❝ There are no limits to a power as great as yours. ❞
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Aurora Celeste has spent her whole royal life as a Crown Princess and next in line to the throne away from her mother. She has longed for the day they will reunite, but with...
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𝖊𝖑𝖆𝖗𝖆 • the grove ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━
A young girl, covered in dirt from cleaning the garden alongside her mother, raised from the cottage's fireplace, her arms and face tainted pink from the warmth of the flickering flame, licking high above into the stone and deep below into the pieces of wood beneath it.
The letter she held once in her hands was burnt, though, along with all traces of what it had meant, so she cared nothing for a bit of heat from the crackling flames, climbing up the brick walls above. The mantelpiece on it was covered in framed photos—most consisting of her as a child and her mother—and ornaments, including her mother's spare jewellery box, purple and velvet and small.
From a single glance, one wouldn't be able to tell they were related. Elara had golden brown hair and warm, chocolate eyes, with fair skin and a midsize figure, her stature average. Her mother, on the other hand—Luna—had strikingly white hair and ice blue—almost white—eyes, taller and equally as chubby as her with a more sun-kissed tone of skin.
The chubbiness was the only similarity they shared, and in some way, it reminded them how far their personalities set them apart at times.
Of course, she couldn't let her mother take all the blame for that. She distanced herself from her at times, when she felt too burdensome, while Luna had always tried to spend time with her daughter.
That day, her attempt at that had been gardening and clearing the garden, and that very moment, Luna was digging up the flowerbeds right outside the cottage and planting new flowers while Elara was watching the letter she'd written burn.
She had originally wanted to tell the boy the truth in it, why things couldn't happen their way, but she became consumed every time and, for some few hours, he made her forget what she wanted and made her remember what she needed. What they needed. What she had wanted was supposed to have happened, but she couldn't find the chance to let it.
In some ways it had, as now she was staring at the envelope and parchment with inky scribbles on it burn to ashes. She had been honest to the parchment rather than him.
As usual, her mother had been, well, a mother, and asked about the letter.
When she had refused to give an answer, she only pried further until Elara felt she had no choice but to be blunt and raise her voice. She knew it was wrong of her but her anger refused to come out any other way. That had resulted in her silently gardening for a few hours in the heat.
"I'm going to the treehouse," Elara called out, straightening and tearing her gaze away from the mesmerising flames. She smoothed down the skirt of her cotton gown, a simple one that was a shade of purple. "I am sorry, Mother. I didn't mean to yell. I am so, so sorry."
