Notes— i've seen about five of these. they looked fun. don't ask about the name, i was running low on inspiration.
i wanted to start it off with something i've had in my head for awhile. (yay for semi-rebellious house wives!)
Rated T for future chapters.
On the rare morning, Layla Heartfilia would be the one to help her daughter get dressed.
It's not like she didn't want too. To her, it seemed like a mother's instinct to be the one to do all of these things for her child. It was their lifestyle, however, that kept her from doing them.
Not that Layla really cared about keeping up an image.
Her husband, however...
In short, she could only do things with Lucy on rare occasion. And this was one of said occasions.
She smiled down at her tiny daughter, who's own face had a glowing grin.
("Daddy said grinning isn't ladylike—"
"Daddy's a male, what does he know about ladylike?")
Running her fingers through Lucy's newly brushed hair, she pursed her lips, tapping a finger to her chin.
"What should we do today?"
"I like your hair, mama!" Lucy beamed, tilting her head back and pointing up. Layla laughed, shaking her head and reaching up to touch her elegantly done up hair.
"You don't want this— it's much too tight, quite uncomfortable." She mock pouted, sending Lucy into fits of giggles.
"How about... pigtails?"
"M'kay!"
Separating the small blonde's hair, she stared absently at the golden locks. She had her mother's hair, and it definitely would of looked just as good up in a bun...
... but with buns came uncomfortable corsets and painted on smiles.
Smiling thoughtfully, she took a ribbon off of the vanity, taking some of Lucy's hair in her hand.
Layla didn't fear for her daughter's future. Not in the least.
Because Layla knew Lucy wouldn't be staying in this mansion.
Lucy had magic in her blood— it was blissfully clear. The way she interacted with the Celestial spirits, her hatred of being closed in, the fierce determination in her eyes when her mind was set—
Lucy would become a mage.
And Layla was patiently awaiting the day.
"Oh dear," the mother sighed as she noticed she'd only taken half of the right side's hair up in the ribbon, leaving the rest to fall down.
"Let me just—"
She paused as she felt a small hand on her wrist. Looking in the mirror, she saw Lucy with a thoughtful look on her face, staring at her own reflection.
"I... like it." She said softly, cocking her head to the side as if to get a better look. Reaching up a hand to touch it, she giggled— what seemed like the millionth one that day.
(Layla could never get sick of them.)
"I like it a lot!"
And she could only smile at the innocence.