The sun poured over Arendelle's castle gardens, where peonies swelled fat and pink beside tight blue hydrangeas. Daffodils bobbed in the warm breeze, and the air smelled of cut grass and sun-baked stone. Somewhere deep in the green, a small figure knelt in the dirt, fingers pressed flat against a rose, waiting for something summer had no right to give.
Elsa pressed her palm flat against the rose and pulled. The frost that crept across each petal wasn't blue. It glowed warm gold, catching the July sun like a pane of honey glass. She pulled her hand back and stared. The ice crackled softly against the surrounding leaves, a tiny sound, like sugar breaking in a bowl.
The gold faded. Within a breath, the petals paled back to cold blue, and Elsa frowned. She tilted the bloom, tried again — but this time she wove the frost in thin spirals, coiling it around each petal like tinsel wire. The spiral held. The gold held. A tiny 'Oh!' slipped past her lips, and the whole bush shimmered.
Elsa worked across the garden now, spiraling frost into daffodils, peonies, hydrangeas — the beds pulsing gold beside the living summer blooms. At the far corner, a stubborn thistle bristled its spines, refusing the magic. When her fingers finally touched it, the thistle exploded into a shower of golden ice needles that tinkled down her shoulders like a handful of tiny bells.
Anna stumbled through the garden gate, mud caked on her knees, hair tumbling from its braid. 'Elsa! Where are you?' Then she stopped. Her hand clamped over her mouth. The entire garden blazed impossible gold-and-green before her. She walked forward, slow, each step crunching on frost-tipped petals.
Anna reached out and traced one ice petal with her fingertip. It was warm. Not cold — warm, the way a cup of tea warms your thumb. She looked up at her sister, eyes wide. 'How?' Elsa said nothing. She just smiled, and the golden flowers ticked and hummed around them like a secret kept between two people who knew it.
Anna spun and threw both arms around her sister, tucking her face into the shoulder. 'You made summer feel even more wonderful,' she whispered, breath fogging faintly in the sunlit air. Elsa wrapped her arms back, tight. The golden ice flowers around them ticked a little louder, as if the garden itself were smiling.
Elsa pressed her forehead to Anna's, and neither of them moved. Around them, the golden flowers ticked and hummed, keeping time, keeping time, keeping time — as if the whole garden breathed in light. The July sun sat low and gold on their faces, and the frost on the roses held its warmth, just a little longer.