Fandom: Professor Layton
Word Count: 528
Disclaimer: I don't own Professor Layton. Or his top-hat of awesome.
Teaser: It was hard to stand here. This was not how she wanted to remember him.
There were flowers everywhere. How…oddly fitting, really.
Flora remembered first seeing the gardens surrounding their new home in St. Mystere. The whole thing had been so overwhelming to her, as she had been so young, but Mother and Father had taken her hands, and she had walked between them as they showed her the place. There had been so many different flowers there…
Like her, she had said, knowing that her name meant flowers.
Now far older, she knew that her name was her mother’s idea. Violet, Flora. They fit together.
After her mother’s death, the gardens had become her place, her little sanctuary as she grieved and tried to understand where her mother had gone and why she was alone out here.
Time passed, though, and healed the wounds, and for a long time, it was just the two of them, her and her father. And she was the apple of his eye, if the pun could be forgiven; he told her so. And she was well aware of it, though it was not something she took advantage of.
Sometimes he teased her, and on more than one occasion he had actually called her a Golden Apple. She had shaken her head: the Golden Apple was from mythology, she had learned from a book in the library, and it was not anything desirable. It had started a war!
…somehow, knowing what little she did about her father’s will held, she realized just how prophetic that was. She did not know everything, but from what he had told her, she had been able to piece bits and pieces of it together and come up with an educated guess.
After he had fallen ill, he had called her to his room. She had sat at his bedside, ever the dutiful daughter, and listened while he explained his plan to her. A home had been prepared for her at the top of the tall tower in the center of the town. He gave her a piece of paper holding the keys to making it up there. After he was gone, she was to go to that place and wait for the one who would be her guardian.
She had shaken her head and protested. He wasn’t going to die! Mother had already gone, and so he had to stay right where he was. Father could not die, not now. It was too soon, too much, too early.
How wrong she had been.
Now she was truly all alone in the world, she realized. Oh, she had her stepmother, she supposed, but while Lady Dahlia looked exactly like her real mother, the simple fact was that she was not her real mother, and acted nothing like her. When she was little, it had frightened her. Now it just made her sad, and lonely for her mother, Violet.
But nothing would bring them back, either of them. Both of her parents were gone for good. And so Flora closed her eyes against the tears, and against the sight of her father’s elegant mahogany casket being lowered into its grave. This was not how she wanted to remember her father.
Not at all.