Chapter 1
The gentle zephyr ruffles her locks of brilliant yellow. Her feet dangle precariously over the edge of a precipice. Her eyes are upturned, her lips etched in a small line and the emptiness in her face tugs at the onlookers' heart strings. Somewhere far away, she hears anxious voices frantically call out her name but she wills herself to not reply. She knows that it's only a matter of time before a bevy of worried servants would hurry up to her and take her back; back to that hell of a mansion, back to the place where her every step would bring her pain and unbidden memories.
Her fingers fumble out of practice at her waist, searching in vain for a cluster of keys she once possessed. Her cry chokes in her throat as tears come back, pain returns and life as she knew it, dies out. The length of her long, billowing dress irritates her more than she can imagine and in a second, in a flash of bitter pain, she yanks at her skirt. She claws at it hysterically, shredding every bit of its expensive material into pieces, each shredded portion providing her with a glimmer of solace and a slight degree of relief. She stands tall, silhouetted against the setting sun, never more beautiful, nor ever more lethal.
"Oh, Miss Lucy, there she is!" A pleasant faced, plump lady huffs her way to Lucy. The lady's eyes turn down in dismay as she takes in Lucy's torn dress, flowing hair and dangerous beauty. "Miss, we must get you covered immediately." She murmurs, uttering not a word of reproach. Lucy wavers and then throws her arms around the plump lady and bursts into angry tears. The lady pats her gently on the back and the comfort is delivered with no words at all.
The huge gates to the mansion swings open on its hinges, creaking and groaning with the weight of iron and steel. Lucy walks in slowly, leaning heavily on the shoulder of her housekeeper. She notices her housekeeper gently urging her to hurry as nervous beads of cold sweat trail down her face. Lucy can sense that she fears the Master's wrath at seeing his daughter in such an improper state. "Hurry, Miss," she croons urgently, but Lucy just laughs an ugly, unsteady laugh in reply.
She stands limply before the huge mirror, her eyes taking in her sunken cheeks and spiritless stance. Around her, maidservants crowd, tucking in rolls of satin, tightening the laces around her torso, brushing her sleek hair and setting it firmly while she stands idle. With each added ruffle and glitter of finery, Lucy sinks deeper and deeper into an abyss from which she knows no escape.
"And, daughter, how was your day?" The conversation is strained. Muted, meaningless words pass from person to person as Lucy sits upright on the stiff-backed chair in the posture befitting a lady. She mutters a non-committal, appropriate reply and nibbles daintily at her food. Her stomach ties up in knots, her eyes are cast low for fear that they would betray the aching fire inside her. The rest of the meal is completed in silence just like every other day and Lucy heaves a sigh of relief at having gone through it with dignity. She runs her fingers through her elaborately made up hair and lets the locks fall loosely.
Her fingers scramble to turn the lock as she bangs the door to her room shut. The stifling gown is huddled round her feet and she feels her eyes tear up for a moment. She misses the feeling of security and independence she once possessed. She misses the feeling of her trusty whip trailing down her slim waist. But most of all, she misses the joy of holding her keys, calling her spirits and in her own little way, protecting the ones she loved.
"Fairy Tail..." And the tears she had beaten down for so long flow freely down her cheek.
Never before has riches seemed so stifling, has materialistic possessions seemed this imprisoning or has the absence of her friends, her loving, caring, maddening friends eaten into her heart with such vengeance. But she shakes her head resolutely. It's no use crying, she tells herself. Because she's done what she had to do and now she can only live with regrets.
She crawls on her bed, clutching at the pure silk sheets with anger, the fluffy cushion of perfect pillows and the rich eiderdown neatly tucked into the edges; all chiding her of the apartment she once owned. She misses her rented apartment, one which she would perpetually have no money to pay the rent for. She misses the plain walls, the simple bed and the cute little compactness. She misses having to struggle, to try and earn her own living. And most of all, perhaps, she misses having to go on missions with her friends. The teaming up, the fighting, the rescuing, the protecting; she misses all of it and her heart aches with longing.
She remembers Natsu's impish smile, his untidy pink hair that always stood on edge, his insatiable hunger for food and his charmingly odd motion sickness. She remembers Gray's oddities his drooping eyes, his scruffy black hair, his random stripping and fighting with barely any clothes on. She remembers also the innumerable scuffles that broke out between the two of them and her being caught in the crossfire. And oh, she remembers Erza, she remembers her like the back of her hand. Her long, red, gorgeous hair, her pale skin, her fierce beautiful eyes and the lethal strength she exuded. And Mirajane, oh her beauty and Elfman's manliness and Levy's cuteness and Reedus, Alzack, Bisca, Laxus, Juvia, Gajeel, Macau oh everybody! She misses them so terribly. She curls up with her knees pressed close to her chest, her hands wrapped closely around her and tears streaming down her face.
And Loke. She wonders why she thinks of him suddenly, separately, not clubbing him with the others, yet not quite leaving him alone. Suddenly, his image floods her mind, every fragment of his face. His spiky orange hair and she longs to run her fingers through it. His dark tinted shades, and she longs to take them off. His black, impeccable suit and she longs to lean against it. She wishes she could see him again, hear his flirty dialogues, feel his loving touch. But she knows that even if she can ever meet her friends again, she would never be able to get through to Loke. Because her magic is something that has been wrenched away from her.
And once again, that night, she cries herself to sleep.