She still kept fresh flowers at his bedside, even after eighteen years. If even one of the flowers started to wither, Snow would take the little flower, plant it in their garden and nurture it back to health. The palace gardens had grown more beautiful and spanned more ground than they had centuries before. Snow had a way with plants, life seemed to bloom wherever she touched and all that was presumed dead lifted back to life at her fingers. All but her husband.

"Deities, I request permission to plead for your help. Fathers and mothers that formed structure from chaos, that drew us from ashes and painted us to humans, with powers to transcend that of tools or magic, I plead for your mercy, that you may grant me this favor." Snow traced her husband's face blindly, but her eyes were closed as she nearly whispered the prayers into the sky.

Emma had grown up with her mother's prayers. Every evening just before sundown she would sit next to her mother, watching her touch the face of the man that was her father. She had never even known if his eyes were green like hers, had never known the sound of his voice. All she knew was that her mother had never loved anyone but him and had waited for him for eighteen years, had searched for a way to wake him up, until the only hope that remained were the gods that had long since gone forgotten by most. Emma held her mother's hand as she watched the peaceful face of her father. She had asked her mother how he had ended up in this eternal sleep, but her mother had avoided the question. Emma had been angry at her for a long time, but finally understood that the memory was just too painful for Snow to live though again, so Emma let it go.

Snow silently finished her prayers, leaning forward as ever to softly push her lips against her husband's. Emma had been told many stories about her parents and their true love and as a child thought that waking her father up would just be a matter of making her mother kiss him. The all-compassing belief that she had had in true love had been shattered within in instant and every time Snow tried, and failed, to kiss her husband awake, it chipped away another piece of her faith. Her mother didn't know and Emma didn't tell, but sometimes she wondered if it wouldn't be better if they could just forget about him. Part of her had already accepted she would never know her father.

"Who did you pray to today?" Emma asked softly. Her mother found another deity to pray to at least once a month, hoping that this one would listen. She had prayed to the greatest beings in the universe to the tiniest little gods that no one believed in. Sometimes Emma wondered if her mother made them up just to light a spark of hope in both their hearts. It didn't matter in the end, because no god ever listened.
Snow sighed and treaded through her daughters thick, blonde locks with her fingers. "Every one of them." She whispered, looking into her daughters eyes and pulling the girl towards her in a firm hug. "I prayed to every single one of them for you not to be without a father on your birthday." She could hear the emotion in her mother's voice, the desperation and overwhelming sadness about her daughter growing up without a father.
"It's okay." Emma whispered, glancing at her father and sighing into her mother's neck.
"It's not okay Emma. You're turning eighteen in a few hours and you've not once spoken to him." Snow answered, swallowing thickly. "You've never even …" She sighed, never finishing her sentence, instead focusing her gaze on her husband, stroking her daughter's back.

"Mom…" Emma asked slowly, feeling rather than seeing her mother's nod against her. "Nan told me about the ancient gods; the ones that first forged the world from the chaos of the universe. She told me a story about a goddess that was created as the last of the primal gods; the goddess of death. Is … is that a true story?"

Snow pulled back and gazed in her daughter's eyes, tracing the tips of her fingers over her daughter's brow. Her eyes were startlingly similar to those of the man lying in the bed next to them. She smiled and decided that her daughter was old enough to hear the story of creation that was usually kept from younger children.
"Yes, it is true, to those that believe in the gods at least. In the beginning there was no death, there was only life that lasted for eternity. It was a paradise where time didn't matter and love was never lost. But after a hundred suns had passed, a new goddess was born and she cursed the land. The stars went out, flowers withered, the lakes dried up and all humanity was to meet its end, It was only thanks to the powers of the other deities that the curse was halted, but it could never be lifted fully: diseases and death remained and have been part of our land ever since."

"So it's her fault that father is sick?" Emma inquired after some thought, a strange feeling of anger combined with hope filling her. "If she brought diseases she can also lift them, right? Just like the god of light also takes back his gift every night? She can take back death and disease, right? Maybe if we ask?" She grabbed her mother's hands and gazed into her eyes, willing her mother to understand.
Snow smiled softly at her daughter, amazed by the hope that her daughter seemed to be able to hold on to. But she had met disease and death often enough to know that there was no mercy in the heart of Death.
"I don't think she'll answer dear. Other gods want to help us, but she just wants to hurt people. She doesn't have a heart."
"But you don't know her." whispers Emma. "Maybe she'll regret what she's done after we show her. Maybe she wants to make things right."
Snow shook her head, framing her daughter's face between her hands. "Emma, she won't listen to you. She is called 'the Evil Queen' in the ancient text for a reason. She had never listened and she never will."
"And your gods have listened so well before." Emma snapped, shaking herself free of her mother's grasp. Snow flinched at the sudden anger on her daughter's normally gentle features. Emma caught her mother's eyes and a sharp pang of guilt shot though her, but she had had enough of it. Whatever Emma suggested: fairy magic, strange men with potions, recipes from far off lands, Snow insisted on praying to the gods, putting her faith in the deities that hadn't listened to her for eighteen years.

Perhaps the only godess her mother hadn't prayed to yet would listen to her.

She stared out of the window, gazing out over the giant garden that she had seen grow over the years. She nervously fidgeted with the necklace around her neck and closed her eyes, she couldn't remember the words her mother used to pray to the gods, but figured that it didn't matter, as none had ever listened to it anyway. Instead she mouthed the only words she could come up with: the truth.

"Goddess… of Death. I guess. I'm not really sure how this is supposed to work … But, I have a favor to ask of you. My father is very ill and no human or god will come to help him. Today is my birthday and I plead … No I wish that he would wake up, because … I want to know him. Please, please give him back to us."

"Give him back?" Emma turned around at the sudden voice behind her, and standing in front of her was a woman that took her breath away in an instant. She was not much taller than her physically, but radiated so much power that she seemed to tower over her anyway. Instead of the innocent doll-dresses that Emma usually wore, she was clad in a slim fitted black dress that accentuated every curve of her body. Her dark hair cascaded over her shoulders in gentle waves and her eyes were dark as night, what stood out most, however, was the look painted on her face: she looked puzzled but also intrigued by the blonde who had prayed to her. Slowly the goddess walked towards the mortal, but halted just before touching her. "What makes you think I'm able to do that?" She asked, her soft, amazed tone nothing like the voice Emma had expected the goddess of death to speak with.