Lalisa is floating.

Everything is white, white and blue and lavender, unlike the black and brown halls of the Academy, and Lalisa thinks, [i]oh, I must be dreaming.[/i] The floating in her limbs, the light-headedness, the blank, white space of nothingness... all lend to the easy conclusion that she is dreaming. She is, of course. After using up her magic reserves so quickly, her body had shut down, causing her legs to give out and rendering her swiftly unconscious. It was a severe oversight, that of using so much energy--and for such a stupid reason! Not something she'd like to repeat.

[i]Especially[/i] since she was trying to show off. [i]Oh, Grandmama. I'm so sorry. I forgot my manners again.[/i] She must remember to apologize to Feine, and thank him for his assistance. She can't be prejudiced against somebody so quickly. It's not right, and besides, they're going to spend a [i]lot[/i] of time together. She mustn't judge, even if Feine is a bit of a snob. 

She is still floating, however, and as is the way of dreams, things begin to happen. Firstly, her childhood home comes into view--a little gingerbread cottage, complete with chocolate shutters and gumdrop shingles. This was Grandmama's finest creation, of course. As a baking witch, she worked for many years in a small bakery, but those days were over by the time Lalisa came. Now, all she has are old recipes, passed on from grandmother to granddaughter dutifully. And Lalisa has tried her best...

Onto another dream--Mother's face. Lalisa remembers only scant details of her parents, but this memory was one of them. A figure, with the same dirty-blonde hair that Lalisa sports, smiling and singing her to sleep. She was so young then. So young to be an orphan. 

[i]So young,[/i] murmur the Fae. [i]So young to be cursed. So young and so vulnerable.[/i] 

Fate can be cruel, her mother had said, whispering for fear of somebody listening, besides the dying fire. The curtains were always closed. Fate can be cruel. Her head hurts. Like a heavy weight, a headache suddenly springing to life, and at the same time Lalisa sees colors. She opens her eyes, and light floods in, noise and light and chaos. No more dreaming; back to life again. The haze of colors ceases, and Lalisa sees blurry shapes--Ashley, a hooded figure, another? The light hurts, insistent on drilling into Lalisa's eyeballs, and she closes them again. Her headache persists. Somebody is talking. The back of her neck burns, right where her birthmark is placed, and she gasps.

"Mother!" 

Something is wrong. Something is very, very wrong. Where are the Spirits? Where is Grandmama? Is she still dreaming, for there should not be this much black around her. How long did she sleep, fainted and useless? The questions continue, but Lalisa has other plans. She needs to help; that is what a good girl does. Her eyes burn but Lalisa forces them open, and she sees the Spirits, swarming like so many bugs around her. So many of them! She was asleep, a deadweight, and yet... people decided to help her? She must thank them, too; so many things to do! Her birthmark hums appreciatively; everything is warm warm warm and

--[i]green.[/i]

To Lalisa's horror, the skin on her left hand begins to crack, splitting open from the palm to reveal not blood or bone, but thousands of flowers. They spill onto the floor, taking root, and vines growing outward from her fingertips--like [i]her[/i] magic, and yet not hers at all. Her birthmark burns, and vines wrap around her neck. Her fingers twitch, and green grass grows up to touch them. The plants sing, even as the pain her hand grows, the cut stretching wider, this must be a dream--is it?

[I]Is this Lalisa's power? No, it is only what has been ordained, what dear grandmother has tried to conceal, for magic can kill and the Fae always have the last laugh. And the Fae were tricked, and the Fae will have revenge.[/I]

The plants whisper to her, and Lalisa screams and awakes. 

[@QueenNugget][@Canidae][@Metamore][@pandapolio]