Chapter Text
The door creaked as Bloom pushed it open. Blinking rapidly against the setting sun, she stepped outside and into the clearing that surrounded the small shed. It was hard to believe that the small structure was a trusted location for a portal to the First World—but Ms. Dowling had assured her it was safe. Bloom held onto that promise as she stepped through.
Rubbing her hands over her arms, she nervously looked around before shutting the door behind her. Sliding the lock into place she turned towards the path that led back to Alfea.
Carefully, she listened for any movement, any sound that felt out of place. Nothing seemed out of place. Wind blowing through the trees, the sound of her boots crunching against fallen leaves. They were the only sounds she could hear.
Her steps were quick as she moved away from the shed. It wasn’t safe to be outside the barrier, especially this close to sunset.
The image came unbidden—charred figures running through the grounds, red eyes burning out of blackened faces, their screeches echoing in her mind. Burned Ones.
She swallowed hard, her gaze flicking instinctively to the trees around her as though expecting one of them to shoot from the darkness.
Dangerous beings that had attacked Alfea but the night before. They were fast, they were powerful and she didn’t have the strength to fight against them tonight.
She quickened her pace. Anywhere felt safer than standing here—though even the warehouse no longer was.
It had once been her sanctuary. Abandoned and hollow, a place to hide and cry. Now it only echoed everything she’d lost, and the First World felt just as unsafe as everything else.
How can it, when you have nobody who cares about you there anymore. She thought dismally.
Brushing the sleeve of her sweater over her eyes. She tried to get rid of the tears that threatened to fall again. She’d cried for an hour before deciding to come back to the Otherworld. She didn’t want to cry anymore, least of all alone.
Bloom watched her mother’s hands grip the edge of the table, her knuckles whitening. Vanessa’s eyes were fixed on her, but unfocused—like she wasn’t really seeing her. Like she was staring straight through and back into that night. Regret settled heavy in Bloom’s chest.
“Because of magic…” The words were barely more than a whisper now. Bloom could hear the disbelief wrapped tightly around them.
“I—I’m a fairy…” Bloom repeated, her chest hammering. Her heart broke as she took in their faces—shock, confusion, something already hardening into anger. “I know it’s hard to believe, but I have proof. I can—”
Mike’s jaw tightened.
Bloom stopped. She knew that look. His entire posture shifted as he pushed himself upright. His shoulders squaring, his face setting into stone, like armor. He looked like a man preparing for a fight—and Bloom had never seen her father look at her like that before.
“You can’t expect us to accept this… this foolishness about magic and fairies.” His voice rose as he spoke. “You’re telling us you set the fire that almost killed your mother. That almost killed all of us. And now you’re sitting here trying to explain it away like it was an accident?”
“I’m not lying,” Bloom said, desperation bleeding into her words. Maybe coming alone had been a mistake. Maybe she should have asked Ms. Dowling to come—to help, to translate, to keep this from spiraling. “Please. I know it sounds crazy, but—”
“Enough!” Mike boomed causing Bloom to flinch back.
Fear curled sharply in her throat. She looked to her mother instinctively, but Vanessa’s expression was just as hard. Hurt and fury tangled together. Her gaze flicked to Mike, then back to Bloom, weighing her, judging her.
“We thought sending you to that private school would help you grow up,” Vanessa said quietly, though her voice still shook. “That you’d take this second chance. That you’d finally learn how to be a normal girl, like everyone else.” She swallowed. “But this… do you hear yourself, Bloom? Magic? Do you really think we’re fools?”
“No!” Bloom cried. “You deserve to know the truth—to know what actually happened. I didn’t mean to start the fire. It’s emotional—it reacts to how I feel, I can’t always—”
“Enough,” Mike repeated, slamming his hand down on the table. “I think it's time for you to leave.”
“What?” Bloom whispered. She stared at him, unable to make sense of the words.
Mike didn’t look away. The hand he placed protectively on his wife’s shoulder told Bloom everything.
“We did everything we could to raise you right. We taught you to take responsibility for your actions. And now you’re standing in our home telling us these ridiculous stories—magic, fairies, other dimensions. Do you honestly expect us to believe any of this?”
His voice hardened, eyes going cold.
“You set that fire because you were angry. Vanessa was burned. You destroyed the house. And now you stand there trying to explain it away like it was an accident—like it was magic.”
“Mike…” Vanessa started, uncertainty flickering through her voice.
“Dad…” “I’m no father to you,” he snapped, cutting her off.
Bloom looked to her mother.
Vanessa didn’t speak.
Bloom stopped breathing. Her legs felt hollow.
She stood anyway.
Turning away from them, she squeezed her eyes tightly to try and stop the tears from spilling down her face.
She didn’t look back as she left the house. Vanessa didn’t call after her. Didn’t try to stop her. The front door closed behind Bloom with a final, hollow sound.
The words clung to her like frostbite, echoing again and again. Each time they rang in her head, they sank deeper, carved into her heart.
She thought they’d understand. That even if she wasn’t theirs by blood, she was still the girl they’d raised. She’d hoped that would have counted. Clearly she’d been mistaken.
Her muscles ached, her heart felt heavy in her chest. She just wanted to get back to Alfea. To somewhere that made some kind of sense.
Just get back. A warm bed. A hot shower. Maybe—even…
Her mind betrayed her with the image: Ms. Dowling, sitting beside her on the couch in her office, hand warm on Bloom’s back, voice soft, eyes kind.
The hug they’d shared after the Burned One attack, after everything had been put out on the table. It felt like home—which was strange, considering how she’d felt about the woman in recent months. How she hadn’t trusted her when she should have the most.
A twig snapped.
Bloom stopped mid-step, the air thick with unease. Her brow furrowed as voices drifted through the trees. Low. Urgent. Wrong. She hurried to hide behind one of the larger trees, careful to keep her breath soft. Her hand brushed bark as she leaned forward, just enough to peek through the leaves.
Two figures stood in the clearing ahead—a cemetery, which startled her. I didn’t know Alfea had one.
The soft light of the fading sun bathed the clearing. Casting enough light for Bloom to see Ms. Dowling and Rosalind standing near each other.
Why are they together? Should I step in, stand with Ms. Dowling? No, stupid idea Bloom, you’d be useless to her, only in the way. Just trust in her, trust in her like you promised you would, she can handle Rosalind.
Her heart pounded in her chest as she strained to listen, but the wind swallowed their words. She wanted to get closer, but she couldn’t, her feet were cemented to the ground. Then everything seemed to go still as she watched Ms. Dowling turn her back to Rosalind; she began to walk away until Rosalind spoke and this time it was like the wind wanted her to hear.
“The rest of the world might,” Bloom felt a shiver run up her spine before her hand went to her mouth, muffling her gasp as she watched Ms. Dowling’s body rose quickly into the air. “And if they don’t, what the fuck are they going to do about it?”
The crack echoed through the forest. For a moment her body hovered before falling and hitting the ground without a care. Rosalind didn’t move, simply watched, her eyes glowing a cool grey.
The earth opened and Ms. Dowling’s body sank out of view, forcibly consumed by nature. Then as though nothing had happened, Rosalind walking away.
Bloom stayed frozen behind the tree. Shaking. She couldn’t move. Her magic pulsed erratically in her chest like a broken heartbeat. She couldn’t breathe. She couldn’t, she felt suffocated. Fear clawed at her chest, pressing in, paralyzing her.
~
She didn’t know how long she stood, rooted to the tree. Yet it was long enough that her legs stopped holding her. Long enough for her legs to fail and everything inside her to shatter.
Staggering from behind the tree, she stumbled towards the patch of flowers that had sprouted only moments ago. Her knees hit the ground. A sharp cry wrenching itself as pain filled her entire being.
No. No no no—The dirt was still loose, still disturbed. As if the ground itself hadn’t yet decided how to close over her. Her trembling hands sunk into the cold soil.
Fingers clawed through damp earth, ripping through roots. Sharp stones bit into her palms, splitting her skin open. She didn’t feel any of it.
“Please— please–don’t be gone. Don’t be gone—”
The words tore out of her, broken and high, strangled between gasping sobs. Tears streaked down her face, blurring the world until there was only mud and shaking hands.
Her chest burned. Her breaths came too fast, too shallow. Panic flooded her veins, hot and suffocating.
Heat flickered across her fingertips. The damp earth dried, smoke curling as roots blackened and crumbled beneath her touch.
Bloom gasped, jerking her hands back—not from pain, but from fear.
“No,” she whispered, shaking harder. “Stop—please—”
Her magic didn’t listen.
She could feel its heat in her hands, the soft flames slowly forming. Heat spread through her arms, down her spine.
She balled her hands while squeezing her eyes shut, forcing herself to breathe.
“Please,” she whispered, the words tumbling out in a rush. “Please don’t do this. Not now. Not when it matters. I know you— I know you react to my emotions, but just—just be okay.”
The heat slowly faded from her hands and before her magic could change its mind, she dug them back into the earth and continued to pull dirt away until her hands struck something different, fabric.
A heavy sob broke from her as she tore through the soil once more, uncovering a sleeve. An arm. A shoulder. Dirt packed beneath her nails, caked into the cuts along her skin as she worked feverishly—
Until she saw her.
Farah Dowling lay crumpled in the earth, eyes closed, brow smooth—almost peaceful. Her neck rested at an impossible angle.
And worse than that—
She was still warm and still covered in dirt.
“No,” her voice broke, dragging herself forward. Her arms slipped under Ms. Dowling’s shoulders, pulling, cradling.
She collapsed to the ground with the headmistress in her lap, holding her close, rocking without rhythm, sobbing into her shoulder like a child desperate to turn back time.
“Please wake up,” she whispered, over and over, her voice a cracked thread. “You can’t—you can’t be gone, I just—I just found you—please”
Her tears soaked into the woman's coat. Blood mingled with dirt on Bloom’s hands as they clenched the back of it, as if she could hold her together with force alone.
The forest didn’t answer.
There was no one there to tell her what to do. No one too make it better.
Just Bloom and the broken quiet—and the weight of the person who had promised to help her, who had actually gotten past her barriers, the woman she’d come to respect.
She pulled back, just slightly, to look at Ms Dowling’s face. Her own face crumpled as she whispered, lips trembling: “I’m sorry.” Her voice cracked. “I’m so sorry, Ms. Dowling… This is all my fault.”
And for the first time, truly, she felt like a child again.
Bloom didn’t know how long she sat there, cradling her headmistress body in her arms, her sobs having quieted to ragged breaths. Her whole body shook. Her hands wouldn’t stop bleeding. The dirt clung to her skin like it was part of her now—part of this night.
She heard the footsteps too late.
“Bloom—”
The sound of her name shattered what little air she had left.
Fear swirled up like a tornado inside of her, cold and suffocating. Her body locked up, muscles going rigid as instincts took over. She clutched the woman against her—too tight, desperate—heart hammering so violently it hurt.
She didn’t turn.
Rosalind.
The thought hit like a punch. Has she come back?
Her mind spiraled faster than she could stop it. Ms. Dowling’s broken neck. The earth swallowing her whole. The way Rosalind had walked away like nothing mattered.
This is how it happens. This is where she dies.
Heat flared beneath her skin, sharp and sudden. Sparks prickled at her fingertips, her magic surging on pure terror, begging to lash out—burn first, think later.
“Bloom!”
The voice cracked through the silence like a flare—urgent, human, wrong for a monster.
Professor Harvey.
The name barely registered. Bloom’s breath came in jagged gasps as the world snapped back into focus, fear still clawing at her ribs, her grip slow to loosen as reality fought its way back in.
She looked up, dazed. Her eyes were wide, red-rimmed, wet. She couldn’t speak at first. Couldn’t do anything but hold on tighter, arms trembling around her Headmistress’ unmoving frame.
Professor Harvey was at her side in a second, dropping to his knees, his breath caught in his throat as he took in the scene: the torn earth, the blood on Bloom’s hands, the limp body in her lap.
“What happened?” he asked, gently but urgently, reaching out.
“I—I saw it,” Bloom stammered. Her words came out broken. “I saw Rosalind. She—she used magic. She snapped her neck—she just—” Her breath hitched, tears falling anew. “I couldn’t move—I couldn’t stop it— then she buried her..”
Professor Harvey’s face hardened with alarm and horror, but he nodded, grounding himself. “Okay. Okay, Bloom. You did the right thing. Let me—let me take her.”
Carefully, he slid his arms under Ms. Dowling’s body. Bloom didn’t want to let go. Her fingers stayed clenched around the fabric until the last second.
Professor Harvey eased her down onto the soft earth and hovered his hands above her chest, eyes starting to glow as he began his examination. Seconds passed. Then his brow furrowed.
“…Her neck is broken,” he murmured, mostly to himself. “But it - it didn’t kill her. She used her own magic to hold the rupture. Gods—Farah…”
“She’s still alive?” Bloom gasped, shock filtering through, she couldn’t believe it. Not possible. You couldn’t survive a broken neck. You just couldn’t. Its not possible, right?
Professor Harvey’s eyes snapped up to hers, tight with urgency. “Barely. Her magic’s the only thing keeping her body from shutting down—and she’s almost out of it. She’s… unresponsive.”
He moved faster now. His hands glowed brighter as he began the healing. “Help me support her head,” he said, and Bloom obeyed on instinct, cradling it in her palms.
A sickening crack sounded as the bone shifted back into place.
Bloom didn’t flinch. She couldn’t. She was too full of everything—mud on her cheeks, blood on her hands, and a feeling in her chest she couldn’t name: a fragile kind of hope.
Professor Harvey worked in silence, sweat beading on his brow. When he finished, the glow in his hands dimmed. He exhaled slowly, then looked at Bloom.
Their eyes met—brown and blue, both rimmed in pain.
“We don’t have much time,”