Author's Note: The following chapter is named for an episode of Buffy The Vampire Slayer… and dedicated to the memory of my friend Christopher from Buffy Boards. Rest In Peace, buddy. You're sorely missed.

Chapter Twelve: Lies My Parents Told Me

"Oh hell," Lara said. "You're being serious, aren't you?"

"Completely."

She sat down, grabbed a scrunchie with her free hand and twisted her hair into a ponytail. Twila, her roommate, looked over at Lara curiously as she did her makeup in a large vanity that took up a good chunk of the dorm room. "You told me my mother's name was Fleur. That was a lie?"

Helia cleared his throat. "Not exactly. That's what I called your mother, when it was just our family. It flowed better than Flora. When she died... I just never stopped calling her that. I didn't want your life to be based on who your mother was."

"And what was she exactly? How did she die? What was she like?" Helia had never much talked about Lara's mother. If he was going to open up now, Lara wanted some answers.

Helia took in a deep breath. "I met Flora when we were sophomores in college. I had just transferred from the Antarian Conservatory of Music and Art to Red Fountain. Everyone in Magix was different from the loving, kind Antarians. Magix was the big city, and it was brisker, dynamic. Your mother wasn't like that. She seemed to exist separately from the beat of the city. We were both too shy to make a move at first... but we grew and we changed, and we fell in love."

"The rest of the Winx Club had started their lives together- or in Layla's case, alone on Melody- before we did, but my flower girl was the first to get pregnant... you were conceived in the honeymoon suite in the Magix Grande Hotel. You know you were premature, born two and a half months before you were due... she was so worried about you, but you made it alright. We named you Lara on the suggestion of Queen Bloom of Eraklyon herself. She said it was part because it sounded like Flora, and part because of some Tomb Raider franchise on Earth... your "Auntie Bloom-Bloom" said you needed a strong name. We added Lynn as your Earth middle name, because it sounded like music in our ears. Little Lara Lynn."

"When you were six months old, Flora died. She was trying to coax medicine out of a difficult, carnivorous plant. All she got was poison. Your mother, in the end, was betrayed by what she was supposed to have power over."

"At her funeral, her friend Mirta came up to you and me with a casserole she had placed a spell on... one that helped the consumers find the healing magic within grief. We started getting together before long... she was almost my grief counselor. In a year, we had fallen in love, though never as deeply as I was with your mother. And... well, you know the rest of the story."

Lara was silent for so long that Helia said into the phone, "Honey? Are you there?"

"Yeah, Dad," she replied. "It's... just a lot to take in."

"It sure is, sweetie. It's why I've never told you before."

"I think you should have. Queen Bloom was right about something. I am a strong girl. I could have handled it."

Helia sighed. "I have no doubt of your strength. You have always been incredible. Never afraid to fight."

Lara pulled a strand of her dark hair out of the ponytail it was in. "Yeah, that's me. The violent one... listen, I have to go do some work for class. I'll call you later, Dad."

She hung up before he could answer.

A knock on the door of the apartment that Story and her friends (and enemies) shared roused Grace and Morgan from their nap on Morgan's bed. Where, yes, they really were just sleeping.

Morgan rubbed her eyes, stretched, and got up. Despite the fact that nothing happened, she looked like maybe something had- all bed-head and exhaustion. She jumped gracefully off the bed and went to answer the door. She opened it to find a senior with brown hair in a french twist looking very uncomfortable... and two twin wolves looking a mixture of disgruntled and happy to see their friend. "Um... yeah... well... bye..." the senior stuttered, not bothering to be sure that this was the right apartment or right fairy before running as fast as her legs could take her down the halls of the east wing.

Chelsa's ears pricked up and her tail started wagging. Chase? she asked in Morgan's head.

Morgan laughed. "Not a good idea," she said. She bent down and hugged her two friends' furry bodies.

Grace came up behind them and yawned... and then freaked out. "WHAT?" she screeched.

"What do you mean, what?" Morgan asked innocently.

Grace threw her hands up, then immediately threw them back down. "The wolves are here. I thought they were going to stay on Earth. They aren't exactly your pets."

"No," Morgan said, hugging the pair harder. "They are not my pets. They are my friends, and they wanted to come, and for the last time, sweetie, they aren't going to eat you."

"How do you know? You said yourself that you couldn't control them."

"I can't. But they like me... and I do things for them... and then I call in favors. And don't even get me started on the names. They weren't my idea, or else they'd probably be 'Princess Powerful,' and 'Chuck Norris.' Every animal has a true name. Like they say in the musical 'Cats."

Grace eyed the wild animals suspiciously. "So. They're not living here, are they?"

Morgan repeated the question as the wolves had been tuning everything out, wistfully looking down the hall where the older fairy had run. Brandhilie allowed himself to be swayed from the wolfish daydream, answering that they would go to the woods and make a home there. Morgan relayed the answer back to Grace, who sighed in relief.

The wolves padded back down the hall, on the way out of the school. "Are you sure they won't get killed by scared fairies?" Grace asked, sounding like she wouldn't mind if they did.

"They take care of themselves. I just help them out every now and again, and they do the same for me." Morgan smiled. It was good to have a few friends from home.

"Dafne, our last session was dedicated to getting you ready for Alfea. How is it so far?"

The blonde fairy took a deep breath. "I didn't tell them about my deficiency, if that's what you're asking."

Dr. Ortensia adopted a concerned look. "We've talked about this, Dafne. First of all, it is not a deficiency. You are simply fated to become a different person than your mother. You are a formidable fairy, remember that affirmation? Have you been saying that into a mirror three times a day?"

"I told you I wasn't going to do that stupid affirmation thing."

"Very well. But you at least should acknowledge that by refusing to disclose the source of your power, not only are you putting yourself in unnecessary danger from the people who crave the Dragon's Flame, you are also tangling yourself and those you care about in an unhealthy web of lies and deception."

"I've been doing that for sixteen years!" the patient screamed. "Nobody outside Eraklyon's and Domino's royal palaces knows that I'm a plain-old, nothing-special fire fairy and not the next keeper of the Dragon's Flame! Why can't I go on lying?"

Doctor Ortensia slid her glasses down her face, so nothing was between her eyes and Dafne's. "I don't normally use this language, but I'm going to tell it to you straight, Princess Dafne. If you don't tell the truth as soon as you can, your lies are going to turn around and bite you in the ass, and damn, its going to hurt."

She stood, indicating the end of her individual session with Dafne and the beginning of the therapy that involved both mother and daughter. "I won't envy you when that happens. Not one bit."