New idea for a story, very loosely based on Victorian Romance Emma. Okay, the only similarity is the flower meaning. Enjoy!

I wish I can say that the victory over Circe and the restoration of order in the realms also brought peace to my private life. It seems that the end of what appeared to be my rite of passage into womanhood brought not only maturity, but also a steady downward spiral of happiness. Whatever illusion of self confidence created by that victory was quickly shattered as I realized that just because I was powerful enough to rule a separate realm, I was no match for Grandmama's determination to make something of me in this one.

Things started looking down once Ann was whisked away to work for her cousins. Her absence created a rift between Felicity and me; plus we had no reason to visit the realms, no reason to get away from our stuffy lives. Her calling cards stopped coming, and I stopped writing them to her. We were drifting apart, living the lives our families told us to. What had once been a wonderful friendship was reduced to polite hellos and nods of recognition.

In fact, it was if my magical experience in the realms had never existed. I'd have believed it all a dream, if not for my continuing relationship with Kartik. We met secretly for nearly a year, sharing in deep conversations and even deeper kisses. I fell in love with Kartik, and we had even made plans to run away together, plans I was too afraid to follow through with.

If it had just been my love affair with Kartik to report on, then I could happily say that life was good, chipper even. But no one knew of the affair, and my grandmother was determined to increase the honor of the family name. Despite my wishes, I was betrothed to Simon Middleton again. Now instead of hovering at the border, the Doyle name would be fully accepted into the gentry, something my grandmother had strived for years to attain.

But despite the engagement and intense courting, I still continued to see Kartik, for he was my only happiness. He has always hated Simon, and tried to convince me to run away with him, so that we could be together. But I couldn't. The night before my wedding, Kartik left, taking my heart and my virginity with him.

For nine months after the wedding, Simon treated me like gold. He'd show me off as if I was a trophy, something he owned and was proud of. I'd smile and nod like a good wife, but I felt detached from him. He loved me, that much I knew, but he also cherished the idea that I carried his child. But I didn't even need to look at the child to know it wasn't his. It came as no surprise to me to see my daughter's dark hair and skin, and that though she had my eyes, her features resembled more her father's. There was no hiding it. Simon knew I had slept with another man.

I became the center of all the vicious gossip. Rumors spread of rape and other shameful subjects, for why else would my child have such dark skin? My grandmother weakly tried to say that we had Italian blood in the family, but she died shortly after the birth, and no one believed her anyway.

And that leads us to the present. Simon and I haven't shared a bed for three months now, ever since my daughter's birth. He refuses to look at me, though he does not treat me badly. However, it is a loveless marriage, under strain of more than just an affair and bastard child. Cruel gossip and revoked invitations have driven us to start anew, though I know our trip to America will bring more than just a change of scenery.

I have heard about Simon's intentions to leave me, an action crueler than outright anger. Divorce is unheard of, even in situations such as these. I know our marriage will be annulled, but that does not leave me free to marry again. I will be on my own, unable to marry, and without the support of my estranged husband. I can hardly imagine a life as a seamstress, and it is with bitter humor that I realize that I will end up as a spinster after all, just like I feared.

I step from the carriage, holding the sleeping bundle that is my daughter, my only lasting souvenir of the only man I will ever love, the only man that ever understood me. The steam ship is a sight to behold, great black smokestacks jutting into the blue sky. People bustle about on board, grabbing luggage and waving goodbye to loved ones. My throat swells, knowing that in just a few minutes I will be among the mass up there, waving goodbye to the country I couldn't wait to get to, and perhaps I will never see it again.

"Let's go," Simon says aloofly. He does not offer me his arm or even acknowledge that I am there beside him. I bow my head silently and follow him, too afraid to speak or do anything else to offend him, especially as I had already made a ruin of his life and reputation.

"Flower, miss?"

I look for the owner of the soft voice. It is a young peasant girl, standing meekly with a basket of flowers on her thin arm. She holds a sprig of little white, bell-shaped flowers to me. Our Lady's tears – how appropriate. I hand the girl a few shillings and take the flowers.

"Thank you, miss! Do you know what Lilies of the Valley stand for?"

"Gemma, come along!" Simon stands a few yards away, tapping his foot impatiently.

"No," I say softly to the girl. "What do they stand for?"

She smiles sweetly. "The return of happiness."

Thoughts? This is a bittersweet story. I'm not really sure where I'm going with it, but it will continue.

There's this girl who writes too much fan fiction and her name is,
LunaEquus