The morning sun streams through the window, dancing across Anna's face. The princess stirs, not yet ready to open her eyes, and for a little while the world, to her, is all rosiness and patterns of pinkness, the color of light against closed eyelids.

She nestles closer to Elsa.

Finally, her eyes flutter open, lightly blinking away the peace of sleep. The dawn gives the bedchamber a ruddy hue – as though it were a snug cottage in winter lit by a warm fireplace. Elsa is snoring beside her, her arms wrapped tenderly around Anna, one hand gently cupping her breast.

The queen's slumber is heavy. Anna delicately disentangles herself from her embrace, taking the time to survey her in the glow of the morn. Stretched out, casually nude, with silken blankets all about her, her sister looks like the painting of Venus in the portrait room. Yet, while Anna is more than happy comparing Elsa to a goddess, she recalls that Venus has a far more arrogant face. She'd mentioned it at least a hundred times to Joan throughout her youth and come up with countless colorful descriptions of the Olympian's snide expression. Even in waking, Elsa never appears so contemptuously proud.

No, there is a certain innocence to Elsa, something almost childlike. Anna knows that other people would not be likely to associate these words with the ruler of Arendelle, especially if they knew she was in love with her own sister. But other people have not looked directly into the brightness of Elsa's eyes, letting their jubilance fill their souls, as Anna has done. Other people have not heard her feather-light whispers rustling in their ears, telling them with sweet delight that they are wonderful.

Anna has beheld her sister at her most private, her most personal. She watched the guilt and self-doubt of so many years give way to euphoria the first time Elsa fumbled in her arms, accepting passions that, like her powers, she had too long tried to keep hidden.

Since, she has seen Elsa fall into ecstasies at her merest touch.

A contented smile graces the young sovereign's lips as she snuggles more deeply into a pillow, evidently under the impression it is Anna, for she sighs her sister's name softly as she does so. Anna giggles.

At the light tinkling of Anna's laughter, Elsa begins to shake sleep off of her. She rubs her eyes and yawns, sitting up in the bed. After a long moment, she places a hand on her sister's cheek.

"You look like an angel, Anna," she says at last.

Anna is used to such flattering comments and idealizations from Elsa. "Do I?" she asks coyly.

"Yes…" So much earnestness, so much conviction is in Elsa's voice. "The sunlight, it gets caught in your hair. It makes your skin shimmer all golden. It makes a… makes a halo around your face."

Anna laughs, springing carelessly up from the bed. "You're so poetic, Elsa!"

"Only because of you. Only ever because of you."

Beaming, Anna begins to flit around the room in the nude, sometimes taking up a blanket and swathing herself in it, sometimes cavalierly letting the blanket fall away. Elsa chuckles – and that only makes Anna smile wider.

"Do I look like a wood-nymph, a dryad, Elsa?" she bemusedly enquires, striking poses out of paintings as she speaks.

"Oh, yes. Of course you do," Elsa murmurs. "You look like anything beautiful. You're the most beautiful person I've ever known, you know – in body, in spirit." And Anna knows that Elsa means every word.

The princess bounces back down on the bed, gazing up at her sister, who pulls her close and kisses her rapturously.