A/N: Griffin is agonizing over the fact that it's been another year without her daughter. Darcy is Griffin and Valtor's daughter in this fic.

It was the beginning of May. Trees and plants were blooming as nature was coming to its peak. Everything was green and beautiful with little touches of color that made it a masterpiece more breath-taking than anything anyone had ever seen. It was the embodiment of life.

It was her daughter's birthday. It was the one day she loved and despised, for it'd given her the best thing that had ever happened in her life and demanded the hardest decision she'd had to take. It had been hell–especially the first few days after she'd given her away–to feel the emptiness in her arms where she'd held her daughter for a few hours before letting go of her for good. And since then it had been the most cursed day in her life.

Ediltrude and Zarathustra had picked up on the fact that something was wrong with that day but had left her alone when she'd made it clear she didn't want to talk about it. And Faragonda didn't try to get her to talk. She provided a shoulder for her to cry on and since she was the only one who knew what was wrong, Griffin found herself confiding in her against her own will sometimes. And it wasn't that she didn't want to talk to Faragonda. She just didn't want to talk. But it hurt that much more to let it sit inside her and she couldn't bear the pain on that one day.

This year was different, though. It was better in a sense. And it was so much worse. For her daughter was right there in front of her and she still couldn't celebrate with her. She could barely even wish her a happy birthday and had to disguise it as a warning.

She'd called Darcy to her office to warn her not to get too crazy in her birthday celebration with Icy and Stormy. And she'd wished her a happy birthday which was far less than she'd wanted to do but it still left Darcy slightly puzzled and weirded out so it was the best she could get. And it was terribly insufficient, her heart breaking as she watched from the window of her office the three young witches heading out to Magix way past curfew. And the worst thing was that she'd have to punish them in the morning if she didn't want to raise suspicion when all she really desired was to hold her daughter in her arms again.

It was her daugher's birthday. And that meant she was dying again. Another year spent away from the one she loved the most. And she didn't have the right to want more after what she'd done but of course she wanted to hug her daughter and tell her how much she loved her, that she wasn't unwanted and she was only trying to protect her. But she couldn't and it was killing her. It was the one day that left her all dead inside and the dull ache of the emptiness hurt more than the constant sharp pain inside her that she felt throughout the rest of the year when the absence of her child hit hard and fast, and unexpectedly. After all these years one would think she'd be able to tell when it was going to jump on her but it was a beast too unpredictable even for her and it always left her deeply wounded, one step away from death but not quite there. Because birthdays meant there was something born. And her agony was given new life every day, and it became stronger with each rebirth, the more time she had to spend away from her little girl. Even when she was within an arm's length and still as far away as she'd sent her on that first day of her life.