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The corset was restricting her breathing, and her shoes were painful, but no one in the room seemed to care.
“You're wearing a beautiful dress, Miss Heartfilia” one of the organizers remarked. “It's exquisite fabric”
“Mr. Heartfilia invested a great deal of money in it” another explained. “It's very important for the kind of celebration we're having”
Ignoring the flattery, Lucy gazed at her reflection in the mirror, its frame adorned with pure gold. The wedding dress was a masterpiece of Alakitasia lace: heavy, pristine, and white. Her blonde hair was tied back and pulled back with blue ribbons, secured further with hairspray. Not a single strand was out of place.
Everything about her was perfectly calculated.
“You look acceptable, Lucy” a cold voice said from the doorway.
Lucy didn't have to turn around to know who it was: Jude Heartfilia. His gaze was as stern as his hairstyle and a far cry from the man who had once mourned her mother. That was a distant memory now, and her wedding was the main focus.
“I appreciate your words, Father” she replied in the same sharp tone.
“The Goldlots family carriage has arrived” the man continued, his face unchanged. “The union with this heir will strengthen our trade routes in the north. I expect you to live up to the name you bear”.
“Yes, Father”
“And you had better remember your manners” her father declared. “A lady of high society does not speak unless spoken to, and never, under any circumstances, raises her voice”
“I will be obedient, Father. I will not dishonor your name or that of my future husband” she declared, bowing her head humbly.
Lucy's own voice sounded strange to her. It seemed like a submissive whisper; she'd learned to avoid punishment and disdainful glances. Although she felt the urge to correct herself, that impulse was interrupted when her father looked at her harshly, and she couldn't help but duck.
He said nothing, only gave a few instructions, and the staff withdrew. Once alone, waiting for the order to go downstairs, she looked herself up and down. Part of her hands were covered by white silk gloves, and her fingers stood out for their neatness. There were no traces of ink or calluses from holding her quill during her creative bursts.
When she tried to remember the weight of the key ring at her waist, she felt only emptiness.
“Keys?” she murmured softly, not wanting anyone to hear her or think she was babbling incoherently. “What keys?”
Lucy remembered that women of high society carried neither weapons, magic, nor tools. They carried only family jewels and future heirs. Even so, that feeling of not having the answer she wanted bothered her and stayed with her on the way to the altar.
The ceremony consisted of a procession of people she didn’t know, whispers, and the scent of artificial flowers adorning the Heartfilia family’s private cathedral. At her side, the man who was about to become her husband smiled with an arrogance that turned her stomach throughout the priest’s sermon. He was a young duke, very much like the “Prince Charming” she had dreamed of as a child: well-coiffed hair, impeccable clothes, good manners, and a complete lack of passion in his gaze.
«This is a fairy tale, Lucy» she repeated to herself in a desperate attempt to convince herself. «Luxuries, a high social standing, and a perfect husband. It’s a life without problems».
So why did she feel so empty?
After the ceremony ended, the years of her married life flew by at a distorted pace. Countless times she found herself sitting at the same ten-meter-long table, dining in silence across from her husband, with the only sound being that of cutlery. She walked through the same perfectly manicured gardens over and over again and listened with disgust as the gardener declared that he would not tolerate any untidy expression of nature.
One day she tried to write again. She picked up a pen and some blank sheets of paper, but before she could write a single word, her husband walked into the library. He smiled at her and took the paper from her hands.
“A lady of your standing doesn’t dirty her hands by creating vulgar stories,” he said, ruffling her hair mischievously. “Leave literature to the scholars and go freshen up.”
Lucy’s mouth opened as if to protest; however, something stopped her, and she lowered her head, defeated. Her husband’s only reaction was to give her a smug smile and leave the library after ordering the staff to help her “look like an exemplary lady.”
Lucy felt disappointed that she hadn’t reacted better to such a humiliating situation, even though she told herself that was how it was supposed to be. This was her fairy tale, and even though it unfolded like a perfect, predictable plot, it was still hers.
That life went on, and with it, the misery of feeling increasingly hollow. Almost nothing remained of the Lucy Heartfilia she remembered; at that moment, she was just an empty shell with desires that suffocated her from within.
She wanted to scream until her throat tore. She wanted to see nature in all its splendor, to experience anything without worrying about how she looked. She longed to see fire, not the fire of a fireplace but a wild, destructive one that smelled of danger and home.
«Fire…» she thought, and a pang shot through her. «Why do I feel like something is missing?».
Suddenly, the ceiling painted in frivolous colors and the white walls vanished. Her husband’s face, telling her that her silence was rude, faded away. The weight of her expensive dress and jewelry began to fade, causing her to lose her balance and crash onto a floor that was turning into nothingness itself.
“Lucy!”
A voice broke the strange silence. It wasn’t her father’s voice, nor that of the staff, nor her husband’s; it was a raspy, raucous voice, a stark contrast that reverberated through her very being.
“Luce, wake up!” exclaimed the same voice, growing clearer by the moment. “Let’s have breakfast!”
Lucy opened her eyes with a start, and the first thing she saw wasn’t the ceiling of the mansion where she lived but some weathered wooden beams. Morning sunlight streamed through the window, whose curtains with scorched edges illuminated a room that lacked the latest architectural trends.
She didn’t smell any artificial air fresheners. The room smelled of burnt wood, a hint of toast, and that unmistakable scent of ashes that always followed her everywhere.
“Wow, Luce, you’re a sleepyhead.”
She turned around and saw him: sitting on the edge of the bed, slumped over with his legs crossed, was Natsu Dragneel. He wasn't wearing anything on his upper body, not even the scarf Igneel had left for him. He was wearing nothing but a pair of baggy brown pants, tied carelessly with a white ribbon, and flashing that fanged grin she’d seen the day he decided to take her to Fairy Tail.
“Mom’s turning into a slacker just like you, dad,” said another voice, this time much more childlike and high-pitched.
“Show me some respect, little dragon.”
“Shut up, ugly dragon.”
“Hey, Nasha, those insults are for that idiot Gray. We’ve already talked about this.”
At the foot of the bed, a tuft of pink hair identical to Natsu’s stirred beneath the blankets. Lucy realized it was a little girl of about seven, wearing Igneel’s scarf and a red short-sleeved T-shirt that was a little too big for her, with the Fairy Tail emblem printed on the front.
“Mom, did you have a bad dream?” Nasha asked, stretching out her little arms to climb onto Lucy’s chest.
Lucy remained still, taking in the situation. A lump formed in her throat, reflecting immense relief rather than anguish. She reached out and touched Natsu’s arm. It was covered in scars from past battles, somewhat parched by her magic, and felt rough to the touch, a far cry from someone who had never worked.
Then she reached out with her other arm and scooped up Nasha, pulling her close to her chest with a force that made the little girl yelp; she immediately settled against her and hugged her back.
“Yes, my little girl,” Lucy whispered, stroking her daughter’s hair as she tried to steady her breathing. “It was a very bad dream. I was trapped in a huge mansion, wearing uncomfortable clothes, and I had a boring husband who wouldn’t let me write.”
Nasha wrinkled her nose, crossing her arms with the same serious expression as her father.
“The husband in your bad dream was an idiot.”
“Nasha!”
“It’s true! Dad says that guys who bother you when you’re writing are idiots. And stingy editors, too.”
“Nasha’s absolutely right!” Natsu chimed in.
“Yeah, though you shouldn’t put it that way,” Lucy added nervously, turning her attention to the Dragon Slayer. “And you stop teaching her those things.”
Natsu grumbled, and Lucy braced herself for his complaint; in fact, in a single motion, the fire mage leaped onto the bed and trapped his two girls in a colossal bear hug, squeezing them against his chest.
“A dream where you couldn’t write? Now that’s a real nightmare, Luce.” Besides, if some stuffy guy in a suit tried to lock you up in a real mansion...” Natsu said, igniting his right fist, causing small, glowing flames to shoot out, “I’d go right away, kick the doors down, and burn everything to the ground until not even ashes remained! Nobody locks up my wife!”
“Aye!” came a cry from the kitchen, followed by the sound of porcelain shattering on the floor.
The tender atmosphere vanished, and a vein throbbed prominently on the celestial sorceress’s forehead.
“If you broke my new dishes, I’m going to charge you triple on the next mission, Happy!” Lucy shouted, regaining her usual powerful voice.
“It wasn’t my fault the plate just jumped on its own!” the Exceed whined, poking his head through the door with a half-eaten fish skewer in his mouth. “Natsu, help! Lucy is scary!”
Natsu just burst out laughing, pressing his forehead against Lucy’s, which Happy took as an opportunity to escape the scolding and continue with his breakfast. She knew her husband was trying to distract her; the truth was, since he was being kind, she gave in.
“See, you’re back now,” he whispered softly. “That bad dream is gone.”
Lucy couldn’t help but feel relieved to learn that Natsu was right, and she decided she’d had enough of that dream, but before she could say anything, another interruption came: Nasha broke free from the hug and sat down across from them on the bed, tugging at the hem of her father’s pants.
“Dad, tell me again the part where you used fire and destroyed the whole city harbor.”
“That’s my favorite part!” Natsu exclaimed, his eyes sparkling with enthusiasm. “Your mom was trapped on the ship, and I showed up, wrecked everything, and we had to escape because we destroyed half the place. Your mom joined the guild, though she spent the rest of the time complaining about the rent.”
“You were the one who used to climb through my window and wreck my stuff along with Gray and Erza!” Lucy interrupted, pulling an exaggerated face of indignation and playfully poking her husband in the shoulder, a blow he dodged with a smile.
“So what? Thanks to that, you now have the best job in the world and the best family,” declared the Dragon Slayer, puffing out his chest with pride as he wrapped his arms around Lucy’s waist before raising one of his hands. “And the best ring one made with Igneel’s fire!”
“Yes, it was made from Grandpa’s fire!” Nasha cheered with a fanged smile identical to her father’s, stroking the scarf around her neck.
Lucy leaned against Natsu’s chest as she watched them. Her gaze drifted to the desk in the corner of the room. On it lay mountains of papers and manuscripts piled haphazardly, along with inkwells and worn quills. Next to the papers lay her mage keys.
She wasn’t wearing a flashy dress or luxurious jewelry. The place where she lived was far from a mansion, and almost everything she did could be considered scandalous in high society.
In the end, that was her life, the one she had built for herself. Every scar on her body, every adventure, and every laugh from the girl now curled up beside Natsu were the direct result of having had the courage to escape from her father.
There was no such thing as “Prince Charming.” What she had was the “Dragon” she’d found all on her own: loud, chaotic, and wild, but capable of keeping her fired up, inspired, and happy.
“Mom?” asked Nasha, stopping pulling on her dad’s hair. “Are you still sad because of that bad dream?”
Lucy smiled at him, leaned forward, and tenderly kissed her daughter’s forehead. Natsu grumbled, and she, knowing why he’d reacted that way, leaned in a little closer and planted a quick kiss on the dragon slayer’s lips. He blinked a couple of times before breaking into a beaming smile.
“Not at all, Nasha,” Lucy said as she got out of bed, stretched her arms, and smiled. “In fact, I just realized I have the best material in the world to write my next story. Now, get moving, both of you. I think we deserve some meat.”
“Meat, yes!” Nasha squealed as she jumped out of bed and ran barefoot toward the kitchen. “The last one there smells like Uncle Laxus!”
“You’re not going to beat me to the food, Nasha!” Natsu shouted after her before darting off in pursuit, nearly knocking everything over in his path.
Lucy couldn’t help but laugh as she watched them disappear down the hallway. She heard the echo of their laughter and Happy’s complaints that they’d interrupted his fish-filled breakfast. Then she turned to her desk, picked up her pen, dipped it in ink, and, on the first page of a notebook, wrote:
«Once upon a time, there was a princess who decided to escape from fairy tales, only to discover the most beautiful story in the world thanks to a dragon and a guild»