A/N: Hey everyone! I haven't posted in a while, I know, but I promise I've been working on a lot of new stories! This is by far the fastest one I've written in a while, though. There are some stories that just come to you, y'know? Anyways, I've fallen in love with a song (see disclaimer) and it not only helped me overcome my writer's block on a separate fanfiction (which, yes, will hopefully be finished soon), but it inspired this one. I hope you enjoy reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it!
Disclaimer: Fairy Tail belongs to Hiro Mashima, and the song used in this story is "Glow" written by vocaloidtoma (youtube). I listened to the cover by Lollia, and I would appreciate it if you would support both artists! (Side note, Lollia's voice is insanely angelic and everyone needs that beauty in their lives.)
This is a songfic, so if you're not a fan of those, don't read it. This is not a romance-centric fanfiction, but I'll be the first to say that it can be interpreted as containing romance if you'd like. It's entirely up to the readers!
That's all I've got to say, so, without further adieu, I bring you...
~*Glow*~
Written By:
Stella Nova Novellas
(S. N. Novellas)
The never ending rain
That hides my broken tears...
It freezes all my wounds,
exposes all my fears.
Her long, dark dress clung to her legs, failing to block any kind of wind as it worked in tandem with the rain to chill her to the bone. The coat she'd once had tossed over her shoulders now rested over her forearms as she found that the chill was more bearable after it had numbed her. Rivulets of raindrops formed from the small clumps of drenched hair framing her face, sticking to her collarbone and flattening along her back. Long gone was the blonde hair she usually bore, the moisture darkening it so it matched the streams of mascara running haphazardly down her cheeks.
In the wake of her parents' grave, she found herself ashamed to be embarrassed of her appearance, yet she couldn't help it. As much as it was her mother's grave, it was her father's as well. Everything about her felt wrong, the pink emblem on her hand, the dress that didn't billow out in the shape of a bell, her bare shoulders, her loose hair, her runny makeup, her arms and legs which had toned with time, her sun-kissed skin and every light, thin little line that held a story of action, of danger, of doing.
No matter how often she smiled at these aspects of herself, found pride in them, was told she was beautiful because of them or despite them... in front of the stone bearing his name, it was all inexcusably wrong.
The clouds up in the sky
that help the setting sun,
they show your smiling face
that says "the day is done."
For a moment, she tore her eyes away, looking to the sky above her as, through small gaps in the clouds, she could see the setting sun. How long had she been there, staring at the gravestone and trying desperately to recall the joyful moments? How long had she been there, re-reading the name Jude Heartfilia and finding herself at a painful loss of the happiness that she begged herself to discover?
As her gaze refocused on the plain lettering engraved into the headstone, she tried once again, first focusing on her mother's soft, welcoming eyes and bright, loving smile, the one she would always give at the end of the day as she pulled the covers up to rest just under her chin. She envisioned her lips moving to tell a story as her soothing voice lulled her to sleep, no matter what it was she was reading from. Had her mother been talking about the grass in the lawn, the bricks on the wall, the rug in the foyer, anything at all, she would have fallen asleep just the same to that sweet, steady sound.
Her mind shifted the image, imagining her father's face just behind her mother's, but before she had a chance to hold that figment, it faded to Jude's stern face as he glowered at his work, offhandedly replying to her for a mere minute before losing his patience and demanding she go elsewhere, speak to someone else, do anything that wasn't going to distract him.
Tears formed again, blending with the rain and searing warm trails down her otherwise chilled cheeks. No matter how much the deluge disguised, the warmth of pain couldn't be masked amidst its cool raindrops.
And as the days go racing by,
the wiser I become.
The lies that people tell me
become clearer than before.
Once again, her pink emblem and the tiny scars spaciously scattered over her toned arms had her feeling ashamed, using her drenched coat to cover what she could. Every day was an uphill battle, and while she'd learned to laugh, to smile, and to move forward, that deep, dissatisfied voice always lingered in the back of her mind, calling her friends liars, questioning their honesty, reverting back to biased facts that had been drilled into her, ones she'd tried so desperately to go against and separate from.
Ones she'd never be able to forget.
A lady shouldn't wear such short skirts, she reviewed, she should not allow herself to bear blemishes of any kind, or at the very least, she should cover them. A lady most certainly should not allow her hair to be so unruly. A lady musn't work lest she begin to sweat, and she certainly mustn't cry. A woman of your status is above such trifles. Your corset isn't nearly tight enough if that is the size of your waist. Cover your shoulders, that dress is far too inappropriate.
Everything was wrong. She was wrong.
No matter how hard she tried to shake away the feeling, it was that same, stern voice that scolded her on repeat, even regarding the mark of her beloved guild as an unsightly blemish that should have never come about. Every compliment was discarded as a lie, even as she thanked her friends for their kindness, because even after so many years had gone by, she could never find it in herself to feel beautiful. There was always something wrong, and all she could do was try to improve.
My pain that's buried deep inside,
I've felt a hundred times,
and yes, of course it hurts,
but we can't rewind.
Despite it all, the harsh memories and constant heartache caused by being told to leave, being told she wasn't good enough, being neglected and used, she couldn't find it in her heart to hate him. It was always there when she thought of him, a bittersweet mix of love and pain, but never hate. He was her father, and he loved her. He was her father, and he hurt her. He was her father, and he made her into the woman she was today, every slap on her wrist encouraging her to be better as it decimated any confidence she had. Good traits she'd developed to distance herself from his horrid ones, bad traits magnified in her mind.
Every thought she had about herself was caused by him, specks of good being found amidst her sea of never good enough. It was a constant ache, one that she could never hope to escape, no matter how hard she tried. There were times when she knew, if only one memory were removed, then she would see herself differently, she would see how beautiful she really was… but time couldn't turn back and despite that knowledge of how the most beautiful women she knew were self-conscious at times, she couldn't apply that to herself. She couldn't feel beautiful, and at times, she felt as if her body was good for nothing more than bait in a mission, like the only thing she could provide was a pretty face that she knew wasn't really pretty.
It was a never-ending cycle of feeling useless without her appearance, of feeling hideous despite being used as a distraction, of feeling like she was only worth something if the one seeking her was desperate or perhaps blind. Nothing could change those feelings, nor could anything reverse the pain that had conditioned her to think the way she did.
You're fading in this glowing twilight,
I can feel it erase you from my mind.
Let the tears that I cry be witness to my goodbye,
when you're gone.
Belatedly, the blonde realized she could no longer make out the letters before her, the dimly lit sky shrouded still in the clouds making even the shape of the headstone hard for her eyes to discern. Still, she stared, knowing what was there, but without the visual, it was almost as if there was nothing there, no reminder of the pain she couldn't stop feeling. Even as her tears continued to fall, she began to forget what it was that had caused them in the first place.
Perhaps it was the sight of stiff, cold stone that his name had been engraved in, but slowly, the image of the unloving father faded from her mind. The feelings of pain were there, but the softer, happier feelings drizzled in while her now-obscure vision allowed her mind to wander to the letters left by each and every gift. Well over seven, despite only having had seven birthdays in those lost years on Tenrou Island.
Take one good look at what you've done.
All the scars, I'm left overrun.
Can't take no more, you've left my heart bleeding,
I don't want anymore.
It was unbearable, the harsh words and belated love all mixing, merging into one person that brought so much pain and so much joy into her life. For so long, she'd been able to keep them apart, to keep the loving memories of her father on one side of her heart and the horrid ones on the other, but as her numb form dropped to sit in the muddy ground before her parents' final resting place, she found herself unable to keep any form of line between the two images any longer.
The pain these suddenly blurring images caused was almost worse than the dark image simply standing alone, the contrasting feelings tearing her apart on the inside. She loved him all the more and the pain was flaring up as if she were in the moment again, as if he was before her slapping the rice ball from her hand and demanding she leave his presence, as if she found herself running and wishing for the mother she would never see again, as if she were alone once more.
"Please leave me be, see the real me."
It's what I want but it's hard to say,
but you still hold the piece of me
that I need so that I can say I'm free.
Sobs tore their way from her throat as she tried desperately to separate them again, heartbroken as the years of trying to change her and the years of missed acceptance all piled onto her damp shoulders, weighing down on her numb form and tearing apart any semblance of recovery she thought she'd had. Running away had been the best decision of her life, but even then, that brief day where she returned only to tell him to leave her be had almost broken her as she waited for him to ask her to stay, to tell her that he would accept the path she'd taken. She'd been looking forward to any kind of acceptance at all, but instead, she'd taken her heartbreak and anger out on the restricting dress and left feeling more unloved, unvalued than before.
Despite everything, the letters and gifts and the story her then-living doll Michelle had told her, he'd taken the lack of acceptance of her to his grave, having never had the chance to look her in the eye and tell her he was proud. The only thing she'd ever wanted, that feeling that she wasn't wrong, wasn't a mistake, was sitting trapped behind the sewn-shut lips of a lifeless body, never to be heard.
Even the words "I love you" were buried, the only remnants of them in ink on paper over a year old, leaving her with the words "I love you too" to remain unheard, no matter how loudly she screamed them, no matter how close she held her face to the dirt, nor how far they carried into the heavens.
She could never hate him. No matter how broken she was, she could never find it in her to hate the man who'd grieved the woman he loved, the woman she loved. That thought alone made the dark days seem a little closer to grey than the initial shadow her reminiscences had been shrouded in.
The voice I used to know has become fainter,
faded in this ever present afterglow.
Let it continue to melt into the sun, so that the stars
can show me where to start.
After a long while, her body shifted, leaning to the side and into a firm and equally drenched hold. Warm hands rubbed what little water they could from her shoulders before arms followed, wrapping her up and listening to the sporadic harmony of her sobs, the raindrops hitting every surface around them, and the soft roll of thunder overhead. "Lucy." Her voice was soft and steady, so unlike her mothers but just as comforting as her fingers grazed through her wet hair, combing out the curls that had been forming. Only her name was said, but there was so much understanding in the tone.
She remembered that tone. She remembered how it had sounded falling from her father's lips as she clung to the sheets of her mother's hospital bed, unwilling to let go despite the fact that Layla was already gone. She remembered hearing it when warm arms wrapped around her as her mother's coffin was lowered, the sound so comforting despite the brokenness it had acquired that day.
As slowly as she'd begun to fall apart, she was back together again, the pieces of her heart rearranged to fit together better than before, sharp ridges clicking into place and bumps being smoothed over as though it had been sloppily thrown back together the first time it had shattered and never been allowed to heal.
Now the rain doesn't feel so cold again,
let it cleanse the memories that you left stained.
I can feel it wash away the images that you left there
in my mind.
They weren't separate, the cold Jude and the loving Papa. They would never be separate, but suddenly, she didn't mind. Her tears and that warm embrace worked to rid her of the chill of the evening downpour. All of her memories sat neatly in place, the good and the bad, but no longer was she wracked with the fear that the hard times would taint the joyful ones. The pain wasn't gone, still lingering, but no longer was it fresh. It was old, faded, aching like a ghost wound but no longer searing when she gripped at her heart, nor when her fingers reached out to run along the wet stone, dragging along the carved crevices of her parents' names.
My tears, like the clouds, are breaking up.
The sun's peeking out from up above,
Drying all my tears, like the rain, on the ground
once again.
"The storm is passing." The hum of that soothing voice resounded through her as she nodded, sitting up a bit to rest more comfortably in the embrace that was holding her together. "For once, Juvia does not mind the rain," she continued, still stroking the blonde's damp locks, "but she does not want Lucy to get sick." The rain still drizzling down slowly warmed, no doubt the work of the water mage, but Lucy didn't mind any more.
The cold had numbed her, but she didn't need that senseless feeling anymore. Time was a good healer, and she'd never taken enough until now. The warmth was welcome as it washed over her, bringing her senses slowly back to her as the sky seemed to brighten. The clouds overhead weren't as thick as before, slowly dissipating as the twilit sky returned, allowing her to see the area around her.
"Let's go home," she whispered, the broken rasp of her voice somehow managing to sound lighter than before they'd arrived. Her fingers curled into the bluenette's as the two stood, knees caked in mud and looking like they'd crossed the sea in nothing but black dresses and faded makeup. One arm curled around her waist, and she returned the favor as the two made their way down the damp path, soundlessly turning toward the train station.
For the first time in years, she didn't care that she had mascara streaking down her reddened cheeks as she walked along the street. She didn't care that she had scars that passerby could see. She didn't care that she had a guild mark on the back of her hand so that the world would know who her family was. She didn't care that she wasn't perfect. For the first time in years, she accepted herself, and she knew that somewhere, in a world separate from her own, her father accepted her, too.
I don't feel so afraid.