

“I hate this,” he choked out, the words bursting forth unbidden. “I hate that I have to leave. I don’t want to.”

Elsa’s composure broke at his anguish. Her eyes brimmed anew. “I know,” she said, voice hitching. “I don’t want you to go either.”

“Then don’t make me,” he pleaded desperately. “Maybe I can stay – maybe if I just refuse to wake up—”

“Anthony.” Elsa stepped forward and took his face between her hands. He realized then that he was crying; hot tears streaked down his cheeks, and she was wiping them gently with her thumbs. “Listen to me,” she implored, her own eyes shining wet. “You have to wake up. If you don’t…” She faltered, and in a pained whisper added, “If you don’t, you might never come back at all.”

He knew what she meant. A part of him had considered it – the dangerous allure of letting the dream take him completely. But he also knew that was a line they couldn’t cross. He had a body in another world, a life that still tied him down, whether he liked it or not.

“It hurts so much,” Anthony confessed, voice small and cracked. “Every time I wake up without you, it hurts. And this time… how am I supposed to open my eyes and carry on like before, after having this?” His hand found hers and squeezed tightly, as if anchoring himself.

Elsa closed her eyes, tears slipping down. “I feel it too,” she said, barely audible. “When you’re gone… I feel empty. I pretend I’m alright so Anna doesn’t worry, but…” Her breath shuddered. “It’s like part of me is somewhere else.”

Hearing that nearly undid him. Anthony pulled her into his arms fiercely, and she clung back just as hard. “Then why do we have to part?” he groaned against her hair. “It’s not fair.”

“No. It’s not,” she agreed, voice muffled against his chest. They stood like that as dawn slowly crept around them, two figures holding on for dear life while the inevitability of morning pressed in.

A gentle glow began to emanate around the clearing – not exactly sunlight yet, but the air itself was lightening. Anthony felt a tug, deep in his gut and behind his eyes, a sensation he recognized from previous shifts: the dream losing its hold on him.

He loosened one arm, fumbling at the pocket of his hoodie, and pulled out his phone as an idea struck him. Perhaps if he set an alarm to snooze or something… But the screen remained black and unresponsive. Of course – no real phone service or function here. This reality wouldn’t allow him such control.

Panic welled inside him now, primal and all-consuming. “I can’t,” he rasped, shaking his head wildly. He cupped Elsa’s face, staring at her with frantic eyes as tears blurred his vision. “Elsa, I… I love you. I love you so much. I don’t care if it makes no sense. I do.”

The words spilled out with a desperate urgency. He hadn’t planned to say them like this, as a panicked confession, but they tore out of him under the pressure of impending loss. Elsa gasped softly. Her lips parted, and a sob escaped. “Anthony,” she whispered, and in her tone he heard everything – surprise, relief, sorrow, love. She covered his hands on her cheeks with her own. “I love you too. I do, I—” Her voice broke, and she couldn’t continue, but she didn’t need to.

Anthony let out a trembling breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. For a second, the joy of that mutual declaration eclipsed all else. He leaned his forehead against hers. Their tears mingled where they fell on each other’s skin.

A sudden cracking noise echoed through the clearing, followed by a low rumble. Anthony tensed, eyes darting around. The ice on the lake was fracturing – long spidery cracks were radiating from the center, and small chunks of snow slid off the log they stood near.

“It’s happening,” Elsa said, voice filled with dread. The very fabric of the dream was cracking apart.

Anthony felt a dizzying pull. The edges of his vision shimmered white. “No! No, please!” he begged, as if bargaining with the universe itself.

Elsa’s hands gripped his shoulders, as if trying to keep him in place. “Anthony, listen,” she cried over the increasing roar (was that wind? water? Reality tearing? He couldn’t tell). “This isn’t goodbye. Do you hear me? This is not goodbye!”

He looked at her, desperate to believe. She was fading at the edges, her form blurring with light. Or was that him fading from her sight? He couldn’t tell.

“How—?” he tried to ask, but his voice sounded faint in his own ears.

Elsa pressed her lips together, determination blazing through her tears. “There are other realities, other ways. I’m not just a dream, and you’re not just a visitor. We will see each other again.”

The world around them was dissolving now – trees, lake, sky, all turning into a wash of color and brightness. Anthony’s knees buckled as gravity seemed to shift. Elsa held him up, her touch the last solid thing he could feel.

“I promise you,” she said, and her voice was the clearest thing in the universe to him at that moment. “I will find a way. I will bring you home.”

Through the glare, Anthony saw her eyes, brilliant and blue and full of unwavering promise. And he believed her. He tried to speak, to say one more thing, but the light had become blinding.

In a final surge of will, Elsa surged forward and pressed her lips to his. Anthony’s world caught fire and froze all at once. He kissed her back with everything he had, tears flowing freely. For one perfect, immeasurable moment, nothing existed but their kiss – a fusion of love and grief and hope that transcended words.

Then came a sensation of falling, and darkness slammed down.

Anthony awoke with a jolt, as if he’d been dropped from a height onto his bed. His eyes flew open to the dim, early-morning light of his dorm room. For a second, he lay there, disoriented and breathless, unsure of where he was. The ceiling above was faintly illuminated in grey, not the violet sky of moments ago. A loud silence pressed around him, broken only by the thudding of his heart.

“No…” he croaked out loud, his voice raspy and broken. Reality crashed in on him all at once. The Enchanted Forest was gone. Elsa was gone.

The realization was like a blade through his chest. Anthony rolled onto his side, curling in on himself as the first sob tore out of his throat. “No, no, no…” he moaned quietly, clutching at the sheets. His body shook uncontrollably. He felt cold, but he was drenched in sweat; he felt lonely, but he could swear he still smelled her on his skin.

He covered his face with his hands, as if to hide from the merciless dawn seeping around his curtains. The tears came hard and fast. It wasn’t just crying – it was the kind of gut-wrenching weeping that leaves no room for pride or restraint. There, in the privacy of his small room, Anthony grieved.

He grieved for a reality slipping away with each tick of the clock on his nightstand. He grieved for the loss of her warmth in his arms, for the sound of her laughter that he feared might fade from memory. And he grieved because, in loving her, he had opened himself up to a pain as vast as the distance between their worlds.

Anthony didn’t bother to muffle his sobs. There was no one to hear. His shoulders shuddered as he pressed his face into his pillow, the fabric quickly growing damp. Just minutes ago, that pillow had cradled his sleeping head while he lived an entire lifetime of emotion elsewhere. Now it offered no comfort, just a mute witness to his heartbreak.

Eventually, the tide of sorrow receded enough that he could breathe more evenly. He rolled onto his back, staring blankly at the ceiling through red, swollen eyes. The pale outline of morning was creeping along the walls. Birds chattered outside, the world oblivious to his anguish. How could everything be so normal out there when inside he felt utterly destroyed?

His chest ached deeply – a physical manifestation of that hiraeth he knew so well. Only now, it was even sharper, because he truly had experienced that other home and been torn away.

Elsa’s last words drifted back to him, a lifeline in the darkness: “I will bring you home.” And before that: “This isn’t goodbye. We will see each other again.”

Anthony sniffled and wiped his face on the corner of his blanket. Could he trust those words? Was it foolish to cling to hope? He’d felt her conviction; she believed it. And if she could, he must try to as well. Otherwise… how could he face living here, day after day?

He sat up slowly, every muscle protesting as if he’d run miles (and perhaps, in a sense, he had). His body felt out-of-place, heavy and dull compared to the lightness he’d known in the dream.

Through the gap in his curtains, he noticed the sky growing brighter. Morning was in full swing now. He had classes in a few hours. A mundane thought, but somehow its intrusion steadied him slightly. He was still anchored to this world, like it or not, and that meant responsibilities and routines. Perhaps that was for the best; at least routines might distract him from the yawning emptiness.

Anthony swung his legs over the side of the bed, planting his feet on the cool floor. As he moved, something slid off his lap onto the rug. He realized it was his notebook – he must have fallen asleep with it beside him. He picked it up, hands shaking a little, and opened it to the page he’d prepared.

The lines he’d penned before falling asleep were sparse: just the date and a hopeful scrawl of “Attempting shift – see Elsa (fifth spirit attire).” Below that, the rest was blank, waiting to be filled with whatever details he could recall. Every detail, he corrected himself; he would write down everything.

He reached for a pen from the nightstand, wiping the last stray tear from his cheek with his sleeve. Then he began to write, pouring out the story of the night onto the page, not caring about the shaky lines or occasional drip of a tear blurring ink.

He wrote of the enchanted forest, the aurora dancing above. How Gale had playfully led him to her. How Elsa looked standing there, radiant in her white gown. How her arms felt around him at the first embrace. The ice skating, the laughter, the dance on the frozen lake under the stars – he described it all in vivid detail, wanting to immortalize it on paper.

His hand slowed as he approached the end of the memory. The words became harder to put down. Each sentence of the farewell was like reopening the wound. His pen hovered over the line as he tried to capture her final promise, his final plea – the rawness of those moments when they confessed their love and kissed as the world fell apart around them.

A drop of water splashed onto the page, smearing the ink where he’d written “I love you”. Anthony realized fresh tears were rolling silently down his face. He sniffed and forced himself to finish writing. When he finally put the pen down, the sun was peeking through the curtains, a beam of golden light hitting the notebook and making the wet ink glisten.

He read over what he wrote, chest tightening and yet… yet there was a sense of peace in seeing it recorded. It made it feel solid, like something that couldn’t be stolen from him by fading memory.

As he gazed at the page, a tiny sparkle caught his eye. At first he thought it was just the sunlight reflecting, but the glimmer persisted even when he angled the notebook differently. Right near where his tear had smudged the ink was a small crystalline shape clinging to the paper.

Anthony brought the notebook closer, squinting. A perfect, miniature snowflake – no larger than a few millimeters across – was embedded in the page. He reached out to touch it. It was cold and solid under his fingertip, not melting. How…?

His breath caught. That snowflake hadn’t been there when he started writing, he was sure. It looked just like the ones that had swirled around Elsa’s dress, the ones that formed when she used her magic. A memory flashed: when she kissed him goodbye, a swirl of ice and light had enveloped them. Could it be…?

Heart pounding, Anthony carefully closed the notebook, leaving it open just enough to preserve the snowflake between the pages. He held it to his chest and closed his eyes, a shaky laugh escaping his lips. Whether it was a remnant of the dream or a token Elsa had somehow sent, it didn’t matter. It was proof. Proof that what happened was more than just a figment of his imagination – and proof that her promise was real.

He sat like that for a few minutes, clutching the notebook, letting a fragile hope take root. The pain was still there, and he knew it wouldn’t leave easily. But maybe he could survive this day, and the next, believing that this wasn’t the end of their story.

Anthony eventually rose and set the notebook reverently back on the desk. He needed to get ready for class, he supposed. Moving felt difficult – his body was weighed down by emotional exhaustion. But he managed to shower and dress, finding the motions easier as he went along, as though autopilot had mercifully kicked in.

In the mirror, he was startled by his own reflection: eyes puffy and rimmed with red, face pale and drawn. He looked like someone who had spent the night in tears, which was the truth. With a grimace, he splashed cold water on his face again and gently pressed a cool washcloth over his eyes. It would have to do – he didn’t want anyone asking questions.

Before leaving the room, he took one last look at the poster of Elsa on his wall. He stepped closer and gently brushed his fingers over it, tracing the outline of her face. “We’ll be together again,” he whispered, echoing her promise. Saying it out loud made him feel braver. “I’ll wait for you. And I’ll do everything I can on my side too.”

He thought of the reality shifting exercises, of possibly exploring other methods, of maybe even researching if anyone else had experienced similar phenomena. He’d devote himself to it, as much as life allowed. That way, he wouldn’t sink under the weight of longing; he’d be actively working towards their reunion.

As he turned to go, his eyes fell on his phone on the bedside table. He picked it up to check the time. In doing so, he noticed something odd: the phone’s lock screen, which normally showed a generic wallpaper, now displayed tiny sparkling motes drifting across the image. He unlocked it curiously, but the sparkles disappeared. Perhaps it was just his imagination – or perhaps a final sign, like a wink from the universe.

Pocketing the phone, Anthony squared his shoulders. The day awaited with all its normalcy, and he would face it, carrying this secret sorrow and joy inside him. He opened the door and stepped out into the hallway. A neighbor down the hall gave him a casual wave; he forced a small smile in return, hoping it looked normal.

As he headed toward the stairwell, he allowed himself one more private thought of her. I love you, Elsa. Wherever you are. The words echoed in his mind, strong and true.

And somewhere, in a world of snow and magic, he felt an answering warmth – a gentle flutter in his heart that wasn’t entirely his own. He imagined Elsa at that very moment, perhaps standing in a glade with the wind spirits swirling around her, gazing at a dawn of her own. And he imagined her smiling, feeling his love across whatever distance separated them.

That image carried him down the stairs and out into the cool morning. The sun was rising, breaking through a line of trees on campus, casting gold onto the dewy grass. Anthony closed his eyes for a second, face tilted up to the light, and breathed deeply. The air was fresh and carried a faint chill.

It reminded him of her – of crisp nights and open skies.

He opened his eyes and walked forward to join the flow of students on the path. No one looking at him would know that his heart was not entirely in this world. But that was alright. He would live in this world, for now, do what he needed to do… and when the day was done, he would return to the realm of dreams, to search for her again.

Each step was a bit easier than the last as he murmured under his breath, a mantra and a promise combined: “She will bring me home.” And he believed it. With every fiber of his being, he believed it. The journey wasn’t over. Hope, fragile but bright, fluttered within him like an internal aurora. And as Anthony went off to class beneath the soft morning sun, he carried Elsa’s love and the certainty of their vow – a secret light guiding him through the ordinary world until the moment their extraordinary paths would cross once more.