Disclaimer: I don't own The Worst Witch.

A/N: *waves* Hey folks, this is just a little one-shot I've came up with. You'll be most unsurprised to hear that it was again inspired by Lana Del Rey (told ya GloriaNewt, I'm doing the whole album dahling! ;) *blows kiss*)

This one is partly inspired by her song 'Radio' and that's where the title has been taken from.

Shout out goes to typicalRAinbow, who kindly read this for me beforehand and gave me her opinion :)

Now My Life Is Sweet Like Cinnamon

As she stared at the form of her sleeping lover Constance Hardbroom couldn't help but allow a smile to grace her features, her deep brown eyes sparkling intently as for once she basked in the feeling of true happiness. It was strange how quickly things had changed, she didn't know when or how they had, but she knew for certain that it was for the better.

If anyone had told the strict potion mistress a few months ago that she would be in this position she would've never believed them, but now she wouldn't trade it for anything in the world. For once in her life she'd thrown caution to the wind; taking a leap of faith, something that for her had been a ginormous step: everything in her life was routine and done with a carefully applied logic and not without rational thought, but this time she had acted on what was in her heart, and not her head. Though there was still that ever present tiny niggle of insecurity in the back of her mind that she just couldn't shake off and the question which she frequently asked herself.

'What does she see in me?'

Events of the past had had an inevitable affect on her present, what she had gone through whilst under Heckitty Broomhead's tutelage at witch training college had changed her beyond recognition. She had survived … just, but it was the scars that weren't visible, the scars that would probably never fully heal. Her experience there had made it almost impossible for her to trust in anyone ever again; instead she chose to build an impenetrable wall around her heart, keeping her emotions and past a closely guarded secret, figuring that by shutting everybody out, she could save herself the piercing heartache of being hurt all over again.

It was easier said than done though when it came to people like Amelia, the headmistress was such a kind soul, and Constance owed her so much, for giving her the job she'd practically begged for so she could hide. Over the years Amelia had tried to get her deputy to open up to her but usually and very quickly hit the brick wall, instead left only with small parts of a very complicated jigsaw puzzle with no idea where they fitted in as a whole. Yet somehow, Imogen had succeeded where she had failed, where countless before her had failed.

She had captured her heart … a heart that she knew many believed her not to have. It stung her more than she would admit that people thought that of her, alas a disadvantage of being able to appear in a place without fully revealing yourself. You often heard things you didn't want to hear, namely the truth, but it hurt her to hear it aloud.

Truthfully she did care; for the school, for the girls, and for her colleagues, especially the green-eyed beauty lying next to her.

Imogen had her feeling like a love-struck school girl, the alien feeling of passion and love inside her as it slowly spread across her insides, beginning to melt through the thick sheet of ice her heart had previously been encased in. The dark secrets of the past no longer her sole burden to carry. She remembered the night she had finally opened up to her and told her of the horrors of her childhood at witch training college, how she'd been so overcome with emotion and fear she'd barely been able to get the words out as heavy sobs had wracked her whole body, instead unbuttoning the sleeve of her dress to show the deep scarring which marred the porcelain skin, wordlessly conveying the brutality she'd been subjected to at the hands of Heckitty Broomhead, all in the name of magical education.

Subconsciously she rolled up her pyjama sleeve tracing the pattern of scars with her forefinger, remembering how Imogen had looked into her eyes and wiped away her tears, before taking her hand and softly kissing it, working her way up her arm and placing a delicate kiss on each scar, wordlessly conveying to her that it didn't matter; that she still thought she was beautiful.

Beautiful.

Something she had never seen herself as, unable to see the striking beauty staring back at her in the mirror, but Imogen thought she was beautiful and that was all that mattered. There was something so right about the younger woman's touch against her skin, when she ran her fingers through her long hair, curling tendrils gently around her finger; something so natural about the feel of her lips against her own, the way they softly caressed with kisses intense, yet beautiful; and something so right about Imogen whispering in her ear she loved her and the words of reciprocation falling from her own tongue.

Staring out of the small window and out into the horizon she could see the sun was set to rise and watched on as it rose in all its majestic beauty; rays of yellows, oranges and reds all coming together in a myriad of wonder as it spread across the vast sky, lighting up even the darkest of corners; symbolising the beginning of a new day, one of renewed hope.

Her lover stirred next to her before waking up and kissing her. "Good Morning Dear" Imogen lovingly whispered to her.

Constance stared into the sparkling emerald green of her eyes for a few moments before smiling.

"Yes, it is isn't it?"