Petals
Standard disclaimers apply.
Author's Notes: This story will be focused around Allen and his family. It's a bit AU, written in Allen's point of view. I was inspired to write this after reading a new book that I just bought—"Hunger" by Lan Samantha Chang. I enjoyed it supremely, and then I sort of thought of the song "Petals" by Mariah Carey and it all sort of fit together for me. This is an experiment, but I do hope you enjoy. And one other thing: I've only seen the butchered version of Escaflowne, therefore some things may not coincide and some names may be altered (i.e. Vargas – Balgus). If that offends you in any way, don't read the story. It's as simple as that. I'd be more than happy to receive constructive criticism, but flames are for children. If you enjoy the story, please review.
Special thanks to my dear friend, Sgt. Psycho, for beta-reading and always being there.
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Prologue
My father was a curious man, with a love of discovery flowing through his veins. It was what I remembered most about him, his curiosity. He was fascinated by the most minute of things, and it was as if nothing mattered to him but his breakthroughs. He would study stars at night, trying to map them. He would work for hours on end, studying specimens of beetles or trying to decrypt ancient hieroglyphs inscribed in slabs of stone. He believed there was a world outside of the one we knew, a world far beyond human reach. His greatest fascination, however, lay in the legend of Atlantis.
When he was younger, my father had discovered an old leather-bound book on a shelf in the cellar of his grandfather's house. It described the Atlanteans in detail: their wishes, their goals, and their desires. It was said that the power of Atlantis is the power of wishes, the power of fate, and my father dreamed of seeing that power more than anything else. The myth told of the Mystic Valley, the power spot for the power of Atlantis on our world of Gaea. My father bought all the books he could find, studied for many years, and I had thought that he was satisfied. But he hungered for this power, needed to taste it, to feel it, before he could feel complete.
"Leon, please!" My mother's desperate voice drifted to my ears. It was still very early in the morning, and the sky loomed dark outside the large glass windows where small raindrops pitter-pattered onto the ground below. I had awakened earlier, and I was unable to put myself back to sleep, so I had planned to go to the kitchen for a glass of water. But, passing my parents' bedroom, I found the door ajar and I heard my mother's soft voice, thin and pleading.
"What do you think you'll find?"
"Encia, you don't understand. It—it's… complicated. I can't explain it. They're calling me; I can feel it. I have to go."
I knew it was wrong to listen in, but I couldn't help myself. I was transfixed by what they were saying, and I edged closer to the small opening in the door to hear better.
"Where is it you plan to go? And what is it that I'm supposed to tell the children? You don't even know how long you'll be gone."
My mother's voice was rising now, a tone of steely anger implanting itself in her normally soothing voice. Through the crack, I could see my mother's face, her eyes sad and filled with unshed tears. My father had sighed, and walked up to embrace her in a reassuring hug. She didn't let her tears fall; she merely kept them in and embraced him back. I think she knew in her heart that it would be the last time she would see him, and I admire now how she had not cried.
I hadn't quite understood what they were talking about. Where was father going? It hadn't made sense to me, until I saw father pick up the old leather volume and put it in his knapsack. He had showed me its crusty yellow pages, tried to instil in me the love of adventure and curiosity that he possessed. He had tried to teach me about Atlantis, tell me about its wonders and mysteries. I hadn't paid much heed, for I was uninterested in such things. But as I had numbly walked back to my room, I couldn't help wondering if his leaving had anything to do with my ignorance. Would he have stayed if I had paid more attention?
As I climbed into bed and pulled the covers over my head with these thoughts, I remembered hearing the sound of thunder. I remembered thinking how foolishly curious my father was, so caught up in his own world of discoveries that he would abandon his family to seek his own selfish ambitions. But then, he had always been a curious man, a man curious about the world.
And so, it had not been a surprise that he had packed his bag and left the following morning. And as the seasons passed, it had not been a surprise to mother or I that he did not return.
End Prologue