Hello! Antheria here to welcome you to my very first Fanfiction, with the original concept adopted from JSHNgirl as she gave me her story 'Time after time'. Please note that this story will be very AU. In other words, this story will take place in an Alternate Universe of my design. I have made many changes and hope you will enjoy this first chapter. Your feedback is necessary for me to make this story better, chapter by chapter, so please review if you can.
Disclaimer: I do not own Fairy Tail.
They say that the apple doesn't fall far from the tree, which in my situation would be exactly the case. It wasn't my fault I looked so much like her, so much like mother. Some would even say that we looked more like siblings, as funny as it was. She always took amusement from that. Mother would give them a gentle upturning of her lips, it was a smile. Chocolate brown eyes, glossy blonde hair, a soft face and fair skin, which was how she looked like, how people said I looked like. I begged to differ.
While we were similar in many ways, paying closer attention to me instead of showering my mother in empty compliments proved otherwise.
Her face was soft, mine happened to be a tad bit more angular. Her bright blonde hair was perfectly sleek, straight and easy to style. My hair was a shade lighter, curling at the ends and having a tendency to stick up in directions when I wasn't paying attention; she'd always mention how hard it was to wrangle it into a proper braid or bun—or any hairstyle for that matter during one of the more formal parties. Her eyes were a light chocolate brown; mine was dark amber, the gentle sloping of my nose against her cute button one.
She and I were similar, that I could admit. But I wasn't her. I didn't even look like her!
I couldn't see why my father was so upset with me; I couldn't help but be born this way. Why would he avoid me, despite all those differences? Was it the frustration that he couldn't bear to remind himself of what he could've had if she hadn't died, or was it grief rearing its ugly head once more to overlap her face on mine?
Mother died young, I knew that was a fact. Most people lived over the age of 28; she died as she turned 28. Why couldn't Father accept that? I did. It was hard, but I did.
He should've been stronger (for me), he should've been more open-minded (for me). He kept his eyes closed, shielding his face from the bitter truth his gentle soul wouldn't have been able to handle and pulled the curtains around him to envelop his mind in the safety of darkness. But everyone knows that something's always lurking in the dark, watching, waiting and yearning to strike. It doesn't always have to be monsters, demons or anything of the sinister type at all.
But the moment Father shut the light out, those monsters and demons rising from the blood on his hands poured in from obscurity, which the sun once kept at bay. They all fed on his feast of a mind until Father was festering from the inside out, until he was rotting, until he started to reek and until he soaked his hands in even more (yours) blood.
He was weak and I was strong, nothing would change that fact anymore. It was a dog-eat-dog world out there where the weak are meat and where the strong eat.
No more hugs and kisses, no more home-cooked meals and well wishes and no more trips to the market place in ignorant bliss as the perfect life I once had cracked beneath the weight of the world like glass.
Only the cold furrows left behind by the claws adorning his hands (that monster called 'Father'), only the tearful concerto made from the dancing of ivory keys, only the ear splitting silence and reminiscent whispers of nostalgia flitting by, only the feel of ice and hardcover books left behind.
A home wasn't a home without its light; the estate wasn't my home without its light.
I hadn't realized that soon enough as the repercussions of fresh bruises every step of my feet across the forest floor and the silver old scars tingling from phantom pain reminded me.
Under the cover of dark where no light reached, beneath the ever-green canopy of the trees to the dying frost of winter and accompanied by the cacophony of wildlife, jingling keys and the hollow crunch of fallen leaves and twigs, I, Lucy Heartfilia am finally breaking through the bars that has barred me from happiness for years with a large pouch of jewels weighing a pound in my satchel, four precious friends at my side, all the things I hold dear to me, a change of clothes and a canteen of water. I was prepared.
But that didn't mean it was any less daunting for a 9-year old like me.
(Run, run, run or the monster will catch you…)
Mother's death hit us hard, even the servants and residents of the estate felt the wave of depression that seemed to roll over acres of our family-owned land.
And even if I was hit harder than them all, Father was hit the hardest.
What was once a jolly, chipper, charismatic if slightly clumsy man had turned a complete one-eighty, wronging the world as it wronged him. Blessings turned curses, happiness turned sadness. Everything became superficial as soon as the body of Mother was lowered into the dark, rich, earthy soil of the ground.
If Mother was the sun, then Father was the moon.
Without the moon borrowing light from the sun, it would dim. Without the sun, everything would die.
The sun was very, very important.
Mother was very, very important.
Though even if something important had been lost, Father still threw another party a month after her passing, he couldn't appear weak to his other rivals or they would peck at his rotting body like the vultures they really are. And in the business world, even something as emotional as grieving for your wife was considered a weakness.
Everything sparkled that chilling November night. From the well maintained marble floor to the silver dishes to the accessories on women. My lilac gown was made from only the best, white frills, lavender lace and sinfully soft fabric I can't seem to place a name to, even my white Mary-janes were spick and span, not a single scuff of dirt on their shining surfaces. Certainly a large contrast to my usual attire of a white blouse and a black skirt, I would've worn them if not for Father.
"A girl donned in such casual attire cannot be considered a Heartfilia, especially since said Heartfilia is the premier of another successful future for the lineage."
"Then I must not be your daughter at all."
I was feeling particularly bitter that day since he had forgotten my birthday the night before, though the satisfaction wasn't worth feeling the crack of a whip on my back ten times.
As the night stretched on longer and longer, so did my boredom. Minutes turned hours seemed to pass by at a snail's pace as smartly dressed butlers and maids flit about the large crowd, between tables, to the balcony and up the second floor stairwell serving aperitifs and hors d'oeuvres. Familiar faces approach me in my spot right just out the door, sitting on marble steps gazing out into the garden.
Some sit down for conversation once their trays are safely in the hands of another, others serve me plates of food freshly cooked from the kitchen or nabbed from the buffet table, but most ask me if I wish to return to my room. Being the responsible child I am, I decline.
If Father were to call for me while I wasn't here, there'd only be trouble the next day.
The moon seems to cast a distinct ethereal glow above the light pollution from nearby residences, yawning its way between two large, ever-green forested mountains and reflecting its visage on the seemingly undisturbed surface of the lake as the glittering dust of almost dying stars is sprinkled across the black blanket above. For a time, I stare at the beauty of the scene before lively music leaks out the doors behind me and ruins the serene moment.
'Even when I seek solace, Father's influence seems to find its way to me.' I pause before continuing my train of thought, 'How fitting. Will it be this way even when I leave?'
I was a romantic born into the wrong place, the wrong time and the wrong role. In this world that Father expects me to become queen of, the modernists kill the romantics and are thrown 7-feet below the ground.
Scarily enough, I adapted into the role so perfectly no one but Father seems to notice.
(Oh he's turning you into a monster like him…)
'Father wasn't Father. He hasn't been Father since the passing of Mother, was I too blind to see?'
"Once more, the heiress bearing the Heartfilia name does not strive for perfection, she is perfection!" Father's voice bellowed throughout the room, even at this distance, it felt as if he could see every twitch of my fingers nervously hovering over piano keys.
'Bullshit' I couldn't help but think after hearing his words.
Under the watchful eye of my two very supportive retainers, I try to ease my nerves, relax my hands and replay the musical piece once more. Keeping my movements light, fast and fluid was the only way to please Father and hired tutor, their scrutinizing gazes bearing deep into my back. As the piece goes on and on, muscle memory kicks in and soon I don't have to think anymore.
"Enough." I can't recognize the voice from the whirlwind of concentration I'm in as the music drowns everything else out. But the voice keeps niggling at the back of my mind like a pesky fly, whose is it? Is it Father's, Teacher's, Elise's or Felicia's?
It doesn't matter.
I keep playing, I still keep my eyes on the piece, I still keep playing, playing, playing. Eager to please, I continue my merry tune.
"Milady, your father along with Sir Lloyd has already left after you restarted; perhaps it's time to take a break."
But I still keep playing, playing, playing. I still want to please Father (no matter how much of a monster he is), I still want his praise (no matter how ugly it is), I still want his attention (Because he's all you have left). If I want that, I must be perfect.
"Little princess please," I feel the warmth of Elise's hug engulfing me before I finally hit the last note, her hands cupping my smaller ones, "stop." And the piece comes to an abrupt stop.
Even Felicia sits down beside me and pulls me onto her lap.
"Look at me my little princess, just look," I hear the brunette start as I stare at the hands still cupping mine, carrying both appendages above the white keys. They're not Elise's tan hands anymore, instead they're pale, Felicia's.
"Milady, it's only polite to look at someone in the face when they're talking, why don't you listen to her, hm?"
Hesitantly, I meet Elise's gentle, amethyst gaze with my own. She smiles and pats my head once more.
"I may not look like your Mother to you," she begins, "in fact; I'd never want to be a Mother to you. So forgive me for saying this little princess, because I want to be your big sister instead. I want to protect you, to help you, to love you and to care for you. But how can I possibly protect you from your Father? I can't. So please, let me hold you in my arms a bit longer, let me hear the secrets and thoughts a Mother can't hear, let me do what a big sister is supposed to do and let me be one of your pillars."
Her voice cracked a bit more towards the end before I felt warm water hit the back of my blouse. Felicia said nothing, simply held my hands tighter.
"M-Milady, with all due respect, but I share the same sentiment as Elise. I may have not known you for as long as Elise has, but I still love you as if you were my family. At this point, you most likely already are."
"Felicia, Elise, both of you are so very precious to me, I wouldn't know what to do without you." I felt my throat constrict as I let out my next few words, "But it's because of that love that I can't spread my wings. Please, you must understand. If you must love me then you'll have to let me sort this out on my own. I need to learn how to fight my own fights."
"Very well little princess, if that is what you wish." A small smile appeared on her face, "Just remember that we'll always be here should the need arise. We are your retainers, you can count on us."
"We'd take on the world for you!" Felicia exuberantly added, "We'd do anything for your safety, even if it meant ravaging the entire continent of Fiore!"
'Anything…?' An idea presented itself across my mind, something that might even make them happy as well…now that I know how precious they are to me, I want them to be happy even if the world around them is gray.
"Then if that's the case, I'll need your help to teach me how to fight for myself, just as my Mother had fought, just as you both fight to protect me. If you can do that, maybe you'd be able to be the Big Sisters you want to be."
Taking in their surprised expressions, I can see their hesitance as clear as day. As if they themselves hadn't chosen to bear themselves unto me. After all, I'm only human. I'm entitled to my own requests (selfishness) just as these two are.
'Are you really? You need to be perfect. You can't be human if you need to be perfect,' my mind whispers, '(because humans…are the epitome of imperfection).'
It's Elise who speaks next, eyes narrowed in determination as her lips quirk into a wan smile, "Anything for you darling."
(She's lying)
It's in the following months where father changes the most.
The small chips of ice in his eyes happened to engulf the entirety of his cold, brown orbs, each day became more and more like numb clockwork with the rare 'I love you Lucy' gradually being replaced by 'you're not good enough'. The heiress wasn't sad though, her retainers stubbornly stood by her side as they kept their promise.
The voluptuous amethyst eyed beauty, Elise, happened to be quite proficient in terms of casting spells from various grimoires as well as wielding axes, while the flaxen haired maiden, Felicia, was the adept knife thrower. By her request, they both taught Lucy their forte in the dead of night, fear of prying eyes becoming paranoia as they resolutely trained Lucy, who was already quite physically fit for her age and upbringing. It helped that they happened to be quite good company.
Small changes in the routine that is my life.
I'm in the middle of target practice with Felicia when it happens, "Milady!" Is what I hear before she pushes me out of the way of an incoming arrow. The cobblestone ground is still slick and muddy form the rain that fell a few hours prior, but that doesn't help soften my landing at all. I can see the wooden shaft of an arrow inches beside my head and suddenly, everything seems clearer.
"F-Felicia?" I stutter out
"Milady please stay down!" I can feel her standing over me, the tip of her long maids uniform brushing my arm, "It's not safe yet, just a little longer."
I know I shouldn't look, but the strong smell of metal in the air gets the better of my obedience as I look up and see the tip of an arrow sticking out of Felicia's soldier. The tip is coated in blood as the wood is being gradually saturated in red, the color sticking out like a sore thumb in the white of her apron.
"Felicia you're hurt!" I gasp out as I try to stand, "I-I'll go ask for help!"
"Milady you must stay down until it's safe!" I look back and see her sheathing knives in one hand and shuriken in the other,
I shake my head and ignore her, hastily standing up and running back towards the house, "Don't worry I'm a pretty fast runner so it'll only take a second to get Eli-"
I was stupid.
"Milady get down!" This time it's more urgent as I'm tackled to the ground by Felicia once more, the throwing knives and shuriken in her hands falling to the ground with a sharp clang as three more dull thuds follow. This time, the air seems almost heavy with the smell of metal.
A familiar breathy voice whispers into my ear, "You're okay...that's...good." Dread fills me as I put a face to that voice before a cough followed by the feeling of a liquid landing on my ear makes me turn my head.
"Felicia..." My eyes widen a fraction
"I'm glad you're okay...Milady...I don't know what I would do if you'd gotten hurt." She coughs once more, this time, I notice her steadily paling complexion and the way her electric blue eyes seem to dim to a darker hue.
"F...Felicia you're-" a choked sob makes its way out of my constricting throat as tears bubble up from my eyes, Felicia seems to notice and musters up the strength to wrap her right arm around me.
"Shh...this doesn't matter. I don't matter; as long as you're alive my world will keep spinning. The limits of what a maid wouldn't do for her master have yet... to be tested." She seems to grin, her physical disposition not reflecting at all on the quirk of her lips, "You've given me a life, now it's time to return it. Feel free to take anything you want from my belongings Milady, they've always been yours to...be...gin...ith." Her azure eyes struggle to stay open before they close, "...remember...wh..at we talked about..."
They're her final words and I can't help but burn them into my heart. Because as much as I want to believe that this is all a blood-stained, ugly dream that my mind conjured up, that would be lying and mother discouraged lying. Lies may just be pretty words sugar coated with an extra layer of honey, but whoever you feed them to might just get diabetes instead and die.
My heart skips a bit for a second at the implications my mind makes, but all I want is to just wake up and see the sunlight and see Felicia standing by my bedside holding a tray of morning tea with Camilla off to the side rummaging through my closet. I want to see mother sitting on a bench watching the gardener prune the trees as she reads a book and father confidently walking down the hallways with a bounce in his step and a small smile on his face. I want to hear the gentle lilt to mother's voice as she sings a lullaby and the feeling of Felicia's hands combing through my hair in the morning, I want to hear Camilla's tinkling laugh whenever I do something she thinks is funny (when really it's not) and taste Fathers cooking whenever I can get him in the kitchen.
I want to wake up from this nightmare and feel alive, but as metal plunges through my hand and something lifts Felicia's still warm-alive, my mind whispers into my ear, body off me I know this all can't be something that happens in one of my dreams because it hurts.
It hurts more than the sharp sting of Father's (can't be father can't be father; monster, monster!) belt on my back whenever my efforts don't meet his expectations, it hurts more than Father's (are you sure that's him?) hits whenever he smells of that dreaded liquid.
It hurts more than that monsters teeth and claws in my father's flesh digging through my life that is a mess. Then, I scream.
The blade twists through my flesh easily, not unlike a knife cutting through the cakes mother used to bake, "Ah it's such a shame I'd have to leave a mark on one so young." The voice is smooth and slick, distinctly male as it sounds clear as day to me through the wails of pain scratching it'd way out of my throat.
"I don't regret it though," The strangers hand roughly grabs my neck and lifts me up, coal black eyes staring back into my amber eyes. "Especially since you have such a pretty face."
I start to panic, eyes wide and question running through my mind. My breath is ragged and my hand is numb, sluggishly bleeding out and onto the ground. "W-Why...?" I manage to croak out a sentence, but my throat still hurts from all that screaming. I'm looking straight back into his eyes now, fat tears rolling down as the pressure on my neck gradually increases.
"Oh, are you in pain?" He doesn't say much, but I can see his eyes dancing with mirth. "Don't worry the next part will be much more..." He trails off, "pleasurable." He says the next word as if it's sacred, as if the implications of that single word would bring good to many.
To me, it sounds as if it would bring me hell instead.
I'm not stupid, I'm not dumb.
'He's going to rape you, as the man in the book raped thousands of others.'
"N-No please! Please," I'm desperate now, "anything but that, anything!" My breaths are heavy as the tears come once more, my hands are trembling and now I'm struggling.
"Tsk troublesome little girl, you know what that means, huh?" He's single handedly keeping me at bay from hitting me as the pressure on my neck increases, "don't worry it'll be over soon. I bet you won't even feel it..."
Then the world turns black.
End of Chapter One. Apologies for the awful writing technique, still working on that.
On another note, vote on the poll on my profile for what pairing you want for this story. The deadline wont be for a long time, but I'll definitely be watching the poll.