A/N: This is a tribute to a friend who has recently lost someone very close to them. Please, if deaths, funerals, or grieving periods are triggers for you, read with caution. Much love! XOXOX
Photographs and Memories
The Queen of Sparks sat in her office, scribbling away at the latest peace treaty between her nation and a neighboring planet to resolve some trading issues that had long since been a problem. The task had taken all of her thoughts and energy as of late, dark circles rimming her eyes, as she could not sleep due to the stress. It would be so nice to have a break, she often thought. But she could not stop being a ruler, or a mother at that matter. If it wasn't the kingdom, it was her daughters that needed her attention, and on a good day, one was equally as daunting as the other. And when she added the upcoming finalization of her divorce to her pile of things to do, she felt like she was carrying the weight of the world.
And so her days all ran together into one giant mess. It's not that she meant to lose track of the time, but she had so much to do, and in so little time that some things just got cast to the wayside. She barely saw her friends outside of the obligatory ball or conference. If her mother and father didn't happen to live in the same palace as she did, she'd doubt she'd see them at all. She couldn't remember the last time she and Daphne had talked about something that wasn't state business, or had a meal with her own two daughters. It was like she couldn't shut the queen off and turn the woman back on. And it was lonely.
But she couldn't let herself get caught up in wishful thinking. As a queen, she had to make sacrifices, and she was willing to make them for the wellbeing of her people. Which was why she had to focus on this treaty. She had a month to get this draft to the foreign ambassador or else trade lines would be cut permanently, and that was something that the kingdom just could not afford. Not that her kingdom was poor and desperate for trading partners, but inter-dimensional relations had been faltering in the past decade, and Sparks had already lost the economic support of Eraklyon following the announcement of the divorce, but that was a whole other problem that she couldn't think about at the moment.
There was a photo on her desk of happier days, of a smiling family with two little girls, enjoying a time of peace. She thought she could get back to that. If only she just worked hard enough…
"You Majesty?" a call came from outside her door, her postmaster, if she was correct. She sighed, both thankful for the distraction and weary that something else was being thrown onto her plate.
"Yes. You may enter," she called and welcomed the elderly man in. The grand double doors swung open, and he bowed at the waist, as was customary to do before his queen.
"A letter came for you, my lady. Its origins are from Earth, presumably Queen Roxanne requesting your presence at her annual Solstice Dance. Should I place it on your table to be filed?"
Bloom would have just cast the letter aside, leaving it for later when she had more time to give it the attention it deserved – it was from a friend after all. But she happened to catch a glance at the letter, and did not recognize it as the stationary that she usually received from the Earth fairies. She was curious now, her treaty temporarily forgotten.
"No, hand it to me," she said, extending her hand to the postmaster.
"Of course," the man acquiesced, and handed Bloom the letter, ducking his head a bit in respect as he neared her.
"Thank you," Bloom said with a smile, causing him to smile as well. "You are dismissed."
He nodded, bowed deeply once more, and exited the room, shutting the double doors behind him.
Holding the letter in her hands, she found a familiar softness to it, like she'd felt the paper before. Bloom searched for an address, and found that the letter came from Gardenia, which brought a much-needed smile to her face. She let her mind wander a bit, thinking of her other parents on Earth that she hadn't seen in far too long. She always meant to make plans with them, but like everything else, those got cast aside when duty called.
The letter opener sliced through the soft envelope with ease, revealing a single sheet of paper within. Bloom picked it up, eager to read what had transpired in her childhood home over the past few years. She hadn't been there since her girls were little, and she had always meant to take a visit when she got even a second of down time. She wondered if her mom still fed the birds at the pond down the road, or if her dad still tried to chase the fire trucks with his police scanner, desperate to get back into action after he retired. So much to catch up on…
But that wasn't what was in the letter, not at all. It fell from her fingertips and fluttered to the ground, and Bloom had to steady herself on the table lest she collapse to the floor.
Her father had written her to tell her that her mother had died. Peacefully apparently, passed in her sleep, the best way to go. She felt no pain; she did not struggle or suffer. Bloom was at least grateful for that small blessing even if the rest of her was screaming that this was not fair. But she could tell that her father's hands were shaking as he penned the letter, could see where his tears had rumpled the paper and smeared the ink.
She had left him alone in this. He needed her, probably tried to call her, tell her with his own voice that her mother was gone. But she was too caught up in herself to notice, too distracted with the work that she had let someone she loved go forever.
She didn't even get to say goodbye.
The guilt ate a hole through her heart, the pain of the knowledge of never seeing the woman who raised her ever again too much to bear. Bloom curled into herself, slumping down a marbled wall until she was curled into fetal position on the floor, her face buried in her knees where none of her servants could hear her sob. The queen could not be weak; the queen could not break, not to the public at least. She could only mourn here, where no one could see her, not that there was anyone there to mourn with her. Daphne, though her family, wouldn't understand her grief. And her parents, her biological parents, they weren't the people she needed to see right now.
She needed to see her father. She needed go home.
Bloom folded her clothes mechanically, not really paying attention to what was being thrown into her suitcase. It had been so long since she'd done an actual chore by herself without the help of her staff. But this was a personal matter, one that she did not want spreading around the palace. The last thing she needed was to have her council and servants telling her that she looked like she needed a rest, or maybe she needed to take things easy. She didn't want nor need their pity. In fact, their continuance as normal with the palace life was the only keeping her from losing her mind. She needed something safe to fall back on, something solid that would not change, and for her, that was the work.
Then, the doors to her personal suite opened, and she could hear the sound of steps coming closer and closer to where she was pressed up against the bed, packing away.
"Mom, why are you crying?"
It was Sage, her elder daughter, who came over to her and placed a hand gently on her shoulder. At the touch, Bloom threatened to crumble. It was just so hard, so hard trying to keep everything in.
She turned slightly, forgetting about packing temporarily, and wiped at her eyes. Bloom noticed that Gwen was right behind Sage, looking up at her with wide green eyes. It was clear that her daughters were frightened; they had never seen their mother lose control, not even during the divorce, and Bloom knew that they were wondering what possibly could've happened to make her cry.
"It's your grandmother sweetheart," Bloom finally managed to get out, sucking in a deep breath for support, "something's happened."
"Grandma Miriam?" Sage asked, her dark brows knitting together in confusion. Of course she would jump to that conclusion. That was the grandmother she saw nearly every day after all. The last time she saw Vanessa, well, she was barely an adolescent.
"No, your other grandmother. My adopted mother, Grandma Vanessa."
"Is she okay?" Sage asked, concern lacing her voice. Bloom remembered how much Sage used to love visits to her grandparents on Earth, and how heartbroken she was when they stopped going regularly.
"No she ah-" Bloom struggled to get the words out, as if saying them made them more real and she couldn't handle that yet. "She passed away."
Sage let out a small, heartbroken gasp, as if she couldn't believe what she was hearing, and Gwen's eyes started to water.
"I need to go to Earth, see Grandpa Mike. I might be a while, so don't be worried if I'm not back in a few days," Bloom tried her best to assure her girls, to get them to calm down. She didn't want them to be upset as well. That she really could not handle.
"Is dad going with you?" Sage asked, her voice small and laced with worry, and Bloom could hear the unease in the question.
"Ah, no. Your father doesn't even know."
There once was a time that Sky would've been the first person she went to with things like this, but not anymore. She hadn't even thought of telling him honestly.
"Can we go with you?" Gwen asked, sparkling blue eyes peering up at her with innocence. She looked so upset to see her mother upset, and the offer nearly took Bloom' breath away. She was overcome by love and compassion of her daughter, at both of them, and for a while it was hard for her to breathe. Tears pricked at her eyes, but she batted them away.
"No, no, that's…a funeral is no place for children," Bloom gave a watery smile and stroked her daughter's cheek, a reassuring motion. "I'll be fine," she insisted, even though she didn't quite believe it herself.
"My council will take care of the kingdom while I'm gone," she continued, like business was going on as usual, which it was for the palace life. "You two be good for Aunt Daphne; she's going to come over and check in when she can. And please, if anyone asks where I am, just say that I've gone for a few days on business and that I'll be back by the end of the week. I don't' want this getting around the palace. It's a personal matter and no one else's business."
"Of course," Sage nodded, all of them aware that royal life usually didn't allow much leeway for grieving without the presence of the public eye.
"We love you mom," Gwen moved over and wrapped her arms around her mother's waist. She was still a little girl, still with years left to grow, and Bloom had to lean down a bit to return the hug. Soon Sage was in the hug as well, and all three of them stood there in the center of the room, holding each other until their arms went numb.
One phone call to Daphne and a portal jump later, Bloom found herself back in Gardenia. The taxi cab ride to her childhood home felt longer than usual, rain beating down on the glass in menacing waves. Streetlights burned brightly through the mist, and from her window she could see a dark and blurry version of the world she once called home.
The cab let her out and she pulled her things out and up the stairs to her old house. She lingered in the rain on the steps, wondering if this was a good idea at all, if she shouldn't have come. The thought was silly; she had always been welcome there, but it had been so long…but she couldn't turn back now.
The door was unlocked when she turned the knob, so she just walked in as if no time had passed at all. Twenty years didn't change a thing to the house, and as she stepped into the foyer, old memories of baking days and bad jokes assaulted her, threatening to make her break down right then and there. This was a lot harder than she thought it would be, and that was why she needed to find her father.
She flicked a light switch up and down before realizing the storm had knocked out the power. Instead, she lit a flame and walked deeper into the house. Everything was almost exactly the same as she had left it last, nothing changed except a few place mats on the kitchen table and the magazines on the counter.
Lightning flashed and illuminated the space for a moment, outlining a figure standing in the living room.
"Daddy…" Bloom's voice cracked as she saw her father standing at the window.
He turned around to face her, shocked.
She didn't think, she just did. She dropped her suitcase and purse and just ran. She ran and ran and ran until she crashed into her father's chest, his arms reaching to wrap her in a tight embrace. She went weak in the knees, the weight of loss finally sinking into her bones, and she let herself fall apart.
She sobbed into her father's shirt, balling the fabric into white knuckled fists. She fought to keep from trembling but failed, her whole body shaking with her tears. He was crying too, pressing kisses into her hair and murmuring that everything was going to be okay even when it wasn't. She was so tired, so drained, and she needed her daddy to make it better. He could always make it better.
In that moment, in spite of all that she had accomplished, all the responsibilities she took on, and the years she had lived, she had never felt more like a little girl.
On a cold, sunny Sunday, Bloom met her father in Gardenia Park to scatter her mother's ashes. The service was simple and private, but just as beautiful as it was supposed to be. Only those closest to the family were invited, and in the end it was better that way. Bloom held onto her father's hand as they tipped the jar together, the pewter dust puffing up in small clouds before spiraling away in the afternoon wind. In some ways, this was better than a burial. Her mother was free, flying off to heaven instead of being lowered into the ground, disappearing from site and into the deep black abyss somewhere she could not follow.
She had only just spoken to her mother a few days ago. She had made plans to visit, finally intending to follow through on some scare spare time. She was going to surprise the girls, surprise her parents. It was going to make her mother so happy; she could almost hear the joy would lace her voice when she opened the front door, scooping her up into a hug, saying that she would have to do up her old bedroom and cook all of her favorite meals. Bloom would insist that the older woman not go to so much trouble, but she would reply that nothing was too much for her daughter. Even then, after all their time apart, the idea brought tears to Bloom's eyes.
What hurt more was seeing her father so torn up. He had lost his wife, his partner, his best friend. He was alone now, and the thought of him sitting by himself in that house made her feel sick with grief. She didn't want him to go to some retirement home either; she knew that he wouldn't like it there, and that so much could go wrong. She couldn't take him back to Sparks with her either. The Magical Dimension had barriers to protect itself against non-magical creatures, just like Alfea did. To bring her father would be impossible, but she also couldn't leave him alone. Just another thing to weigh on her mind.
She was losing her grip, the control she'd crafted for herself after years of running a planet nearly singlehandedly. She was spiraling into a dark place. She could feel it, creeping up behind her and dragging her down by the ankles. She'd been juggling too much, facing too much and doing it all alone. She'd been shouldering so many burdens and she was going to break. She was fracturing and splintering, deep, oblong cracks creeping up her porcelain skin.
There were only so many ashes, and Bloom soon found herself holding an empty urn. Her father's hands were rough and worn from years in the flames, but strangely soft and gentle on hers as he pried her fingers off of the metal to return it to the funeral director. The hands were back quickly to guide her to the car, and she didn't voice that she didn't want to go. She didn't want to leave her mother behind. But her father was so patient and far kinder than he ought to have been, and all she felt was exhaustion deep in her bones. She was so tired, and if she were a little girl, she'd reach her arms up and have her father carry her the rest of the way home.
She didn't fight it anymore. She didn't have the strength. Instead, she let herself be led away from the park, away from her mother, away from the world.
For once in her life, she gave up control.
The next day, Bloom went through her mother's things. Clothes, books, shoes, gardening tools, photographs, all of it boxed and sealed away. Well, not all of it. In the mix of tears and bittersweet reminiscence, Bloom and her father managed to save a few of Vanessa's prized objects, like her original certificate of ownership for her flower shop and her collection of first edition fairy tales. Bloom recalled that those were mostly for her though – she would love to read the Grimm fairytales and make up alternate endings.
Bloom kept a few pieces of Vanessa's jewelry for herself, and for her girls, as well as the jewelry box they come in. Her father did not protest, in fact he liked the fact that Bloom decided to keep parts of her mother.
In total she didn't take too much. She claimed the jewelry and the fairytales, but also ended up with her mother's set of china, her original recipes, and her wedding dress. She doubted she would use any of them – especially the wedding dress – but she couldn't bear to see those things get tossed out.
They divided the photos between them. She let her father keep whatever photos he wanted, but he was old and he didn't want many. He ended up keeping most of their wedding photos and childhood photos – with the exception of a few Bloom requested to have – and Bloom getting most of the photos featuring her, from the day they found her to the last time she brought her own girls over for a visit. She would have to frame it somewhere, perhaps as a replacement for the one on her desk.
She managed to laugh as she flipped through album upon album with her father. They stumbled upon funny photos of Bloom's first birthday party, her face covered in icing and cake bits, and when she lost her front two teeth at the same time, her cheeky smile revealing the huge gap with pride. Bloom mocked her father's haircuts as he tried his hardest to defend how mullets were in style back in the day, and he fired back that she wasn't really on her A-game when she decided that perms would work well on naturally wavy hair. Bloom had to then snatch away horrendous photos of a thirteen year old her looking like a poodle with barrettes decorating her poofs of hair lest her father try to show them to anyone 'on accident'.
For a while, they actually forgot why boxes surrounded them or why they were even going through photos in the first place. Down memory lane, everything was the same. Time was frozen and everything was perfect in those little three by fives all lined up in a row.
And for the first time since she read the letter, she felt like everything was going to be okay again.
For the first time in two years, she felt like calling Sky.
She's ignored every call from her counselors, disregarded every invoice from her minister, and forwarded every document from her ambassador to the council itself. It was as if the Queen of Sparks no longer existed. Instead Bloom, daughter of Mike and Vanessa, sat on the front steps of her house in the dead of night and dialed Sky's number, but she couldn't bring herself to press send. Her fingers hovered over the screen, frozen, and she wondered why that was. She wondered when they became so distant, when it became so hard to talk to her best friend.
She couldn't even remember why they got divorced in the first place. The fighting, the screaming, it all seemed so trivial now, so pointless, even though she knew in her heart of hearts that it wasn't. Because all she wanted to do was break down into his arms and let herself be vulnerable, and he was the only person she ever felt truly safe doing that with. No matter what, he wouldn't judge her, or at least that was how it used to be.
She supposed the whole "love you 'til death do us part" thing was false, and not because her own marriage barely scraped by a quarter of her life, nowhere near death. It was because, when you did find the right person, you didn't stop loving them just because they were dead. She was starting to learn from watching her father that you love them beyond death. Death was the ultimate break up, except it wasn't wanted and no one was happy and the one left behind never stopped loving the one deep beneath the ground.
Ever since she was a little girl, she wanted a romance like her parents. She always felt like life had cheated her out of her happy ending when she signed the divorce papers. But seeing her father torn up and empty on the inside now that her mother was gone, she almost felt a sense of relief. At least she would never have to experience that kind of pain.
She shut her phone off, and Sky's number disappeared, fleeting like headlights that wound down the street, blinding and bright until they reach the corner, turn, and then vanish forever.
On the day before she left for her stressful life of being queen, she decided to stop by her mom's old flower shop. She had sold the place a few years back once her body grew too weary to take on the work. The new owners had kept the place up, kept it running in peak condition, but Bloom would always see it as her mother's shop.
The taxi let her out a block down from the actual shop, but in all fairness she had intended to take it all the way to the house with her hand full of groceries. The stop was spur of the moment, and she tipped the driver extra for complying with her strange request. She stepped out onto the pavement, and all the sudden she was sixteen again, late for work after a long day of school. The feeling only intensified when she finally gazed up at the familiar façade, windows full of vibrant colors and tasteful arrangements greeting her.
The door still chimed the same chime when she entered. The store was still quiet yet humming with the sound of humidifiers. She felt the familiar sticky warmth and can't help the smile that crept up her face. She noticed everything, from the tile flooring to the chip in the display countertop that she made when she was twelve and dropped a pot of begonias.
She could spend the entire day reminiscing in that place. But the woman behind the counter was clearly waiting for her to stop poking her head around in all four corners of the store and buy something.
She picked out a bouquet of pink roses. They weren't quite mature enough yet, and had yet to open their buds, but she had a feeling that they were going to bloom spectacularly. Her mother had taught her enough over the years that she could tell. The lady behind the register smiled at Bloom, completely unaware of who she was or what the place meant to her, and that was fine. She didn't need to know, and Bloom didn't really feel like sharing the place with anyone else.
When she was back in the house and finished checking on her father fast asleep on the family room couch, she placed the flowers in a vase near the window and charmed them. In a few days time, they would bloom to perfection, just like she had predicted, but they would never wilt, forever perfect and pink, frozen in time like a photograph or a memory.