Petals

Disclaimer: This is a non-profit story written for entertainment purposes only. The original characters of Escaflowne belong to their respective owners.

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Petals

Chapter 1

Life went on for Mother, Celena, and I. Mother smiled seldom those days, and Celena didn't comprehend what was going on. Mother never spoke of it, and I didn't bother to enlighten my little sister. I was still too bitter at Father, and I didn't want to rend her of her innocence.

But the one thing that never changed was Mother's love for flowers. It seemed that Celena took after Mother, for the two of them could sit all day in that unusual field of daisies and dandelions under the large, shady tree and be content weaving bracelets, necklaces, rings, or head ornaments. I would become their supplier, gathering huge piles of flowers for them while they went about their weaving.

"Be careful not to crush them," Celena would say to me as I went to gather more flowers. "They're not pretty if they're bruised." And she would have on her angry and pleading face at the same time, and all I could do was laugh at her. Some of the best memories I have took place in that field, and also some of the saddest as well.

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I remember the day Celena disappeared as clear as a bell.

Our plan that day had been to gather as big a bouquet of flowers as we could for Mother to put in her new vase, but since we had been in the field so often, any flowers near our tree were rare, so we had to stray further out than we usually did. Celena was having fun picking the white and yellow blossoms and depositing them in my arms, which were quickly overflowing. I told her that we should turn back and give the flowers to Mother, but she was having too much fun to listen. Not wanting to ruin her joy and hoping to lure her into coming back with me, I told her I was going to return and present Mother with the flowers. She didn't take the bait, however, and I watched as she ran happily over the knolls, chasing the butterflies and running with the wind. I called after her not to wander off, and then I returned alone and delighted Mother with the largest bouquet she'd ever received. She headed home with them, saying that they needed to be in water so that they didn't wilt. I walked back to get Celena so that we could go home together, with no worries on my mind and the grass green and soft beneath my feet.

She was nowhere in sight.

At first I thought it was another one of her games, since she took great pleasure in outdoing me at something. I had spent a good amount of time saying that she'd won, and that she should come out so that we could go home since it was getting late.

No answer.

I started to grow a little worried, but it never occurred to me that she might have been kidnapped. It was a small town that I lived in, and where everyone knew everyone else's middle name, abduction wasn't even part of the vocabulary. I thought simply that she'd gotten lost, and it would've been the most reasonable explanation. The ground was a bit hilly, but it stretched out as far as the eye could see and looked exactly the same. Getting lost wouldn't have been hard, except that we'd grown up in that field, and Celena knew better than to go wandering off on her own, even though she was only five. I called her name over and over for an indefinite amount of time, with the sky darkening over my head, threatening to bring on a storm. Nightfall was also beginning to creep in, and I knew Mother must've been terribly worried. I was worried, too; where was my little sister?

I gave in when I couldn't battle the storm any longer. It started to pour not long after the blackish-purple rain clouds had gathered, and the rain came down in sheets so thickly that I could barely see 3 feet in front of me. Shielding my head with my hands, I ran back home as quickly as I could, my hair and clothes dripping wet and my lips blue from the cold. Mother was standing in the doorway when I got there, the lines in her face worried and questioning. The unasked question hung in the air, but I saw the same look in her eyes that same night when Father had hugged her goodbye.

She knew.

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The assortment of daisies and dandelions were on the table that night when we ate dinner, and they looked stunningly bright and cheery against the painted clay of the vase. It had taken all the effort I could muster to get Mother to stay inside while the storm raged, but in the end she finally conceded. I knew that her efforts were half-hearted, since she already knew deep down that Celena was gone. She knew that she would never see her daughter again, and for a long time I thought I'd lost my sister forever as well.

Perhaps it was this knowledge that hurt her the most; the painful truth in her heart that told her she'd never get either of them back. I remember a day not long after Celena's disappearance, when I was helping Mother with the household chores. I felt rather than saw a flash of brilliant white light, and I turned around to see Mother with tears in her eyes, her hand resting on a thin, leather-bound book. She whispered Father's name once, put her hand over her heart, and went back to cleaning. My hands stopped their task of tidying. I stood where I was, completely baffled by what I thought I saw. Wasn't that Father's journal that Mother had in her hand? But didn't he take it with him when he left? I could've sworn I saw him put it in his bag that morning…

At the time, I didn't understand that that was the moment my father had died. I couldn't comprehend how Father's journal had gotten back, couldn't comprehend why Mother should cry over a man who had abandoned her. I couldn't grasp that, although he had left her to seek his dream, Father had loved Mother until the very end, and she had done the same.

In his dying moments, he had willed back his journal with the strength of his love.

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My mother had died on that self-same day as my father. I guess the grief of losing both a husband and a daughter finally got to her. Perhaps, somewhere in her heart, she was hoping he would return, even though she knew otherwise. The pillar of light that brought back Father's journal dashed away that hope like the sun chases away the night. After that, I suppose she lost her will to live.

Although she was alive physically, she started to wither away, hardly eating or drinking, and sitting all day staring at her flowers. I tried my best to persuade her to eat, sew, move, anything. The flowers in the vase had started to wither also; the daisies were starting to lose their petals and the dandelions shrivelled and turned an ugly, decaying brown, the stems turning the same colour and drooping when they couldn't support the weight of the bloom. I think it gave her a sense of reassurance to stare at the dying blossoms; it broke my heart to see such a strong woman reduced to being no more than a mannequin, showing no emotion or life. The flowers lasted for an unusually long time, but for me it wasn't long enough. Mother died on the day that the last petal fell from its stem.

People were kind to me, and the women of the village who were Mother's friends saw to it that she got a proper burial. I was grateful to them, because I was too numb to think about much. At the ceremony, I stood dully in the rain, not listening to anything anyone was saying. People came up to me to express sympathy, but they meant nothing. The knowledge that I was fully alone in the world caught me like a fist in the gut. It wasn't fair; I was only eleven. How was I supposed to survive?

I stood at her grave long after everyone had returned home. During the funeral, I had placed a small bunch of newly picked daisies at her tombstone. It seemed as though the dandelions were now out of season, because I didn't see a single yellow bloom anywhere. I stood with my black cloak around my shoulders and my hood over my head, staring at her name engraved on the stone. Encia Schezar. My mother. The daisies once again seemed unnaturally bright in contrast, and I watched as the raindrops rolled gently over the white petals. It occurred to me then that, whenever a tragedy struck me, it would always be raining. It was as if the Heavens took away all I had, and then mourned for what they had done.

How ironic.

Some of the same women who had arranged Mother's funeral offered to raise me until I could get a job on my own. I politely declined, but it made them even more concerned.

"What will you do?" they asked me. "Where will you go?"

I didn't respond, for in truth I didn't know. Where would I go? What could I possibly do? How would I survive? I decided that I would think about those things later. I went home, gathered some things of mine, and started my journey. But as I was exiting through the door for the last time, I glanced back at the table where the flower stems were brown and dry, drooping over the cracked vase with its peeling coat of paint. I thought that it seemed appropriate somehow, and then I turned my back on the only home I'd ever known to search for a new home and a new life, where perhaps I would finally find happiness.

To be continued…

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Author's Notes: Well, this is my own version of Allen's life. Some of it may not be accurate, but I tried to stick to the plot of his past as much as possible. Thanks to Sadie Joyce - Myst Lady and feier for giving me comments on the prologue. Special thanks to Feier for being a true friend and always giving great advice. Hope you enjoyed this chapter.

~Seeress