[Elsa knows that well. There were good days in her childhood, the rare times where she thought her touch wouldn't freeze everything she came in contact with even with the gloves, where she just... wanted to play. To pick up the piano she loved as a child but stopped because playing required touching and touching was bad. But on the good days, when she'd lose herself in playing the piano, it felt... amazing, to make something good with the hands she hated so much.
It wasn't the same, with him feeling wistful about a place rather than the act of playing itself, but the feelings... they were similar, weren't they?]
At least they seem to be... kind, if a bit odd. [And even the oddness isn't really bad?] I suppose our situation could be much worse.
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[Elsa knows that well. There were good days in her childhood, the rare times where she thought her touch wouldn't freeze everything she came in contact with even with the gloves, where she just... wanted to play. To pick up the piano she loved as a child but stopped because playing required touching and touching was bad. But on the good days, when she'd lose herself in playing the piano, it felt... amazing, to make something good with the hands she hated so much.
It wasn't the same, with him feeling wistful about a place rather than the act of playing itself, but the feelings... they were similar, weren't they?]
At least they seem to be... kind, if a bit odd. [And even the oddness isn't really bad?] I suppose our situation could be much worse.