#i love how the snow is so aggressive and wild around elsa

[its-me-screeching]

Phantoms - chapter 1: The familiar stranger

My newest Merelsa project! Told from Merida's perspective. For more info, see my AO3. Otherwise, enjoy the ride!

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It was a regular autumn evening in October, rain pattering against my window like the great biblical flood would be taking place anytime soon, and there was a knock on my door.

I did not pay attention to it.

I retracted my hand from the bag of Nacho Cheese Doritos positioned on my lap and brought the snacks to my mouth. They tasted bland, I thought to myself, like they always did these days. No matter how much I pained my mind, I couldn't recall a time in which food had tasted like heaven.

Another knock. I still wouldn't answer the door.

I stretched out on my couch, reached for the remote of the television, and reduced the volume. The reporter on the news droned on in his monotone voice, speaking of global warming, war, a car crash nearby or something equally terrible. I didn't know exactly what he was saying; all I knew was, I didn't want to hear it.

I cast a third glance at my front door, from which the knocking still resounded. Whoever was standing there would grow tired fast enough, their knuckles reddened and hurting from continously molesting the entrance to my humble apartment. The noise, annoying like a fly buzzing in your ear every second of the day, didn't cease.

Perhaps I would have answered the door quicker if I had but the faintest idea of who could be standing behind it. Thinking back now, if I knew who it would turn out to be, I would've bolted for the door in seconds, anxious to see the person behind it.

Instead, I took my time, letting my eyes roam around my apartment, deciding fast that this was not a place I fancied letting people into. I saw my collection of unwashed plates and cutlery displayed on the kitchen counter like the ruins of a once glorious castle, and a layer of dust on the floor, thick enough to tickle my bare feet if I stood up. And the scent… was not to write home about. I would try to urge myself to clean my home at least once a day, and after around five minutes, I would tell myself I'd do it 'later'.

'Later', I learnt soon, came to mean 'never' if you said it often enough. I felt my face heat up slightly, a blush appearing on my cheeks and heat creeping up my neck, as I sat on my couch, motionless, experiencing something akin to embarassment at the situation I'd gotten myself into.

And yet the knocking continued, and now it felt like an angry beast trying to make my eardrums burst.

It was time to get up and open the door, even if whoever was at the door would see my apartment and faint, were it for the smell or the mould surely gathering on plate number seven in my kitchen.

As I stood up from my couch and trudged through the dust, vowing to finally take to vacuum cleaning later (never, never, never), I called out 'I'm coming! Wait a second!' and continued to wonder whoever it could be at the door

It couldn't be a family member, for I hadn't had any contact with any of them for well over a year. My relationship with them, especially my mother, had been complicated, I'd been told, and after my incident, tension rose and I ceased all contact with them.

Not for the first time, I questioned if it had been a family member, perhaps my mother, who had led me to abuse Nepenthe in such a way.

Nepenthe. A drug, bittersweet on your tongue, but stinging in your brain like acid. There are many reasons to take a drug; the enhancement of your senses, the increase or decrease of focus, to calm down or to go wild. Nepenthe was never like that; Nepenthe made you forget. And when you overdose on it, you'll face the true meaning of amnesia.

I overdosed, two years ago. There were memories, or one terrible, terrible memory, that I couldn't bear to live with. Then I took more I could handle, wiped my mind blanker than unused paper and that was that. When I woke up in a hospital bed, to the smell of disinfectants and feeling like I could vomit my guts out if I tried hard enough, I remembered almost nothing but my name and age.

I would remember in time, the doctor, a friendly Asian man, told me. He'd sit down on the side of my bed, not close enough to feel threatening and he would tell me I'd be fine. He'd had more patients like me, he said, and they all regained their memories as time passed on. As they returned to their own lives, the tiny, insignificant events and people they knew would trigger their memories, cause them to recall who they were before, piece by piece. Hearing a loved one's voice, seeing a show on TV, smelling what was once their favourite food, could be enough to make someone recover a memory they once held close.

I did regain some memories, but I knew my parents were hiding something. I suppose they were afraid I'd try to forget again if I eventually remembered what caused me to take that much Nepenthe in the first place. There was something missing from my life, like someone had taken a vital organ from my body that I could only hope to retrieve someday. I tried to prompt my family to tell me why; why would I do it, why, this was hell, I was in unknowing agony in fucking hell, please tell me what was so important that I'd do this. But my parents, indifferent as always, refused to speak.

They were doing what was best for me, they said. I understood. I understood what was best for me. I moved out of their house, to a different city, and hoped I'd be able to make new memories to fill the void Nepenthe left in my heart.

And still, I was hooked on that lost past, consumed by trying to recover the forgotten. It prevented me from functioning, stopped me from communicating with others and be social like normal people, made me go out at night to walk from somewhere to nowhere in hopes of catching a glimpse of something or someone I used to know well. I was stuck in incomplete existence and knew well that I wouldn't shake that feeling of hopelessness unless I figured out why I'd decided to ruin my own mind and life once.

Then there was the knocking on my door. For mere seconds, I allowed myself to think my parents would be standing on the other side of it, that they would tell me they would discuss the issues of my memories with me over dinner. Deep down, I knew it could only be my landlady, though, for it was possible I was behind with my rent. A small jab of misery on a list long enough to fill a novel.

I opened my door and fell speechless.

"Hello, Merida."

I didn't know her. That was all I could think about. This girl, with her platinum blonde braid and blue eyes, skin paler than snow, was not someone I was familiar with. And yet, it felt like I'd known her for decades.

"Do we know eachother?" I asked, feeling the vague sensation of a nervous nausea pooling in my stomach.

The girl smiled, and somewhere, deep in the back of my mind, I thought I could recall laughter, distant and unreachable. But it was there.

"I don't blame you for not remembering me. I know what happened, but you see…. We were friends once."

I raised an eyebrow. "Friends?"

"Friends. Good friends."

I crossed my arms. "What's your name, then?"

"I'm Elsa. Elsa Arens."

Many questions formed in my head. A fraud, I thought, she's looking to take advantage of my situation. Some people are experts at sniffing out where to get money… though, to be honest, if she knew my name, she'd also know my as a supermarket cashier provided me with just enough money to be able to have dinner every night, nothing more. I wasn't a millionaire in a movie, there was nothing she could take away from me. And this girl knew my name.

I felt my nails digging into my sleeve. "If you want, you can come in for a second. It would be easier to talk that way."

'Elsa' nodded. "That sounds like an idea."

Her voice, I thought, had an edge to it as cold as the autumn breeze outside. There was warmth in it, sure, but it was hidden. I would have to do my best to bring it out.

I took a few steps back. "Don't mind the mess," I said, getting ready to close the door behind her.

I was sure she was aware of it. The smell, the dishes, the dust, all of it. She didn't look around when entering the living room, but I saw her eyes move everywhere, soaking up my mess. I settled on my couch, leaning against the armrest, and she sat opposite of me, far more elegant than I could ever hope to be.

"So."

"A start." Elsa eyed me with a stern look. "Do you believe me?"

"Partially."

"Partially?"

"Yes, partially. If you were a good friend of mine, why didn't you come see me at the hospital? You know what happened, you know the aftermath, and we're two years further now. It took you two years to come and talk to me. That doesn't sound like a very good friend. Does it to you?" I sounded aggressive, more than I wanted to. Every bit of pent-up anger that had been building up over the years came spilling out of me, like a sleeping volcano coming back eith another eruptiom. I didn't want to be this angry with her, but considering the circumstances, I knew I had a right to.

Elsa leaned forward with a remorseful look, shoving my abandoned bag of bland doritos away with one hand and resting her chin on the other. "I'm sorry. I should've contacted you sooner. I just… I had to leave. I would've been there for you if I had the chance."

"What could possibly be more important than a friend who needs your help?"

"It was urgent business."

I almost laughed at it. A cruel laugh. "Urgent business? Sounds to me like you were in prison or something."

"Prison?"

"Yeah, could be. What did you do? Theft? Murder? Fucking hell, you better not be a former friend-turned-killer who's showing up to get my help hiding from the police."

Elsa's eyes widened. "No, no, nothing like that. It's the other way around, actually."

"Did you just accuse me of murder?"

"I meant that I'm here to help you, Merida. You don't have to do anything for me."

Now I did laugh, slumping on the couch even more. "Help me? Now? Is this you arriving fashionably late? 'Cause this isn't a fancy fucking party, Arens. This is 'urgent business'." I mimicked her own words, prying for a reaction.

"Look, I'm sorry I couldn't be there. I'm sorry I had to leave, but I'm here now, am I not?"

"Yes, you're here to help me. Help me with what, exactly?"

"Have you looked around, Merida?" her voice grew icier with each syllable. "You're a wreck. You need to get your life back on track if you want to be alive when next year comes around. You're dead now. I mean, you're obviously alive, but you're not living."

"I'm not a zombie."

"But you're moving through life as one."

She was right and I didn't like it. For all my dreams of being reconnected with my past, this was too much. It overwhelmed me, as if someone had drenched me in enough chloroform to make me sleep a hundred years, only to wake up to a reality even colder than the old one. I made up my mind.

"You need to leave."

"Oh, if you want me to, I will." Elsa stood up, not in hurry. "But your parents… they won't tell you why you overdosed, right? The only way for you to find out is through them, right?"

"What?"

"I know what you tried to forget. I know why."

Upon hearing this, I shot off of the couch like a gun from a bullet. I stared into her eyes, currently as welcoming as the cold, brick walls of my apartment building, and made sure she could see the determination in my own. "Tell me, please. I have to know."

"I can't tell you. You need to recall it yourself."

"No, I don't have to. I don't need to know anything else about you, god, you seem like an awful friend after what little I learned about you today. I don't need to know anything but this."

"If I tell you," Elsa stated without losing her cool, "years of lost memories will crash down on you in a few seconds. That's not healthy. You might even suffer from brain damage after. So you see, I'm opposed to telling you."

"Tell me then," I continued, "the whole story. Who you are, who I am, who we were. Tell me about your urgent business you had to leave for. This friendship we used to have. I'll gather memories and eventually, you'll be able to… you'll be able to tell me why."

Elsa sighed. "It's a long story. It would take me days to tell you all of it, Merida. I can't reduce 13 years to an hour."

"13… years?"

"It seems like you underestimated the extent of our friendship. It's not a problem."

"So, what do you propose?"

She raised an eyebrow and it was terrifying. Somewhere, hidden in my mind, many more moments like this one were locked away. It baffled me.

"I'll help you get your life back together, in a way. We'll clean this mess. We'll go some places together, make some new memories while you recover the old ones, and eventually, you'll find out why you overdosed."

"Sounds simple, but effective."

"Any objections?"

I narrowed my eyes. I'd become too curious to have any serious objections. "I still feel like you went to prison or something equally bad."

"Believe what you want to believe. I'd tell you about my reasons for leaving, but I can assure you, that would cause your mind to collapse too."

Too many memories still gone to know the truth. I knew what I had to do.

"Fine. Help me get my life back on track, Arens. Help me figure out what happened to me, and I'll decide in the end if your reasons for abandoning me in the past were good enough."

A small, almost adorable smile appeared on my guest's face. "Thank you."

On that strange autumn evening, I took my first step to uncovering the truth I now know. It was and is a terrible truth, one I still want to forget sometimes. It is also, however, a truth that needs to be told, to be remembered, for both knowing and not knowing broke me down just the same. I will write it down, for all who wish to read the tale, and I will never forget again.

#merelsa #elsida #merilsa #merida x elsa #elsa x merida #merida #elsa #brave #frozen #femslash #fanfic #my gay children learn to bond #and more