A Mother's Love

My mother and I have always had a good relationship. She is known to be one of the most powerful magicians alive. By the looks of it, I will never have even a fraction of her strength. Honestly, I am a mediocre student at best and often have to attend remedial classes to catch up to my peers.

When I was younger, I would always ask questions like, "Mother, why are you so strong?"

"I worked really hard to learn every spell I could!" She would say with a smile before summoning a book from thin air and placing in on my lap, "You can do it too. All of the power is in there." Instead of tapping the book, she would poke my chest. No matter what happened, I knew she believed in me.

Sometimes, I would ask more specific questions like, "Mother, the other girls my age can already fly, but I cannot even cast a wind spell. How do I get better?"

Again, she would have a perfect response: "When I was your age, I couldn't cast a wind spell either. Magic is not about how much you can store in your body at once. It's about how you use it."

There was, however, one question I knew I should never ask. "What happened to my father?"

The only time I asked this, my mother grew silent before waves of magical energy began pulsing from her, nearly destroying the room. I could feel her anger surging through me before fading away into a deep despair. The emotions, alone, were strong enough to cause me to fall to the floor in tears.

When she saw this, she ran to me and said, "I'm so sorry. I never should have let my emotions get to me." That evening, she knocked on my door while I was tucking myself in. She then sat on the edge of the bed and said, "Look. Aisha. You are not like other girls. Your potential is fixed, which is both a blessing and a curse. Please don't hate me."

I held her hand and pulled her in for a hug. "I could never hate you mother."

"Good." She said, "Now get some sleep. Tomorrow's a big day."

To be honest, I did not sleep at all that night.

A few years later, we were taught mental magic in school; however, it was only a low-grade spell used for clinical psychology. It would only work if:

  1. The patient was asleep
  2. The patient trusted the spellcaster.

That night, I found myself tossing and turning, thinking back to what mother had said years ago. What did she mean my potential was "fixed?" Was there something wrong with me after all?

After a lot of thought, I crept into her room while she was sleeping soundly on her bed. I began chanting the spell I had learned in class as my hand glowed with a familiar pink aura. I then took a deep breath and tapped her forehead.

I was immediately thrust into an empty abyss, swimming in the vast expanse of my mother's mind. As I calmed myself down, I began to see small, colored bubbles form that hovered all around me. They were of all different sizes, and each one seemed to be reflecting the world from my mother's perspective.

I saw the activities of her day while she was researching new spells. I saw adventures she had taken long before I was ever born. I saw all the people she had ever met flickering in and out of existence. It was then that I noticed a rather peculiar pattern. Almost all of the bubbles seemed to reflect a single person: me.

For a moment, I felt a wave of regret wash over me. How could I possibly betray the trust of someone who cared so deeply for me?

No. She was keeping a secret from me. I had to learn more.

With that thought, all of my bubbles bubbles began to coalesce into a giant sphere, reflecting all of our shared experienced from her perspective. The time I cast my first fireball and burned my skirt off. The times I accidentally wet myself at night by sleep-casting water magic. The time I literally grew a watermelon in my stomach with earth magic.

I laughed and cried as the slideshow showed me her inner-most thoughts and feelings. She truly did love me.

I then began to see memories of something I didn't understand.

They were of my mother, around the time of my birth. I saw flickering images of her in the hospital with a man whose face was not entirely clear. He was holding her hand while she laid in the bed. They were both were crying and holding an unbreathing baby girl.

I was stillborn.

Soon the memories began to flicker like a flame about to be snuffed out. There was a fight with the man. She quit her job. There were days upon weeks of tear-stricken nights drowned in alcohol.

Then she began to do something strange. She learned to sculpt. She began making little figurines of girls of all ages, from young to old. She spent all day, every day sculpting, sometimes wiping her own tears into the clay.

After creating hundreds upon hundreds of figurines, she then began sculpting a little baby girl. The same one who had died months before. She drew a magic circle and stationed the figurines around it and placed the clay baby at the center before biting into her thumb and wiping a streak of blood onto its forehead.

She held her hands together and prayed, sending as much mana as she could into the sculpture. Suddenly, the baby began to hover into the air and the figurines flew towards it as if magnetized to it, creating a protective outer layer.

Then, the unthinkable happened. A small, flesh-like hand began breaking through the clay shell. Soon, the entire sculpture began to hatch, and a baby girl appeared, crying loudly as it descended to the floor.

My mother reached out and held it tightly to her chest, saying, "Don't worry Aisha. I'm here now. I'll always be here for you."

Suddenly, I could feel my mother begin to rustle in her sleep. Though there were many questions swarming my mind, I knew I had to leave, so I took a deep breath and canceled my spell.

I found myself again in my mother's room. I didn't know what to say or do.

I was not human. I was a machine, a clay sculpture created by my mother.

As I stood there, ruminating about our relationship, she began to open her eyes. "Oh, Aisha. Is everything ok?" She sat up slightly and tried to grab my hand, but I tore it away.

"Aisha," she continued. "If there's something you need to say, please let me know. I'll always be here for you." The same words she said at my birth.

I felt tears well up inside me and I did the first thing I could think of: I grabbed her hand and hugged her before saying, "I know, mom. I know."

A few days later, I realized that even though I did not have as much mana as my peers, my mana pool would not decrease from repetitive spellcasting, which was both a blessing and curse. Just as my mother said.

I decided against telling her about my adventures into her memories. After all, it didn't matter who or what I was, she loved me just the same.

Prompt: Your mother is one of the best wizardess alive, and you are the most average one. One day you learned that you were born without any magical powers, so your mother performed a forbidden ritual to grant you the gift of magic.

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