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Ephyra - A Cardamon Fic

[Read on Ao3] [Download the Bee and Puppycat Zine this is a part of!! its free!]

Rated: G Show: Bee and Puppycat Relationships: Cardamon & His Mom Content Warnings: Canon Typical Cardamon's Mom Angst Words: 1.7k

This fic is was @offtospacezine! I'm super happy I got to be a part of it!

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It’s nearing the end of dusk when Cardamon wanders into his mother’s room. The dying sun outside only casts wisps of light through the window, divided by the shut blinds. More lighting comes from monitors and devices, beeping and chiming their way along. A soft glow envelopes the space, ambience cast in multicoloured hues. The sunlight refracts through gelatinous tears, rainbows of light shining all throughout the room.

The piles of them grow higher and higher every day, and it’s almost scary how Cardamon feels like he’s begun to get used to it.

He starts to shuffle the tears out of the way on auto pilot as he wades his way into his mother’s room, but with the depth of them it’s really more like a hybrid climb/swim. It’s wholly uncomfortable.

The tears don’t sit right, they’re not quite firm enough to stand on, but not soft enough to dissipate.

“Hello.” Cardamon greets, giving his mother a proper glance as he proceeds deeper into the multi-hued sludge. “You might be surprised to see me with my school bag when it is not time to go to school, but there is good reason for that.”

The bag in question rests on Cardamon’s shoulders, as always, and he pulls it slightly closer as he speaks.

He rounds the edge of the bed, kicking over at the tears and sending them lightly bouncing about.

“It’s a fairytale book I got from school. Ms. Coffee helped me pick it. I thought I would let you know that now so you could set your expectations low in advance.”

After considerably too much effort, Cardamon finally makes it to his mother’s right, able to brush the tears off the blanket and make room for himself.

He sits right at the edge, ends of his mother’s skirt flared out just centimetres away from him. He lingers slightly, not quite ready to touch just yet. Slowly, Cardamon takes off his bag, pulling out the book inside.

It’s somewhat old, but rather thin. The cover and spine aren’t labelled, only bound in soft lavender fabric.

“I’m going to read to you now, alright? Princes should read to sleeping princesses, I think.”

The ever-present beeping answers, and Cardamon proceeds.

“I helped choose it too. It’s a book with jellyfish in it.”

He hesitates on his words, unable to make them fit the shape of his mouth correctly. He wants to say “you like jellyfish, so you’ll like this book too.” Part of him can’t allow it, out of fear that this may not be the case. He remembered his mother’s stories about jellyfish, yes, but what else? Did she really like jellyfish or just talk about them? Did she even talk about them at all?

The more there was to think about it, the scarier it got. Could his memories have gotten mixed up? His mother had been asleep for such a long time…

The thoughts grew darker and deeper the more Cardamon thought about them, so he decided not to think them all together.

“I’m going to start reading now, alright?”

No one answered.

He starts out quietly, a voice hesitant about the words on the page.

It’s a story of a princess, a story of a young girl.

It’s a story of loneliness.

There aren’t many pictures in this book, it’s all text with the exception of a few black ink drawings every few pages. It doesn’t matter much though, Cardamon can see the descriptions play out into the air as he reads aloud.

His eyes don’t see quite right, whenever he glances up from the page and over to his mother, around the room he can see the story play out. It’s cast in multicoloured refractions of light, specks dancing in dusk.

He watches them as he reads them, the little princess in the book springing to life. The youngest princess, the only princess, awaking in her sprawling bed.

It’s floating, in her room, above the water that’s come in.

It’s floating, in front of Cardamon’s eyes, close enough to touch if he reaches for her. He doesn’t, of course, he tries to keep his voice steady, to maintain her illusion.

The rainstorms had come, in the fairytale world, and the princess’s home was flooded. Her whole kingdom had flooded. The little girl, dipping a finger into the water, gently pushes herself off, and swims over to the window.

The sunset that falls across Cardamon’s pages is partially obscured by the tears against the window. They’re soft purples, blues, and greens across the words, a mix of hues that softens to aquamarine, to lavender and periwinkle, to the sea at sunset.

There too, out the girl's window, the kingdom had been cast underwater. Her home, all she’d known, it’s flooded. It’s changed.

Tropical fish swam along the streets and turtles went in the shops. Jellyfish bobbed around like light.

“How exciting!” She said, said Cardamon, out into the air that wouldn’t reply. The lights still dance above him, the little girl in his eyes flitting around in front of him.

“I must go play with them!” She declared, read Cardamon, and off she swam out into the kingdom.

The girl in the story swims around the room, around Cardamon’s eyes, above his mothers head and up towards the ceiling. This way and that, purple hair streaming out behind her, sparkling in the sunset.

If his mother would just open her eyes, wouldn’t she be delighted? Wouldn’t she clap and smile, say Cardamon my darling, how wonderful of you, how proud of you I am? Would she say that? He can’t remember.

He keeps reading, and the girl keeps swimming.

Soon though, the girl became distraught.

“Where is my brother?” She asked, read Cardamon. “Where is my little brother? He is always silly and cheerful.” There were no little boys like that to be found here.

“Where is my father?” She asked, read Cardamon. “Where is my strong father? He always helps me when I need it.” There were no fathers like that to be found here.

“Where is my mother?” She asked, stuttered Cardamon. “Where is my lovely mother? She always holds me tight and takes care of me.”

Cardamon hesitates for a moment, trying not to stumble over the words.

There is no mother like that to be found here.

“Where is everybody?” The princess cried into the sea, swimming through schools of fish and past swaths of sea turtles. The seaweed sparkled, waves in the brush of everything, but it was never waving at her.

Cardamon runs his finger along the pages as he reads, voice growing slower.

He’s starting to think he might not like this story very much. But it’s silly, it’s childish to care.

And if Cardamon is anything, he can’t be a kid, not anymore than he already is.

He simply can’t afford it.

On and on the princess continued to sob, tears splashing softly into the water that embraced her in place of any family. She hovers dangerously close to Cardamon’s mother, one small mourner in a funeral that won’t begin.

Cardamon doesn’t like reading this story very much.

“My, my, don’t cry darling. What’s wrong?” Reads Cardamon, flat tone making the line impossible to differentiate from the others despite a change in speaker.

The little princess looks up, only to find herself surrounded by the Queen, King, and Prince.

“Mama!” The princess cried, Cardamon read, “There was all this water- I- I couldn’t find you! I was so lonely and scared!”

The queen reaches forward, embracing her daughter. The illusion flickers like fire light above Cardamon’s mother, unmoving.

“My dear, there is nothing to be afraid of. The water is nothing to fear, your tail is strong and will let you swim smoothly through it. Even if you can’t find me, there is nothing to fear, because I will always come back to you. I promise, little princess, you will never be alone, because I will-“

Cardamon shut the book closed.

The mermaid queen never finishes speaking, blinking out of existence before even the chance to protest, illuminated illusion disregarded.

“Warf!” Comes a small bark from Cardamon’s right, pawing up at him.

Sticky looks up with big eyes, nudging her head forward to lick at Cardamon’s hands, still clutching the book. They begin shaking ever so slightly less.

“You’re right, Sticky. It wasn’t a very good story. Not very good at all.”

Cardamon’s gaze drifts over to his mother. Pale, still, and so very, very quiet. He doesn’t find the comfort he’s looking for in her appearance. The beeping of the monitors only seems to grow more shrill with time.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t choose a very good book. Next time I’ll choose better.”

He takes a breath, slower and shakier than it should’ve been.

“I’m sorry I didn’t finish reading to you.”

No one answers. The night bleeds into through the blinds, sunlight long vanished. It’s only the reflection of the moon, it’s waning light that catches in the thousands of jellied tears. A hundred different colours nearly glow; soft light that can’t replace the missing warmth.

It’s cold in here.

Silently, Cardamon places the book down; lets it tumble off to the ground. He inches his way across the bedspread, crawling over a pristine skirt lying atop well made sheets.

He winds up curled inwards, a ball that’s tucked to his mother’s side. Sticky follows suit, curling on his other side, a tiny nest that Cardamon hides himself away in.

Cardamon lets his head rest against his mother’s stomach, feeling himself move just slightly as she breathes.

In.

Out.

In.

Out.

It’s shallow, it's slow, but it's there. A soft tide, a gentle bob of the waves.

And maybe it’s just that late, perhaps the moonlight lulls him, perhaps the sleeplessness has caught up to him.

For whatever reason, with Sticky on one side and his mother on the other, Cardamon drifts asleep.

In his dreams, she still hasn’t stopped crying, she never really does. Instead her sorrow dissolves into a sparkling liquid that floods the island, submerges it into the sea around them. There, among the turtles and merfolk, past the coral and twisting seaweed, Cardamon dreams.

In a sea of his mother’s tears, reborn as a jellyfish, wrapped up in a bloom of thousands.

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