┊✧*｡ ✯┊💫⋆✧*｡ ┊
COZEN | 𝒐𝒏𝒆
-ˋˏ ༻🌙༺ ˎˊ-
❝ 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔤𝔥𝔬𝔰𝔱𝔰 𝔱𝔥𝔞𝔱 𝔥𝔞𝔲𝔫𝔱 𝔲𝔰 ❞
recap of the last season...
Maya, a fairy of illusion, attends her first year with her brother Lark at Alfea Fairy School. From day one, Maya gets to know her new companions, namely those with whom she will share not only room but also friendship, foes, and mischief.
Maya's presence won't go unnoticed by Riven, a specialist with commitment issues, a dealer, and a smirk that adds even more troubles than Maya already has.
Time goes by and the fairies begin their lessons with the goal of learninge how to control their powers and and determine when and how they are required to be used, particularly in dangerous moments that are not far off. In fact, one evening a hideous entity identified as a burned one severely harms Lark and puts him in life threatening danger. However an unexpected surge of innate power leaps out of Maya, who destroys the burned one and manages to save her brother in the process as well.
Since then a sense of unease begins to be discerned in Alfea, particularly around the adults who are forced to hide secrets that relate back to an incident that binds them from the past: the matter of Asterdale and unequivocally Rosalind, a very powerful fairy who manages to manipulate Bloom into freeing her.
The eve of the battle to overthrow the burned ones will prove to be one that will leave its mark on the entire community's lives. Principal Dowling vanishes and among the deceased are also found the bodies of Maya and her mother Lorelai, however a ploy of Lorelai's to evade Rosalind, who seeks her out to leverage the power of the most powerful illusion fairy alive. After the hardship of both families and friends, something else will endanger the entire otherworld, and in this case the enemy is closer than we may realize.
The sky is pitch-black, gloomy except for the ash spewing from the tongues of fire hovering over what once harbored life. A sketch of a horror that will be etched on everyone's conscience. The burning stench seeps through the nostrils, reaches the lungs and ignites your soul. Ash itself becomes the setting, the misty blur that carries the souls into the realm of darkness.
A rumble.
The sky is torn apart. A flash of lightning flickers marking the end of what once was. The cries do not cease, one can still hear the haunting hellish echo, the echo of the end. The land is stained with sickening colors, and the fire does not end until it has cleared everything away. In the distance, a woman mourns, screaming with her hands through her hair as if to tear it out because the woman is a mother, but what made her one doesn't exist anymore.
A man comforts her, although he himself senses the burden of what has been lost.
Another woman stands at the edge of a cliff, as icy cold as the surrounding air, and observes. The war is over. She has won. But it still isn't enough.
The flames die down and with it the screams, the wails, the cries. A stony stillness prevails and the mother, whose tears mingle with the lifeless soil, feels her heart halt.
She will make her pay bitterly for the lives taken in vain, for the lives of the ones she gave life to.
But suddenly there is the sound of crying.
Babies' cries.
"Your emotions are a tool. Nothing more, nothing less." Rosalind's voice reverberated distinctly at the stone circle, commanding the attention of all the students. In the center power buzzed from the hand of the student confronting Bloom, "They are a source of energy. You were taught to control them," flames erupted in Bloom's, "it's not always the best choice." Bloom was struck by static.
"In combat you will have to rely on instinct," her voice sickened Lark, though it was no news that there was something that irritated him. He would have found Bloom's circumstances of being subjected to the incessant jabs of electricity like a puppet rather comical had it not been for the fact that Lark was not what he used to be.
Lark was broken. The events of that evening had grimly been seared into his memory and were not only haunting him during the day but also took the lead in his worst nightmares. He was forced to relive the horrific sights of the bodies of his mother and sister mauled and limb- missing, with blood pouring from the gashes inflicted by those beasts and not intact and as if they were just asleep as they had been found.
That was what troubled him. They appeared too peaceful, as if they had not undergone any pain, as if not a strand of their hair had been harmed, as if not-but Lark would shake these lingering thoughts, such hopes. He did not want to deceive himself because evidence of half of his family being gone lay six feet underground.
Sometimes in his dreams, or nightmares, Maya would be calling his name, donning the pristine clothes of that night, appealing to him for help in her soft voice, which had she been alive he would have found annoying but she was not, and that was why he found himself trying to reach out to his sunshine. He could never succeed because suddenly another would appear and then another again and again and again until he would become totally disoriented seeking the real one.
"It killed me" The clones would say and then darkness would embrace him.
It killed me...
But what?
Mark, the father, had not been exempt from that hard blow; the feeling of coming home and feeling the coolness of his wife's absence there hung heavier than anything else. He would shiver at the mere thought that in such a short period his rock, the one who brushed away his worries and concerns with her reassurances and humor, who sought his hug and kiss every morning and every evening as they returned from their respective works as if impliedly telling each other 'I'm there, always,' in addition to their love professed over and over again.
He missed his daughter, a sense of devastation he would not wish on any parent, to whom he had not taken the time to tell her 'I love you, I believe in you.' But he also missed Lark, the only one left, the old Lark, who liked mischief and talking nonsense, breaking the rules, and who dealt with everything nonchalantly.
Mark would have liked to stand by his side in Alfea, but by being there he would have had to swear loyalty to Rosalind and her authority regimen which seemed to him as if he was betraying his dear ones. It was too much. That place was not for him, yet he would sneak in to see his son whenever he could, even if only for a few instants.
Lark was waiting by Rosalind's office door, tapping his foot impatiently under the scowling guards. He had been summoned directly by Rosalind after magic class had ended where he had been caught staring into space during class. He had been absent-minded, everyone had noticed it, everyone knew why his head wasn't in the right place, but Rosalind, though she too had noted it, being a sadistic old bitch would have figured out any sort of punishment for his inattention.
The door opened and out of it came Bloom, who gave him an inquisitive look mixed with apprehension but was completely ignored by the blond man, who coolly walked past her and went into the office, slamming the door so harshly that even the granny on the desk flinched, coating that moment of bewilderment with a admonition, "Have a seat Lark and in the meantime try to control your anger issues."
"To what do I owe the honor of your summoning into your non-office, headmistress?" He asked sarcastically, snubbing her previous request.
"I have been keeping an eye on you Lark this early in the year, and I won't deny that I am still doing that. Your head is far away and this I can understand," her feigned facade of compassion was not fooling him, and in fact as soon as the woman noticed, she took up her stern tone again, "yet this is affecting your abilities, both mental and physical. Moreover, I understand that you have chosen to devote yourself totally to training with specialists, how come this choice?"
That had been the question Lark would never be able to answer. He didn't know if he did it because the powers had been boring him and he wanted to feel the rush of adrenaline from a close fight and speedy movements or because he felt as if since he had lost his sister-
He shuddered at the memory of her body stretched out together with her mother's surrounded by the scorched scent and dripping blood of all the fallen fighters.
He shook his head from the myriad thoughts that did not cease even in the night, when he wanted to flee from the harsh reality of it, which added a thousand.
"Thats none of your business."
Silence fell after that statement of his, and Dowling massaged her temples after she had dismissed him after a lengthy warning.
"Indeed it was."
I wanted to write something, and I picked up this chapter that I had started months ago but never published because I didn't think it was enough.
This is just a filler just to see if i can find my motivation to finish this fic so i cant promise anything for now.
But do enjoy neverthless:)