❝This is what I like about photographs. They're proof that once, even if just for a heartbeat, everything was perfect.❞
charmed | pre-season one
e. hathaway standalone
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sixteen tides of time
☆
IT HAD BEEN SIX MONTHS SINCE THE DEATH OF JULIANA HATHAWAY. As she thought about it, she had to blink, reeling back because it felt like it had been years or only a few weeks, not six months. Evanora was so far removed from the death that for a moment it felt like it couldn't have just been six months, but a year at least, but on the other hand she thought of her mother so often it almost seemed like a few weeks had passed.
Because Juliana clung onto her daughter, never letting go, and though Evanora shrugged her off, she never dared to leave. It was infuriating before, but now, realizing that six months ago exactly she had lost her mother, she wanted her back. Just for a moment, she wanted to feel Juliana's arms around her, holding her and letting her melt, piecing her together as her mother loved to do.
She laid her hand on top of a page in her mother's spell book. It was the same one open when she died – the protection spell. If Colleen saw her, she would huff and quickly close the book because it was apparently bad luck for her to be on that specific page, but she needed to see it. Underneath her fingertips there were words written in cursive by her grandmother, though she could not feel the intentions to where the pen hit the paper.
"I hope you're proud of me, mom," Evanora whispered into the night, a lost whisper for the shadow of a ghost who wasn't even listening. She blinked, shaking her head a little letting her hair rattle around, before closing the book which made a loud noise of finality.
Juliana wouldn't be proud of her daughter. Juliana wanted a leader, a puppet to play with, a replacement for herself. Juliana didn't want a daughter with her own ideals and dreams, who wanted to soar away and never be stuck in the Council.
Maybe she would've. If things were different, if Juliana allowed her to explore what she wanted instead of telling her what she was supposed to want, she would've expressed interest in the Council – but she never had that choice. It was set in stone with her life, but with her death it was broken.
She got up from her bed, placing the spell book on her dresser, staring down at the tome that was her mother's before her, and now she inherited. Her mother's life was this book, these pages and their power, and now it fell onto Evanora who didn't even know where to start.
She didn't want to be more witch than woman, but this was her legacy, and wasn't she supposed to honor that? Wasn't she supposed to honor her legacy?
Closing her eyes, she shook her head. She didn't have to do anything, and she didn't owe her mother this. She needed to live her own life, make her own choices, not do as she was supposed to before. This was her legacy, but it didn't have to be her life.
