So, my friends 11 year old cousin passed away a couple of days ago, and that sort of inspired this little ficlet. It's a bit random, but whatevs
When death steals the things you love, he steals apart of you.
The air was still and the silence, deafening.
A parent should never bury their child, Snow knows -and yet, here she is.
She hovers over the body of her fallen daughter – her soldier.
Her body shudders, and her lower lip quivers.
It doesn't feel real – none of this does.
How is someone supposed to simply accept that their whole world has been turned upside down within a matter of seconds?
She stands alone; so small and insignificant here, where the darkness of the walls cage her - her own dungeon.
A Queen dethroned and reduced to a prisoner of her life –or what's left of it.
It's suffocating.
Her hand is pressed firmly against the aged glass coffin – the one containing the body of the wrong soul.
Death has chosen her daughter to stand in her place – taking revenge for her lucky escape.
True loves kiss? A stroke of mere luck.
Snow now knows there are no miracles in life.
If there were, she would have been the one to raise her daughter- taught her to walk, to talk, how to dress for her first ball.
She wouldn't be standing at her daughters resting place, holding back the tears which she refuses to let fall.
Crying wouldn't change anything and Emma would be horrified at a blubbering mess.
So she would be strong, for Emma – her Emma.
Life isn't a fairytale, and no happy ending is guaranteed.
Death shows no mercy –taking those willing to die – those who deserve to live – those who mean more than life itself to those they love, and those who love them.
Looking down at the perfect combination of her own and Charming's features, Snow couldn't contain the sob that escaped her lips.
She gently caressed her daughter's cheek, the warmth that usually radiated from her, gone.
The chill sent down Snows spine made her wince and her own blood ran cold.
This wasn't her daughter.
Her daughter was full of life – beautiful - at times, stubborn life.
This was a lifeless shell.
No, a mother should never bury her child.
It was only when Snow felt the strong arms of her husband snake around her waist, his body pressing against hers, did she feel safe enough to let her guard down.
She melted into his embrace, their bodies molding into each other– the way they always have, and always will - a perfect fit.
Charming buried his head in the crook of her neck and Snow could feel the warmth of his silent tears, soaking through the fabric of her blouse.
They stood, together as one, grieving for their daughter- the savior - their savior.
She who fought a battle she was willing to die for.
One she did die for.
Emma would've risked anything to ensure her sons safety.
If that meant her last breath would be taken while being the kind of savior she was truly meant to be – a mother, then so be it.
She may have lost the battle, but she did not lose the war.