continue from here {@honeymxren}
Elsabeth had been carrying the thought around for weeks—no, months—turning it over in her mind like something fragile she was afraid to drop. The words never seemed to come out right when she rehearsed them alone. They either sounded too selfish or too uncertain, and neither felt acceptable. Change, especially this kind of change, wasn’t something she took lightly.
It meant stepping away—at least partially—from the safety of numbers, from the predictability of accounting books and balance sheets where everything had a place and everything made sense in the end. Ice, on the other hand, was unpredictable. It demanded everything from her—her body, her focus, her heart—and gave no guarantees in return.
Still, she couldn’t deny the pull.
She would keep working for the amphitheatre, of course. That part wasn’t negotiable. It grounded her, gave her structure, and more importantly, it meant she wouldn’t have to hand over full responsibility to Anna. Not that she didn’t trust her sister—she did, with her whole heart—but trust and capability weren’t always the same thing when pressure came crashing down.
Anna felt everything so deeply. Sometimes too deeply.
Elsabeth had seen it, the way anxiety curled around her sister’s shoulders, the way certain memories still lingered in her eyes when she thought no one was looking. The PTSD wasn’t something that simply disappeared with time, no matter how much Anna tried to smile through it. And Elsabeth knew—knew—that placing the full weight of the amphitheatre on her would be like asking her to hold up the sky with trembling hands.
And Elsabeth couldn’t do that to her.
Not after what had already been taken from them.
A familiar guilt twisted in her chest, sharp and unwelcome. It never really left, no matter how much time passed or how many people told her it wasn’t her fault. In quiet moments like this, it crept back in, whispering the same cruel truth she had convinced herself of years ago.
She had already hurt Anna once.
She wouldn’t risk doing it again.
Her fingers curled slightly at her sides as she forced herself to stay present, to keep her voice steady when she finally spoke.
“I have been wanting to for a while.”
The words came out softer than she intended, almost as if saying them too loudly would shatter the idea entirely. But there was something else beneath the quiet tone—something steady, something real. This wasn’t just a passing thought anymore.
It hadn’t been for a long time.
“I used to be a professional ice skater,” she continued, her gaze drifting slightly as memories surfaced—bright lights reflecting off pristine ice, the sharp sound of blades carving into the surface, the electric hum of a crowd waiting for her next move. “Before my parents passed away.”
There was a brief pause, not heavy, but meaningful.
“And I love teaching kids. I really do. Seeing them learn, seeing that spark when they finally get something right…” A small, genuine smile touched her lips, fleeting but warm. “It matters to me.”
Her expression softened, though something more wistful slipped in.
“But I miss it. Not just skating, but… all of it. The adrenaline. The pressure. The way everything feels like it’s balancing on a single moment.” She exhaled slowly, as if releasing something she’d been holding onto for years. “I miss the thrill of competitions.”
Her eyes lifted again, clearer now, more certain.
“I don’t just want to teach anymore. I want to go further than that.”
There it was. The truth, laid bare.
“I want to aim bigger.” A faint, almost disbelieving breath escaped her, like she still couldn’t quite believe she was saying it out loud. “I want to try for the Winter Olympics.”
It sounded impossible when spoken, like something meant for someone else—someone braver, someone less burdened by the past. But even as doubt lingered at the edges, there was something else growing stronger in its place.
Maybe it was foolish. Maybe it was too late. Maybe the world would tell her she had missed her chance.
But for the first time in a long while, Elsabeth allowed herself to hold onto the possibility anyway.
She could dream. She wanted to Dream, and she'll continue to dream with Honeymaren at her side.
