It was soon to be twelve. She could feel it.

Ever since Bethany had helped her out with the prince deal, she had developed a strange connection with midnights. She could sense all the midnights coming, if she was awake, and she was always correct.

Her affinity to the time was something she kept hidden, however, because it was just too weird to tell other people about it. Not even Bethany knew. Not even her husband. It wasn't that important as well to have to tell people around her.

She got used to it over time and forgot about it, even, until her daughter came to her. Her lovely beauty, whose soft blue eyes were just so like her father's but her black hair just like her own.

She called her a Japanese name, staying true to her identity, and bestowed upon her the name she'd be always called by.

Aoko.

This child was strange as well. Every time the clock struck twelve, the child woke up and cried. At first she believed it was only a coincidence, but when days grew into weeks and into months, even her husband noticed.

"Our blue child seems to have something for midnight," he'd remarked, crookedly smiling. His tired eyes had still shone with warmth, though, and they'd laughed together.

It lasted only for so long, though, however forever-like it had seemed when she'd woken up again and again, day after day. By one, the child stayed asleep, and so did she. By two, the entire thing was forgotten, though not entirely because of innocent causes.

Mother and child moved to Japan, her native land. Aoko looked Japanese enough- except for those blue eyes- to be able to pass by and not be labeled foreigner. Father stayed back, with tears rolling down and fingers pressing softly. He had to rule his land, she always told Aoko. It was his responsibility.

Once a year he'd come visit, so it wasn't too bad, but it was hard for the two to start again in a new yet so familiar a land. It was especially hard for the two-year-old, but they managed. They had to.

Looking back, they laughed. Their lives were hard, but also fun; difficult, but oh-so-worth it. Now Aoko had her own little child, a loving husband, and laughter enough to fill up an old woman's life.

It was soon to be twelve. They could feel it.

They never really spoke about it, but they both knew. Just like how they both knew now, that it would be exactly twelve when she left the world. Her husband, a nice gentleman with a wicked twinkle in his eye, was uncharacteristically somber, along with his child, the little boy, but the two women were smiling at each other.

They knew, and there was always comfort in knowing. So one minute before twelve, the blue child- her blue child, who was no longer a child- quietly hugged her, whispering again and again three words, ("I love you"), while her grandson started to cry. Maybe he knew it too. Maybe he felt it in his bones too.

Now what more could a tired, old woman want? Tears, of happiness, of gratefulness, of life, went past the wrinkles and unto the soft cloth of her dear child. Just a few seconds before, Aoko said two other words (thank you), and laid her back down. Bowed her head.

The soft smile graced her lips, and she closed her eyes.

She wanted to say so many things-

What a nice feeling to know that I was loved.

What a nice life I've lead.

I hold no regrets-

Thank you.

But she knew she had no time. She had run out. There was only a two-second time span to stay. So she summed it up, and said, "I am happy."

It was enough. She let herself go, and the clock struck midnight, soundlessly, or perhaps she simply didn't hear it.

A silence, to be broken a second or two later by a heavy sob, and nothing more- in other words,

It was midnight.