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The air felt heavy, it actually felt as though it weighed you down when you set foot into the room. Just a look around the personnel, maids and guards, could tell you as much. And if those who merely worked for her felt that way, what would the goddess's youngest be feeling? What would the young woman, at seeing her mother, a cough away from becoming a star, feel?
Absolutely nothing
The queen was ill, and there were many conspiracies around it, she shouldn't even be able to get this sick; some thought it was her loneliness that brought her to this helpless state, others went to the length of saying the grey eyed princess had poisoned her.
Those theories, however close or far to the truth, didn't matter though, did they? Because her mother, her blood, was in a deep slumber, waking up every few hours for a couple of minutes, then slipping away once again, back to the land of the too weak to live, too stubborn to die
This girl wasn't the Cora Francis we know and love, she wasn't the queen of Valhalla just yet, she wasn't the fierce woman who wouldn't back out of a challenge no matter how many stab wounds decorated her back or how much weight fell on her shoulders.
No. This was Coralina Freyasdottir. The kid who was casted away by her mother at the age of ten, she was stripped from her land, sent to an unknown golden realm, disguised as educational purposes. That had been more than 600 years ago
So, what was she supposed to be feeling? What was the appropiate mixture of feelings she should be experiencing as she stepped into the room and saw her?
The woman sleeping in front of her was less than a stranger: she was the mother who decided that she deserved to learn and master her powers, but still didn't find much importance in having to waste her own time guiding the girl, when she could send her somewhere else
She was the woman that decided that Cora just wasn't worth it
Half of her resented the woman for the love Cora felt she deserved but never got, the other part mourned for the relationship she knew they would never have now. The goddess of beauty was as good as gone, and her youngest daughter could only stand and watch
"Weren't you taught that it's rude to stare?" resounded the hoarse voice of someone who so many nights ago had put her to sleep with soft and full of life lullabies
"Well, if i did, you wouldn't really know, would you, mother?" came the unwavering response
"I'm sorry, Coco" said the woman through a remorseful smile, using the nickname the girl hadn't heard since the day she traveled through bifrost for the first time and said 'i love you' to her mother for the last
"You may be on your deathbed, but you don't get to apologize" snapped the princess calmly, though sending a wisp of her lilac magic towards her mother, just to move a strand of hair that was getting on her face
"Not even a tear?" questioned the older woman, teasingly but with a hint of pain that made the girl's compassionate heart swell
"Do you believe you deserve my tears, ma? Do you even actually care?" retorted Cora, raising her eyebrows in an angry, taunting manner, still, Freya could see her hands clenching and unclenching, as if that would stop the ugly sadness that threatened to make itself known
"Oh, I don't" she chuckled without missing a beat, "doesn't mean it wouldn't hurt to see my daughter a bit more touched when she sees.... well, this" she says, gesturing with her weak arm around the room, then herself. Her eye bags, her boney figure and shineless hair
YOU ARE READING
MAGIC AND CROWNS ; loki
Fanfiction' ' i love how you hand me your lies in silver platter and golden cutlery ' ' Cora Francis, a woman who has lived through many centuries, a powerful sorceress, a necromancer, and many other titles. After spending a millenia...
