Chapter Text
“Why did you cut your hair, Darling?”
Emma’s eyes were glued to the hardwood floor. Her hands clenched together behind her petite back. Emma thought of the piles of her long ginger hair that were now on the bathroom floor, and the scissors thrown in the bathroom sink from the middle of the night. Her mother stood at the small dining table, a chair pulled out in front of her for Emma to sit in. Emma glanced at the table, seeing the freshly picked flowers, ribbons, and a hairbrush her mother laid out elegantly. Her eyes sunk back to the floor, unable to look at her mother.
They both stood in silence for a moment, until Emma’s mother tapped the chair in front of her, beckoning her daughter to sit. Reluctantly, Emma slunk over to the chair, facing away from her. Her mother raked her fingers through Emma’s hair gently, pinching at every choppy end. “Well, it’s very uneven. Look how long it is in the back.”
“I know.” Emma said.
“Emma,” her mother said as she picked up the wooden hairbrush. “You know we were growing out your hair for today.”
“I know.”
“So you also know I sacrificed some of my beautiful white roses -from my personal garden, no less- for your long hair. And I spent my hard earned money to buy these hair ribbons that’re exactly 22 inches long since your hair was exactly 22 inches long, correct?”
Emma shrunk into her chest. Her lungs burned from the lack of oxygen. “Yes.”
“So why on the Gods’ green Earth would you cut it so short I can barely braid the strands?”
As she said that, Emma glanced over to the portrait above the stone fireplace. It was a beautiful art piece of her mother, painted by the royal portrait artist when she was younger. Her sleek dark hair was articulately braided in a royal-esque hairstyle, with royal purple ribbons and white roses weaved in a natural crown. She had the same soft smile in the portrait that she always carried, with her hands gracefully crossed over her pure white gown. The silky texture gleamed in the portrait, showing off the delicately crafted lace layered on top. Her fingers were decorated by various silver rings that suitors had crafted for her, each with an engraving or stone. Her thin, slender hands were beautiful to Emma, even after all this time. She glanced down at her own hands, noticing their stout, childish fingers more than ever. When she was a child, she would pray to the goddess of beauty for her mother’s hands. When that didn’t work, she prayed to the God of gambling to gamble for her beautiful hands. Obviously, that didn’t work either.
Emma sighed to herself, looking to her shoes instead. “I didn’t like having long hair, though. It got into everything and my hair is a lot thicker than yours.”
“I know, Darling, but we spent 19 years on that perfect length, and you wasted it.” Her mother said matter-of-factly. “You know we don’t waste things in this house.”
“I know.”
Her mother sighed, but picked up a ribbon and tore it to a shorter length. "Well, no use in bickering about it now. I’ll find a way for you to pay me back for all that wasted effort later.” She began to weave the ribbon around Emma’s head, and weave the stems of the white roses into it to make a flower crown. She could feel her mother attempt to twist back strands of her hair to make it seem more formal, but Emma’s hair felt like one giant cowlick going in all directions. When her hair was longer, the weight from the length held her hair down. But now, it sprung to life.
Emma was hardly thinking of her hair, though. Today was the most important day of her life, at least to her mother. It was her village’s summer festival, and Emma had come of age the same year as their darling prince Norman. She had barely made the cut, since her birthday was on the 22nd of August, and the festival was on the 23rd. The 23 represented the king’s 23 years of reign, therefore next year it will be the 24th. Her mother told her she was lucky she was able to participate the year the prince came of age, because if she didn’t ‘everything’ would’ve been a waste of time. She chose not to ask what the ‘everything’ was in that sentence.
The kingdom’s summer festival was the biggest celebration of the year. It celebrated the victories the current king won, and the growth of the royal family. Emma’s village was particularly small and unwealthy, mostly due to it being a farming community far away from the capital. Greed ran rampant in this town, which only worsened the poverty. Emma’s mother was no exception to this, of course. She was intent on seizing every opportunity to regain some type of status or wealth for herself. She was known to be an ice queen in the village, who was polite on the surface but her icy gaze held you in place. However, she was very well respected.
Emma’s mother was the sole schoolhouse teacher in the community. The single room schoolhouse taught every child under the age of 12 how to read, write, and pray to the pantheon of Gods. Emma, since graduating, became her assistant in the schoolhouse. Emma always had a fondness for children, and learning about each of them made her heart soar. She would often meet siblings of former students and talk about their older siblings. There wouldn’t be more than 10 children or so a season, due to the sparse population. Catering to each child’s interests and hobbies between each lecture filled her days with a joy no other group could provide. She didn’t often have a chance to speak to people her own age or older, since her mother claimed it was wasteful. So, children would have to suffice.
“What do you think, Darling?” Emma’s mother gave Emma a handheld mirror to admire her work.
It was beautiful. Truly, truly, beautiful. Big, bursting white roses framed her head as her hair curled around them. The deep blue ribbon in her hair contrasted against the white and ginger. It was braided into one side of her hair, revealing her soft facial features. Emma smiled softly, knowing this was as close she could get to looking like her mother on her special day.
But, she felt empty in a way. Something wasn’t right. Emma couldn’t figure out what, but she didn’t feel as beautiful as she thought she would. Nevertheless, she could never have told her mother that. “It looks amazing. I love it.” She whispered.
“Well, good. Now let’s not waste time, we have a big day today. We need to get to the square as soon as we can.” Emma’s mother cleaned up the table and ushered her daughter to her room to change.
Her gown- no, the gown- that laid on Emma’s bed was as pure white as the roses in her hair. Emma’s breath hitched as she gently reached out to touch it. The silk glimmered in the sunlight, revealing the oh so familiar lace pattern layered on it. Mother’s gown was as perfect as Emma had always imagined it. The sleeves were pure lace, with small pearls sewn in every so often. The bottom of the dress fluffed out magically, falling right at the ankles to reveal the open toed heels. It was old fashioned, but this dress had been fluttering in Emma’s dreams for years. She held her breath in anticipation as she slipped into it, buttoning the back herself.
Emma turned to her full length mirror. She didn’t quite fill in the dress the same way her mother did. The skirt felt heavy on her hips and she had to pinch the fabric to see her true waist. The sleeves were slightly too long for her and they nipped at her small, chubby hands.
What a costume, she thought to herself, forcing back tears.
There was one more piece to her outfit she needed to add. She went to her jewelry box and took a ring. It was made of cheap golden wire, with a small jade stone wrapped in the middle. No one in the village had ever given Emma a ring before, but she didn’t care. Today, she was offering one to herself. She wanted to give her love to herself and only herself. Even if nothing else felt right, that ring on her right hand did. Today was going to be the most important day of her life, whether she liked it or not.
As she came out of her room, her mother was waiting patiently for her. Mother had a solid but joyful look on her face when she saw her daughter. Joy never came easily to the household. There was always more work to do, and no time to waste. Always another way to prepare for the festival, or the rosemary to tend, or schoolchildren to teach. But here, now, Mother was joyous. There were quiet moments in the house when she looked like this, more often than not gazing upon her portrait as she recounted her days in the king’s court. Mother was the blossom queen of the district 23 years ago, and was courted by the king himself. She would tell Emma about the windows that would go so high you could barely see the top, or the thousands upon thousands of dishes she saw in the grand kitchen. The staff that would scuttle around the royalty like mice who just got caught stealing cheese or the jesters that dedicated entire nights to just her overjoyed her.
However, her favorite part of the castle was the rose garden. Every single rose was a gorgeous white. For miles, the grounds were dotted with ivory and she lost herself in there for hours as the staff would run to look for her. The way she laughed as she told those stories made Emma dream of going to the castle herself. Those are the people that truly make her mother happy. Not the lowly farmers, or the children, or even herself. Mother longed for the people who looked down upon her.
There was only one way for a simple school teacher to go to such a grandiose place. The summer festival.
The summer festival crowns a blossom queen every year. In every district, they are showered with gifts and affection from their people. But, if you were lucky to come of age when a royal did, all the blossom queens had the option to go to the palace and attempt to court the royal man or woman. Most years, it’s a lowly duke, earl, or no one at all. Although many women will still go to the palace to court them, this year was one of the most important. This year's festival will decide the next queen of the kingdom.
Emma smiled at her mother nervously as she clasped her hands behind her back. “What do you think?” she asked.
“You’ll do great, Darling.”