Anna and Ariel, Gingers to the Death
Everyone had their breaking point. You push even kind-hearted ginger girls there, they'd get there. And fall over the edge of the chasm of madness. "Yeah, no one cares!" Anna huffed, and she'd have punched the wall if it didn't mean cutting her hands with glass shards. As it was, she pretty much just assumed they'd be in for seven years bad luck - or seven times however many mirrors just broke.
Maybe about three-hundred years. So what was the difference if she took out her frustration?
"Mean!" she spat, and kicked a table with a vase on it. Of course, that shattered too, because of her temper tantrum - then she just picked the small table up by the legs and chucked it, wood splintering. "I hate this place."
This could also be a sign that she needed sleep. "First room with a bed in it," was her offering. "Put the pillow over your ears, that might drown it out."