[P] plant flowers in your scars [summer]

[Elena]

elena
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happiness is a butterfly, we should catch it while dancing

T

here were fleeting moments, a short memory or a smell (especially in the height of summer) that would call her back to a glistening lake in an ancient valley, filled with graceful willows and ancient oaks.

Most days she is fine. But then there will be the smell of lavender along water that reaches her and suddenly she is that little orphaned child that goes to the river because no one there can hear her crying. That little orphaned girl who looks through things with glassy eyes instead of at them as she should. And then she will see a tulip, and she is that same orphan girl who found another little girl and they conquered their fears and grew up to love them instead.

It is here, in Night Court, as the evening settles and the moon arches up into the sky, that she can almost recall those memories of walking with Lovelace under starry nights and holding deep conversations about who she wanted to be and what she wanted to do. Lovelace told her that there were no limits, not even the stars were an ending point.

There is a fire that leaps down her spine. Morrighan? No, she can feel the confusion associated with it. Her blue eyes widen with realization: Maeve. She finds her easily enough as she picks her way through the festivities, follows her emotions and her power like it was a trail lain bare. Elena feels the concern in her, the confusion, maybe fear lingering in the back of her mind and it takes all Elena has, all the mother that lives inside her not to just scoop her up and tell her everything was fine, it was okay. But Maeve would need to learn, and Elena would be her gentle, guiding hand, if she wanted her to be. “I think it is about time we went for a walk,” she says with a smile. “Don’t you think?” Elena says and motions her head for Maeve to follow.

They walk in silence for a moment before Elena angles her head in Maeve’s direction. “If you could be anything or anyone? What would you be?” The golden girl asks as they move.  Elena spies a sharp stone and reaches her leg up to it, draws it down and across, until blood peeks at the surface, curiously spilling over onto golden skin. It is a small cut, one that would heal in a few days and leave no scar “What do you want to do, Maeve?” Elena moves closer to her and touches her head head gently, just atop her ears. “Whatever you want to do,” she says into her hair before pulling away and wondering if this is how Lovelace felt when Elena became her apprentice. “You could heal me, I think, but only if you wanted.” Those little girls, they grew up to be brave, and strong, and bold and beautiful. She always thought she would like to help another little girl, grow up to be brace, and strong, and bold and beautiful.

@Maeve elena speaks

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