"You belong to me."
She’s standing in the middle of the parlour, body quivering like a leaf in the winds he commands. Head bent slightly, her ears simply listen for the familiar sound of his bare feet padding across the ice. Instead of the pitter patter of his feet, she hears his voice; that velvet promise of power. Instantly, Elsa turns around, searching, longing, needing to find him && suddenly she does.
He’s no more than a few inches away, and once again he repeats himself with a cold hand sliding up under her chin as long fingers frame the lower side of her jaw. She shudders at his touch, melting into his familiar frost. There isn’t an denying it — Elsa belongs to Jokul. She belongs to this embodiment of winter, this spirit of snow; he promised her beautiful things of war and destruction, of pain and misery that she could bestow on stupid humans like those of Arendelle.
She can feel him grinning, those razor teeth just glistening. She’s holding onto his arm for dear life, body as light as the snowflakes they can create. Without him, Elsa would fall; her kingdom, her rule, her winter would all melt away. Finally finding her voice amongst the deceptively gently touches, her eyes flutter open to stare at her Master from beneath thick lashes.
“I belong to you.”
