Mother, Tell Me What To Do- Event

[missrecalled_mods]

It began with flowers. Now, flowers were nothing new to Auradon, but these were clearly no ordinary flowers. For one thing, they were distinctly not native to the area, looking much more like they hailed from somewhere far more tropical, though even should anyone- Missrecalled or local- be familiar with such things, they wouldn't be able to identify what species they were or exactly where they might be from. For another, rather than growing over time, they'd all just simply appeared overnight. And they'd appeared everywhere. From outdoor spaces where one would usually find flowers, to all sorts of places indoors where one normally wouldn't find them. Draped in living garlands around the shoulders of suits of armor. Twining around the legs of tables and chairs. Literally sprouting right out of the woodwork or wallpaper in places. 

Avoiding them entirely would be difficult, though doable if one were particularly determined. Fortunately, aside from their mysterious appearance and their sudden ubiquitousness they seem to be harmless. They even smell nice, though no two people will be able to agree on exactly what the smell is like, just that it's pleasant.

However some of the flowers will randomly cause something odd to occur. Touching one, or breathing in too deeply from one of the random flowers will draw forth a memory for all nearby to see and hear. Only one memory will display at a time, and anyone in the area can see and hear it, but only those close enough to have caught the scent of that particular flower will get the full effect. They'll see the figures and setting as solid, and may experience subtle additional effects related to the memory, such as the feeling of a breeze or the smell of cooking food. Anyone else will see and hear everything fine, but will not experience any additional sensations and will see the scene as somewhat transparent. The figures aren't solid, they just seem like that to anyone who was close enough to smell the flower when it triggered.

The memory, oddly enough, will not be from the perspective of the one it belongs to; they and their companion or companions will be observing from a third party perspective, thus allowing a person to see their own face in the memories without the aid of a mirror. Nor can the memories be interacted with; those viewing them are observers only, and while they'll be able to hear the figures in the memory and each other speaking, no one in the memories will be able to hear or perceive them in any way. The memories vary in content and tone from person to person, for obvious reasons, but a common thread will soon be spotted: all the memories involve the person's mother or similar maternal figure. Generally they are more likely to be positive memories, if such memories exist. 

Once the memory fades that flower looses its ability and becomes just like any other flower in this event. However another flower nearby might have been activated...

Picking one of the flowers and taking it back to their rooms- which are one of the few places that remain entirely flower-free, for some reason- will result in the person having vivid dreams of their mothers or maternal figures. Again, while the content of those dreams will vary widely for obvious reasons, in Auradon, the tone will be generally positive. Perhaps bright and cheerful, perhaps nostalgic and somewhat melancholy, but the dreams will be generally good ones, and those who have them will wake feeling generally refreshed and like they slept well. The dreams are just that, dreams. Even those with no memories of their mothers can have these dreams - but in the drams they will have a mother, and the dream will center around that maternal figure one way or another. Again, these are dreams and our minds can create the sweetest fantasies when so inspired. These dreams will linger one day past the event for every day the flowers had been kept in the bedroom. Also, oddly, of the flowers people pick will show no signs of wilting or drying out, even days after being picked no matter where they're left.

Then, after a week, all the flowers- whether picked or left alone - vanish overnight, just as suddenly as they appeared. A strange phenomenon, to be sure, but once it's over, other concerns will likely take precedence once again. After all, something like that couldn't possibly happen again, right? 

Comments

[queen_butterfly]

"Why shouldn't it?" Simple as that, to her.

[mal_contented]

"Because either you are my mother and therefore hate my existence or you're a stranger, and I shouldn't matter to you at all, except as on of the people trying to get you home." She tried to sound matter of fact about it. To hide the pain. But she didn't do as good a job as she usually did.

[queen_butterfly]

"But once again, shoulds don't always lead to the appropriate does or does nots." She shrugged, turning her gaze to the cluster of blooms nearby. "And as you don't seem eager to decide... I will."

She reached for them, to brush her hand and sleeve across them. "I choose fairness."

♥ ♥ ♥

The scene around them became the interior of someone's house, something possibly far before modern times, with smooth clay walls and tiled floor... it seemed to all be one room, though it was a fairly large room, one with a few vertical poles situated here and there, looking like nothing so much as trees growing up through the center of everything, disappearing into the domed ceiling. There was a decently large bed to one side near some shelves, a few chairs, a stone sink's basin and countertops, sans faucet, what seemed to be a ball of bread dough rising next to the hand-built-looking stone oven, the smell of wine and fruit heavy in the air.... There didn't look to be many modern amenities, no obvious refrigerator or freezer, no clear stovetop save perhaps the top of the oven, no dishwasher, no countertop appliances, no electrical outlets or anything else in view, no lamps in the ceiling, but several large candles nestled in hanging bowls, makeshift chandeliers of sorts....

A child, perhaps four years old, with the same barely-pointed ears as Mallia, and the same slightly-oddly-large eyes, was sitting up on the end of a table, very gently petting a butterfly that was bigger than the kid's own hand. The big wings opened and closed very slowly, more to show off for the child than for any practical reason as it perched at the side of a bowl, on a few twigs that were sitting in black wine. The liquid swirled with some sparkling sort of quality... perhaps it was magic? And the little bug reached down with a hand to the wine to pick up another large drop, not needing a cup at such small scale, when surface tension would do the trick for them.

"I bet you can do it," the child said quietly, still carefully petting the little creature. "You can look like one of us, if you try...."

"What are you up to, poppet?" A lady, large curls of golden-brown hair piled up on her head, wearing a long flowy dress and long jacket over that, was stepping in, a load of fresh laundry in her arms, sheets and clothes all in a basket that she set down on the bed, giving her kid a smile... and then paused to look again, the situation registering half a second later. "You're being careful, I'm sure?"

The child leaned down to whisper to the bug, "You should do it to surprise her."

The tiny thing looked up to him, and then to the lady, and turned around on the twig it was perched on... and then hopped to the tabletop. When it stood up... its shape had changed a bit. A little taller, perhaps? If Mal looked closely, she might see that it was missing its antennae, and it only had two legs now, though they were thicker than the previous ones. The little dress was actually a dress, though it blended in well with the wings still behind it. It looked up to the child, and then to the child's mother, seeming proud of this.

The younger elf giggled, once they realized what the little fairy had done. "I meant bigger," they said, climbing down from the chair to crouch on the floor beside the table. "Like this!" With that, they sprang up, flinging their arms wide for emphasis, and landed standing up.

The tiny fairy stepped to the edge of the table to watch, and then jumped, fluttering lightly to the floor. Barely half a second paused, and then they jumped up as well, mimicking the elf child's performance... size included, by the time gravity was reclaiming them. This new child was far darker in color than their young coach, still half butterfly, from the looks of it, with even bigger dark eyes and huge wings behind it like a cape... but the head was about right, the body was about right, if hidden by a black dress that blended into those wings, the familiar purple edging streaking up from the bottom... and she blinked, pleased and a little surprised at this herself, looking from the child up to the mother. They moved to take a step....

...And the mother, who'd paused in folding the laundry to watch more intently, now cast it back to the bed as she hurried over to catch the fairy child. The little one tripped over her own feet, eyes wide in surprise. "Oh... oh, poppet...!" She was smiling, though, helping her back upright. Or she tried to, at least; the little fairy was still working to get her new feet under her properly, and clinging to her as she did, wings spreading wide behind her and flapping, trying to help with her changed balance.

The elf child, hit with said wings, only laughed harder; it clearly didn't hurt them any. "It worked, it worked!"

"So I see!" Unable to do much else past smile in response, the mom leaned forward to plant a quick little kiss on the fairy she was holding, which earned her a few blinks and a wide-eyed look, but also a moment of stillness while it processed. More blinks, and another stumble while trying to take a step toward her, clinging harder to the lady's sleeves.... "Oh... oh, you must be exhausted!" She stood up, picking up the new child to hold them against her like any other young one, and turned to the bed. By the time she sat down, next to the laundry, the fairy child had settled onto her chest, head on her shoulder, hugging, looking content, if tired out already.

"Take your time, precious," the lady said, one hand raised to gently brush some of the fairy's dark hair away from her face. "I've more wine if you want it." Another little kiss, on the top of her hair this time, and the fairy's smile grew, even as her big eyes closed, nuzzling into the lady's jacket. The elf child, quiet now, but still grinning, stepped closer to them, about to climb up onto the bed to join them....

...And the scene faded, leaving Mallia standing there, silent, staring after where the trio had been. She seemed a bit stunned to say anything herself, for a moment... though if Mal were observant, she might notice that the fabric that usually draped loosely behind her wasn't hanging as it usually did. It was raised a little, sticking out a bit behind her, as if it were wings that were just barely unfolded, the purple bottom edging shining as the rest of it did, like... well, like butterfly wings did, a soft luster that might have been mistaken for pearlescent dust on velvet.

But at least the scene explained her outfit and colors: it was simply translated from her original tiny form, all black with purple accent, those wide fading stripes held over from the panes of the wings. And if that were the case, as shown, then she wasn't half anything, not half dragon, surely, but a form-changed arthropod. At least she'd done a rather convincing job of it, now that it was clearer that she'd been emulating those elves, rather than actual humans this whole time.

[mal_contented]

Mal was fighting the urge to rush inside and grab her paints, hands balled into fists to keep them still. She wanted to speak, to snap, but no words came, o sh just looked away, giving Mallia the time to collect herself.

[queen_butterfly]

Mallia stayed quiet, simply raising a hand to her chin, not quite playing with her lower lip as she considered, eyes falling down further to the flowers she'd used to summon the phantoms.

Softly, "I don't quite remember it," she admitted. "I don't recall much, from those days. It was so very long ago."

She seemed plenty calm, at least, even if her attention was now a bit elsewhere, her expression unreadable again. "But it does feel correct." She looked to Mal, trying to give some hint of a smile. "I wasn't always this skilled, at maintaining my appearance."

Ah, self-deprecating humor....

[mal_contented]

"Well... then you might as well stay, see whatever you can remember," she said, trying to sound gruff. Failing. "These things never last long."

[queen_butterfly]

"I've been at it this entire time. But you know what's curious? This is the first time it's shown me something quite so significant. All the other bits have been rather remarkably unremarkable. Things I could have guessed at, simply by knowing about my kind."

She swept her hand over a few more flowers, and another scene sprang up: ent trees everywhere, their branches full of what looked like flowers at first, or perhaps colorful leaves, moving in the breeze, falling off the tree and fluttering around... except, they weren't petals or leaves. They were the wings of a swarm of the colorful little fairyflies, moving from twig to twig, checking on what had looked like equally colorful berries hanging from the trees but were actually cocoons, delicate little chrysalises opening for the newly-adult members of their kind. And there among them, the magic of the scene pointed out the black-and-purple one that was coming out, others of its kind helping peel back the once-protective little shell so that it could climb out more easily. If Mal wanted, she could probably get a decent look at some of the others as the scene went on, their brighter colors making them easy to pick out....

"Like that," she said, gesturing to it, as though it weren't obvious. "I could have illustrated that myself, though I'm certain I hadn't that memory." A little quieter, "Which makes me wonder... do you think it was sheer chance that it finally showed that one? Or could something have prompted it?" She frowned faintly after the focus of the scene even after it disappeared from view almost as quickly as it had sprung up.

[mal_contented]

"It is magic. In these sorts of cases the magic seems bound and determined to share what we least want shared. It messed up with me though, because I don't care what it shows," she lied. "Nothing it shows can hurt me." Another lie.

[queen_butterfly]

"Well, then, if these visions don't bother you... would you mind terribly if I were to use you for a short while? More specifically, if I were to try taking advantage of your presence here, to prompt something else that might be more interesting, like that first one?" In other words, she wasn't so much requesting direct participation, as simply for Mal not to leave right away. She wasn't even requesting to see more of Mal's....

[mal_contented]

She rolled her eyes and crossed her arms. "You have until I get bored." Or a vision she doesn't want to see or share starts.

[queen_butterfly]

"Fair enough."

She looked to the flowers again, brushing a hand over them, looking for one that would prompt something. It didn't take long.

One scene was short, simply a pair of elves in a garden, drinking a bit themselves, having lunch while they kept the fairies' bowl of wine full for them -- and even sharing their own food with the little insects, clearly not at all minding losing those tiny bits of it to them, giggling and asking them if they liked what they'd found. The little black-with-purple one seemed intent on trying to lift a large morsel of bread, soaked in a sauce of some kind, only to be told that she'd likely have better luck if she took less at once, or had another of the fairies help her. ....Whatever was going on here, it was clear that the elves absolutely did not regard these insects as pests of any sort.

Another brief scene, another elf was making food, kneading some bits, dried fruits or nuts or something, into a brown dough while apparent younger siblings played in the house behind her, and a few of the fairies peeked in through the window above her work area. They deposited something on the cloth tied over the mouth of a jar there, and she paused, leaning in to see what it was, only to give a smile that was... part wince? An attempt not to laugh? It was hard to tell. "Oh... I appreciate the gifts, but my kind doesn't eat those bugs. You do." One of the little fairies hopped back to the cloth to push them toward her again, insisting on offering them, and she shook her head. "No, no... give those to your own children." They pointed to a bowl sitting a few inches away, and faintly, something seemed to appear in it, a dark mass in the bottom that glittered, only an illusion that lasted just long enough to give the elf a hint before disappearing, the other fairies seeming more excited for it. "Oh...! Oh, poppets, you don't need to trade for that!" She quickly cleaned her hands off and grabbed a bottle from the shelf, one with more of that black wine in it, and tossing some twigs of something into the bowl, began pouring it for them....

In another scene, past-Mallia was indoors at a workbench. Evident from what else was in the room was that whoever worked here was a carver, a crafter. Mallia was leaning on the workbench herself, inspecting the wooden thing closely as she rubbed what looked like it might've been a sort of file on it, smoothing part of it down. The elf pictured this time, a lady that might've been a bit on the older side, with white hair and fine lines from a long history of smiling, was working on its other end. It was an arm, a doll arm the size of a child's, thin and delicate-looking, perfectly carved to hide the joints better than most modern dolls' were.

"...but I don't feel any life in it."

"So you doubt it'll work as our poppet's arm?"

Past-Mallia paused, frowning as she considered. "Should we pour wine on it?"

Present-Mallia was taking a second to look around the workshop, her eye caught by movement on top of a shelf, and she smiled, seeing what looked like a small bird sitting up high there, watching them contentedly.

The older lady laughed at that. "We make sure that the wine has that life-magic in it for you and the others, dear. But wine isn't the only way to move that energy quickly. I'm sure you can tell that it's everywhere, can't you?"

"It's not, though. Not much. It's in people and animals. And in the wine." A little pause. "Is the wine alive?"

She laughed again, hardly mocking, simply amused by the innocent confusion. "No, poppet. Wine isn't alive. But it has that magic because the ents put it into the berries that we make it from. Because they want you and everyone to have it."

Mallia, there in the present, stepped around to get a better look at the older lady.

Her past self frowned a little, thinking. "But we won't put wine on the new arm?"

"There's no need," The lady said, finishing what she was doing. She set the shoulder end back down. "His own spirit's plenty enough. It's a strong one." She turned, peeking around. "Chell?"

Something moved from a chair not far away, a child-sized figure waking up at their name being called, and Chell rubbed his eyes, sitting up. Once he focused on the two at the desk, he seemed to figure out what was going on, and he slid down off the chair to step over to them.

He wasn't another elf, he was a wooden doll. His arm was broken at the bicep, the bare wood splintered still; the new arm was its replacement. Past-Mallia crouched and put her arms out, and the little figure stepped up to be lifted to the table, where the lady set to work again. "Thank you," he said quietly, smiling. It was anyone's guess how a wooden-looking doll face was pliable enough to be so easily expressive, but his definitely was.

"Of course, of course." The lady leaned over to give him a quick little kiss on his head while she worked at detaching the old arm. It didn't take her long, and attaching the new one took her even less time. Even before she'd finished, Chell was bringing his new hand up to try opening and closing it, turning it over in front of him, smiling at how it matched its pair, moving it as naturally as any born person might've. "There."

Past-Mallia, curious, picked up the broken bit of arm, turning it over. "There's no life in it at all now...."

"Of course there isn't. Chell's spirit is staying in his body. And that's not part of it any longer." She picked up the little figure when he reached for her, and helped the wooden child down, taking a quick kiss on her cheek before she could stand back up, and grinned. "I'm sure you'll try to be careful with that one, poppet?"

"Uh huh. Mom said she'd fix the door for me so it wouldn't happen again."

"Oh, good, good!" She said something else, the warm look on her face making it plain that she'd regarded the made child as fondly as any other, and perhaps he was her own, though he'd referred to someone else as his parent... but the scene faded again, leaving the present Mallia standing there.

She glanced to Mal, hesitant. She had a faint smile, but something else was there as well, debating on saying something. Maybe the younger lady had questions, after that bit? She wasn't sure. But if Mal didn't object or interrupt, she'd step to another bed of the flowers.

And if Mal had been paying close enough attention to the scene, she might have picked up on a few details of its translation: that the elves' word for life, and spirit, and magic... were, in this context, either the same word, or related.

[mal_contented]

"Geppetto? Seriously?" She shook her head. "Id I didn't know better I'd swear you were making half of these up just to throw me off."

[queen_butterfly]

"'Gepetto'?" That right there, that's confusion. Is that a name of a person? A sort of swear? Something that simply doesn't translate...?

[mal_contented]

"Pin's grandfather. Made a puppet because he wanted a son. Blah blah blah. Blur fairy gave him a brain and junk, blah blah moral compass maxim, he embraces goodness, becomes a real boy grows up, has a kid named Pin..."

She rolled her eyes. Everyone knew that story.

[queen_butterfly]

Judging by her blank look, everyone except her knew it. "What do you mean, 'becomes a real boy'...? I'm afraid I didn't catch most of that." Because Mal hadn't said most of it, brushing over it all like she had.

[mal_contented]

"You know. He proved he was good and honest and true so sh turned him from wood into a real boy." It didn't disgust her as much as it used to, but it was still more than a bit much for her.

[queen_butterfly]

She didn't react much right away, seeming perhaps to be trying to wrap her mind around it... and once she had, some expression between horror and a wince only just barely showed on her face as she looked away to help hide it. Mal wasn't alone in disliking that story, or at least its sum... but for rather different reasons. "Oh... well, I suppose that's certainly one way to... encourage good behavior. Withholding such glamours.... I...." She didn't continue that thought, as uncomfortable as it was to her, but absently brought her hands together to hold them in front of her, keeping her reactions to herself as much as she could.

A sigh, seeming hesitant, and she changed the subject. A little quieter, "I do remember him, though. Chell never seemed to care much for that magic, to make him look as he originally did. He liked her workmanship. Everyone did. ...He did eventually go for a less tool-crafted appearance, when he grew up...."

She nodded to an image she deliberately conjured next. Standing nearby now, due to her, was a tall figure, a man in what looked like full armor at first glance, but on second, was actually black wood. The parts seemed to have been grown to him more than carved, a few stray little bumps along the sleek grooves of the bark hinting at spots that twigs and leaves would be sprouting from. The light tan of his face wasn't the texture of cut and sanded wood any longer either, but a more natural polish, the grain subtle and shiny, winding around the shapes of his features, his mouth and nose and fully black eyes. It was difficult to tell whether he was wearing some sort of tight hood, or if it was simply another part of his head rather than more conventional hair, where twig-shapes twisted back, almost crown-like behind his head with an actual few tiny leaves daring to add a few spots of vivid green there. A few similar, thicker little branch-like shapes reached up and out sideways from what looked like his pauldrons, or whatever they were exactly, stiffly sitting at the top of his cloak, the one part of him that seemed to be made of actual cloth.

She was right; it wasn't the appearance of something from anyone's workbench, but some sort of tree mimicking an elf, Perhaps some sort of dryad king. Chell, once a tiny sweet child, as an adult was a rather regal figure indeed.

Mallia glanced briefly back to Mal, trying to give her at least a hint of a smile, but she wasn't actually happy, for whatever reason, and it showed. "I don't think I remember him having had children of his own, the way most do.... Certainly none named 'Pin'."

[mal_contented]

"Different realities, remember?" she asked, sneering to hide that she was a little shaken. That she had needed the reminder herself.

[queen_butterfly]

She shrugged, and looked back to the image of the adult Chell, her attempt at a smile fading again. It didn't look like she was even thinking about it, as she moved a hand, or that she was consciously directing the image, as his lifted to take hers. For all that she'd brought it up simply to illustrate something to the younger lady, it seemed to be having at least as much of an effect on Mallia herself.

"Perhaps, then, you're confusing the two entirely. Perhaps someone else had a poppet child named... Pinnoicho, was it? And Pin? ...Were they also slain by humans... simply for existing, and therefore being an inconvenience, like so many other fae?" Far from sounding accusatory, despite her word choice, she simply sounded sad, the question almost a whisper at the end. And she wasn't looking back to Mal yet, her eyes on this phantom of her own making standing in front of her there... but she probably needed a moment anyway. This Chell, for all that he wasn't actually standing there, was indeed a rather convincing illusion....

[mal_contented]

".....No. This is Auradon, remember?" she sneered. "Though if I'd been around and asked, he'd probably have been on the Isle too, come to think of it..."

[queen_butterfly]

She was quiet a little pause, sighing silently to herself and slowly dismissing Chell's image, letting it melt away into nothing as he stood there, his face the last to disappear as she closed her eyes. More to herself, though audible enough, "I see so many problems with a division like that... perhaps it's for the best that whoever was somehow behind it isn't here for me to speak with." Apparently, she was going to try getting off of what had evidently been a painful subject there, regarding the seeming dryad-like figure, and turn to the flowers again.

They obliged; the scene that appeared was inside another of the elves' tree-walled houses. A good many kids were present, and only one figure looked to be an actual adult here. The latter was certainly not Mallia, but a lady who looked to be caught between dismay, annoyance, and complete and utter bafflement at what was before her.

As for what she was surveying... the kids - ages ranging from barely older than a toddler, to in their mid teens or so - had made a bit of a mess all over the table and living area with berry pies. The younger the child, the more of it they wore on their face and hands, evidence of pastry carnage in brilliant reds and purples, and most of the little ones still held hand-pies, munching away happily on them while the older children held the remains of larger ones. It was easily a day's worth of baking, seemingly devoured behind the adults' backs.

And there, with barely anything on her face at all, that kid giggling in the back as she ate her pie had to be Mallia. She looked to be what, fourteen? Fifteen at best? Rather than having all of her hair twisted up behind her head, she'd merely had the front part of it twisted into meeting at the back, with a large dark ribbon tying it into place. But her clothes were much the same, flowy black fabric edged with purple panes.... "I'll clean it up," she said in mild protest, unable to keep the smile off her face.

"How did you get--" The lady trailed off, unable to complete the question. "Where did you get--" Almost absently, she grabbed a rag and attempted to wipe a child's chin, only for them to duck away, her attention more on the pies than the kids themselves.

The older kids were silent, mouths occupied, opting to try eating as much as they could before their baked goods were potentially confiscated. One of the little ones simply informed the lady that they were really good pies.

"Would you like one?" Teenager Mallia stepped out from the little crowd, holding up a perfectly untouched pie on a plate, offering it to the lady. "You could share it with Wellan...?"

Judging by how the lady blushed as the suggestion registered... well. Something might've been going on there. "Is this a bribe, fairy?"

"You tell me." She was being terrible at feigning innocence on purpose, and it showed.

The lady eyed her... eyed the pie... eyed her.... "This had better not become a common occurrence. And you will clean it all up after."

"Of course!"

"....And we'll discuss this later...?"

Younger Mallia sighed dramatically, but she was still smiling. "I know."

Another pause, and the lady accepted the pastry, looking down to it. "I suppose this means I don't have to cook tonight."

More giggles from the kids, who were relaxing; their dessert-for-dinner was evidently safe from confiscation after all.

Meanwhile, present-day Mallia was just looking among the faces of those present, seemingly trying to figure out if she remembered any of them....

[mal_contented]

There had been something like wistfulness, longing, and a little bitterness in her eyes. But as the image faded she quickly schooled her expression so Malia couldn't see her reaction.

She didn't know what Malia hoped Mal would see here, but this was getting to be too much...

[queen_butterfly]

Evidently, Mallia wasn't sure what she was looking for in this scene either, and frowned a bit as it faded, wasting no time in running her hand across more of the blossoms.

Another moment in time sprang up around them -- Past Mallia was stepping back into the village, one made up of those odd little houses that incorporated live trees into their structures, and everyone present apparently an elf as well, with those only barely-pointed ears and the larger irises to their eyes -- and things were not well, it was obvious. Someone had come in before her, one figure being talked to more obviously, and others crowding around, some crying already. A horse had been led off to water not far away, the blanket on its back askew.

It was hard to follow just who was saying what, but the gist was clear enough, at least. There was talk of trying to find out what recovery efforts there were, talk of if people were needed, to search. How quickly could they rig boats? Or bring wood? But it was so far away! Had anyone talked to one of the dragons? Maybe they could fly out and-- No, it can't be too late! They'll make bodies, for if anyone can still be found that might need one!

Past Mallia's eyes widened as she stepped in quietly, cradling a few bottles of what looked like it might've been wine, but for how it glowed with a light of its own, a soft white that the dark bottles barely helped to hide. Rather than approaching to further pester the figure who looked most tired, already talking to those around them, she began to step toward a figure that'd been shown before -- the lady who'd carved a new arm for the child Chell -- but the older elf didn't seem to see her before turning, tears in her eyes, and leaving quickly. The fairy looked around, noting that Chell himself -- now not quite a teenager, but definitely a taller wooden doll than earlier, and already leaning into such an aesthetic, with leaves for hair, though he still wore regular cloth clothing -- followed after her, also distressed. She glanced around, and changed direction, to try speaking quietly with another of the adults.

This one turned toward her after a second, still evidently in shock, and pulled the confused and worried fairy into a hug. The words were muffled from her at first as her face was buried on Mallia's shoulder, but she sobbed and tried to continue anyway. "...It sank. It burned down."

"No.... It can't have, they were careful. They're on the sea, besides, it-- It couldn't have....!" Past Mallia all but dropped one of the bottles she was holding, and shifted to catch it.

"They were attacked," she managed.

"Who would--" She did drop a bottle this time, and it hit the ground beside her. She didn't try to pick it back up.

The lady opened her mouth to answer, but couldn't speak in the moment, wiping her eyes again.

"Why would they-- How could they do that? There were thousands...!" She dropped the other bottles to the side, freeing her arms so she could hug the lady back; they both needed it, at that point.

Present-day Mallia finally turned away from the scene, already running her hands over more flowers, trying to find a way to interrupt it. She was trying to keep a straight face, but it was clearly a rather painful memory for her, all the same. "It was a city on the sea," she whispered in explanation, not looking up at Mal. "The elves made it, and a great many of them tried to retreat to it, to live apart from the humans...."

Perhaps of some mild interest was that although everyone in the magically-shown past was upset, none quite seemed angry there. Upset, sad, shocked, horrified, of course... but no one was calling for retaliation or making threats, only trying to figure out how they could potentially salvage some of the situation, once they were able to get past their initial reactions of denial and shock....

[mal_contented]

"Look, if you want to get all emotional and need someone to cry on, you picked the wrong fairy," Mal said, sounding sharp to hide how uncomfortable she was. "Ben's good at emotional stuff. He'd stand here with you."

So why did it have to be Mal?

She turned to leave. Was it accident when she brushed a flower? Had to be. Couldn't be kindness or pity. Not from Mal. Easier to think it was an accident. That's what she wanted anyway.

A miserable looking place. People in rags sewn together trying to make the best of a horrible situation, it seemed. There seemed to be some sort of party in the wide area before the ramshackle castle that loomed over it all.

Rickety market stalls and crumbling store fronts were all festively draped in tattered banners. There were lanterns and flickering candles.

At the center of it all sat a child. Maybe five or six. Bright blue hair in a mix of braids and loos locks. The child's clothes were more carefully mended than most. And she at in a chair, the center of attention, like it was a throne. A large tigger snuggled against her, purring like a kitten. Adults fawned on the child. Some, like the man with a hook for a hand that put his had in a gator's mouth just to make her laugh, showed off for her. The other children were screaming happily like little monster going over loot bags and pulling out baby animals - cats, fishbowl with eels, hyenas, and the like.

Finding Mal, at any age, in this scene wouldn't be hard, it would be impossible. Unless Malia looked up.

For little Mal, five or six herself, but looking very much how she looked now just younger with slightly darker purple hair, was on the balcony of the rundown castle. She stood, miserable, watching the fun below.

A woman stopped behind Mal a moment, letting her shadow loom long over the child. Maleficent. Closer to her heyday than in the other memory, her robes no more tattered than they had been that fateful day a decade or so back.

"Mother!" Mal yelped, jumping.

"What is going on here?" the woman demanded as she advanced.

Below a tall slender man in a patched suit was performing a highly inappropriate shadow puppet show for the delighted children.

"It's a birthday party," Mal said. She sniffed, trying to hide how upset she was. Trying, and failing. "And I wasn't invited."

"Is that right?" her mother asked. She stepped closer to Mal, looking down over her. For a moment their shadows were one. For a moment it seemed to Mal that her own shadow had grown larger and gained horns. Little Mal stared at the shadow. The woman had eyes for the festivities only. "Celebrations are for the rabble," the woman scoffed. "Never the less, Evil Queen and her horrid progeny will learn soon enough from their pitiful little mistake!" she declared.

The woman moved around the child who was now staring at her in awe. She stepped to the edde of the balcony, where only the rail stood between her and a terrible fall. She raised herself to her full height as thunder crashed and lightning flashed behind her.

Everyone at the party stopped at once and turned to face the balcony, looks of horror stealing across their faces.

The woman glared down at them all, eyes filled with vengeance and hate not yet dulled by the Isle. "THIS CELEBRATION IS OVER!" she declared. "NOW, shoo, flee, and scatter like the evil little fleas you are! And you! Evil Queen and your daughter! From now on, you are dead to the entire island! You do not exist! You are NOTHING! Never show your faces anywhere ever again! OR ELSE!"

The crowd scattered as boar-like henchmen flooded out of the castle to harass them.

Little Mal watched it all. Watched as the Evil Queen, still lovely then, rushed her terrified daughter away. And little Mal stood straighter, eyes glittering. When the last of the crowd was gone, her mother turned dramatically and swept inside. Mal stared after her a moment longer, then whispered to herself, "One day I'm going to be that evil," her voice was awed. And determined. "One day the whole Isle will fear and hate me too... and then I will have the rest of my name..."

Eyes still glittering, an evil little smile curling her lips, she rushed off after her mother, into the castle.

[queen_butterfly]

She'd probably thought that she had managed to interrupt the previous scene; her confusion was evident, if Mal were to look. By the time Mallia'd realized what was going on, there was a faint blush on her cheeks, those tears which had been hinting were paused by the distraction. She'd already figured out that Mal wasn't likely to want others to see her memories, but shaking the flowers wasn't interrupting this one.

She sighed quietly, looking somewhere other than at Mal, by the time it was over. "For what it's worth, it's plain to me that you've grown to be far more intelligent than she ever was. You've clearly figured out that fear and power aren't synonymous, no matter how much overlap one may think they have."

Still petting the flowers, hoping to prompt another scene, she stepped around another bunch of them, not looking back up just yet.