This story is dedicated to my great grandmother. All my love, thoughts, prayers and gratitude will be with you forever

This story was chosen as the Judge's Pick from the 13 or so other stories in the same category.

Once Upon A Time

"I hate her!"

She stormed out of the living room and down the hall, angrily wiping away the tears that spilled down her cheeks.

Her father reached her just as she opened the door to her room. "Molly, sweetheart—"

"No! I hate her! She tore my book!"

"Yes, but I've fixed it."

She opened her mouth, ready to snap at her father, when she realised what he'd said. "What?"

He held up her favourite storybook and flipped it open to the torn page. She stared at it and her eyes fell upon the small square of parchment attached to the top.

"What's that?" she asked in a small voice as she wiped her tear-stained cheeks. He squatted down and gently tapped the parchment. A blot of ink materialised in the centre and then slowly expanded to form the silhouette of a soaring eagle, just like the picture that had been there before Lucy had torn the page and ripped it to shreds while throwing a tantrum.

The eagle hesitated for a moment, flapped its wings a few times, and, raising its head proudly, swooped around the page.

Molly clapped her hands in delight and took the book from him. She watched the flying eagle for a long moment before shutting the book gently and holding it close.

"Thank you, Daddy." She smiled at her father, and he reached forwards and pulled her into a hug, kissing her hair.

"You're welcome, love. And, besides, it's my favourite book, too, you know."

Molly grinned. "I know."

He picked her up, book and all, and she squealed with delight as he carried her into her room. Setting her down on the bed, he smiled and said, "How about I read to you tonight?"

"Really?" she gasped. Her father had been so busy lately and almost never had the time to read to her before bedtime.

"Really." She giggled as they got under the blankets and snuggled against him.

He wrapped an arm around her as he opened the book.

"Once upon a time…"

-O-

"The end."

She looked up from the book and smiled as her father sighed happily. Reaching over, she held his hand, and he slowly opened his eyes to look at her.

"Thank you." His voice was so soft that it made her chest hurt, but his warm, twinkling eyes reminded her that he was strong. His appearance was pale and sickly, and it pained her every time she entered his hospital room, but just the sight of his bright smile and warm eyes relieved her immensely.

"Always, Daddy," she whispered, leaning in to press a kiss to his forehead.

They sat in silence for a long moment, her father humming a tune under his breath while she rubbed circles with her thumb on the back of his hand. He glanced at the book in her lap after a while and frowned.

"That's a different book," he said for the dozenth time that day.

She looked down at the cover and nodded. "Yes, it is. I thought you'd like this one—"

"Where's the one you always read me?"

She looked into his accusing eyes and felt a painful tug at her heart. He reminded her of herself, when she was younger, demanding to be read the same book every night before she went to bed.

"Well, Lucy borrowed it for a bit—" she began to explain, once again, but he cut her off.

"Why?"

She hesitated a moment before saying, "She wanted to buy you a new one, since the old one's so tattered—"

"No! I want that one!"

Swallowing thickly, she smiled, leaning forwards to kiss his cheek. "Alright, Daddy. I'll tell her that."

He nodded and stared at their clasped hands for a long time. Finally, he looked up at her, and with a bright smile, asked, "Will you read to me?"

"Of course," she replied, barely managing to keep her voice from quavering. She slipped her hand out of his and opened the book, reading aloud the same lines for the seventh time that day.

"Once upon a time…"

-oOo-

"Dad! Dad! Look!"

She ran up to her father and held up a sheet of parchment.

He looked up curiously and asked, "What's that?"

"Remember that picture of an eagle you drew me so many years ago?"

He frowned. "No?"

"Oh, Dad! This one! Here, look." She tapped the parchment and they watched as a large patch of dark ink appeared on the sheet and slowly turned into a large eagle.

Her father's eyes widened as he watched the eagle soar across the page. "Molly! That's quite advanced magic. How'd you manage it?"

"Oh, I've been looking it up for years, now, and I finally managed to do it! I thought I'd attach this to the book…"

"But?" he asked, seeing the way her face fell.

"But I can't get it to—" she broke off as the eagle suddenly exploded, splattering ink all over the parchment.

"Ah." Her father took the page from her and placed it on his desk. "That's because you haven't mastered the spell, yet. I would say that the fact that you managed to animate it in the first place is a feat in itself."

She was proud that he thought so, but she was disappointed that she hadn't succeeded yet again. "What do I have to do for it to stay?"

"Here, let me show you…"

-O-

"Look at it fly!"

She laughed as her father stared, transfixed, at the soaring eagle. He trailed his finger across the page, following the rather large bird, a look of absolute delight on his face. When the eagle flew out of the page, he looked up at her wide-eyed. "Did you do this?"

"Yes, but—"

"Oh, brilliant!"

She smiled as she held his hand and said, "Yes, but the one who taught me how to do it was you."

"Really?" he asked, the excitement obvious in his glittering eyes.

"Really." She laughed as he cheered and felt a pang in her chest. "Daddy…" she hesitated when he turned to her, and finally said, "Do you want me to show you how?"

"Show me how what?"

"Show you how to make the eagle fly."

"Oh, can you? I want to see!"

"Alright, then." She pulled out her wand, muttered a few spells, and the eagle disappeared from the page. She then picked up the quill she always kept in the drawer of his bedside table and drew the shape of an eagle on the page.

"You're quite good at that," he commented as he watched her with interest.

"I've had years of practice…"

"Is it going to fly, now?"

"Yeah." She pointed her wand at the drawing and said a few spells. The eagle materialised and flapped its wings. Her father exclaimed happily.

"How did you do that?"

"Here, let me show you…"

-oOo-

"Molly, what in the world is that?"

She started and spun around, staring wide-eyed at her father as he stood in her doorway.

"Wh-What?"

"That, that!" he strode over to her, grabbed her arm, and pointed at the drawing on it.

"It's nothing." She quickly pulled her arm away and rolled down the sleeves of her shirt.

"That didn't look like nothing." Her father crossed his arms and looked at her expectantly. "Well?"

She groaned and threw her hands up in exasperation. "It's just temporary, Dad. Fred was trying out this new tattoo thing, and asked if I would help—"

"Molly! We've talked about this! Letting Fred experiment on you is dangerous! Remember the time you had a violent allergic reaction to some potion ingredient?"

"Yes, Dad, I remember," she tried to reason, but her father was too busy yelling at her to listen.

"Then why in heaven's name—"

"I'm sorry!"

She sniffed, trying to keep her tears at bay, and her father sighed. She hated it when he yelled at her, especially since he rarely ever raised his voice.

"No, I'm sorry. I over reacted because…" he sighed and ran a hand through his hair, looking helpless.

She walked over and hugged him. "I know. I won't do it again." The last thing she wanted to do was to worry him. She'd nearly died the last time she'd participated in one of Fred's many experiments, and her father had never really gotten over it.

He pulled away and kissed her hair, smiling down at her apologetically. After a moment, he pushed up her sleeve and stared at her arm.

Finally, he said, "I think it's beautiful."

-O-

"Dad?"

Her father looked away from the window as she walked into his room. He looked even thinner and paler than the last time she'd seen him. She swallowed as she watched him struggle as he tried to recognise her, and finally smiled.

"Daddy, do you remember me?" she whispered as she hugged him.

"Of course I do… Molly?" He looked up at her, desperation swimming in his brown eyes, and she felt a lump form in her throat.

"Yes, Daddy, it's me." He relaxed, relieved, and she sat down beside him.

After a long minute of staring out the window, she said, "Daddy, do you remember… do you remember the time when I was little—"

"Which time?" he said with a laugh, gripping her hand a little too tightly. She laughed with him, but she recognised the conflict in his eyes.

"Do you remember that time I let Fred draw a tattoo on me?"

No recognition flickered on his face, but he still smiled and nodded. She clutched at her chest. Swallowing thickly, she continued, "Well, he perfected that recently, and asked if I would… help. So I did."

He frowned, and she waited with bated breath. He finally said, "Sweetheart, you know those experiments are dangerous. You nearly died, once, because of them. Have you forgotten?"

An airy laugh escaped her lips as she leaned forwards and hugged him tight. Quickly dabbing at her eyes, she pulled back and said, "No, Daddy, I haven't forgotten. But I really wanted to do this one. Besides, I'd already helped before, so it only made sense for me to be the first to try out the perfected version."

Her father looked at her expectantly, and she carefully took off her sweater. "It hasn't healed, yet, but it should still be quite clear."

She turned so that he could see her right shoulder, glancing back at him every now and then to gauge his reaction.

"Can I touch it?"

"Gently."

He gingerly ran the tips of his fingers against her skin, and she shivered from the coldness of his touch.

"It's… big," he finally said.

"Yeah, it is. I just thought it seemed right."

"It's a bird."

"That's right."

"That bird in my book. The one that keeps flying around."

"Yeah."

"What's it called?"

"An eagle."

He went silent, and she peered over her shoulder, nervous. He seemed to be scrutinising her tattoo with great interest, and she wasn't sure how she was supposed to interpret it.

"Is it permanent?" he finally asked.

"Er, yeah. It is."

He pulled away with a nod, and she took off her sweater. He looked at her and smiled, the corners of his eyes crinkling, and she felt herself relax.

"I think it's beautiful."

-oOo-

"If I ever die, will you bury this book with me?"

She watched as her father turned to her in surprise. He took his glasses off and stared at her with an intense expression on his face.

"Molly, you aren't even twenty, yet. Why in the world would you say something like that?"

She shrugged as she walked up and sat beside him on the sofa. He automatically leaned back and pulled her close like he always did since she was little.

"I dunno. It's something I've been thinking about since Grandpa's ceremony." She glanced at him. "Why? Is it a bad idea?"

He sighed and kissed her hair. "Mol, it's not about whether it's a bad idea or not."

"Then what is it about?"

He looked at her with a wry smile. "Sweetheart, I highly doubt that I'm going to be around when you'll be… buried."

She frowned as she realised he was right. It was so normal for her to talk to her father about anything she mulled over that the fact that, someday, he would no longer be there to listen to her had skipped her mind.

"I didn't… think of that. Sorry."

"Well, I think it's a wonderful idea. You love that book. It's quite unbelievable that you still have it after all these years."

"Really?"

He laughed. "Not at all. I've grown quite attached to it, too, after all this time."

"Then maybe I'll let you have it." She grinned and kissed his cheek. He chuckled as he stroked her arm.

"I would love that."

-O-

"I'm terribly sorry for your loss."

She smiled tightly as she nodded and accepted condolences, never stopping to talk to anyone for more than a moment.

"Molly! Molly, come here." She looked over to where her sister was beckoning to her and walked over.

"What is it?"

"Well… this." She held up a storybook that Molly instantly recognised.

"Why do you have this? It was supposed to be among the—"

"I know." Lucy shook her head. "Mol, do you really want to—"

"He would love that."

Lucy's eyes glistened and she sniffed. "It's your favourite book. You've had it since forever. Don't you want to keep it as a memory—"

"Lucy, I have enough memories of Dad without this book." She smiled as she touched her right shoulder where her tattoo was. "I have more than enough. Besides, he loved that book. I want him to have it."

Her sister nodded and handed Molly the tattered children's book. "Well… I'll take over for you. Why don't you go spend some time with him?"

Molly smiled and hugged Lucy. "Thanks, Lu."

She watched her sister walk away and greet the guests. Molly sighed as she made her way to the room where her father was. She waited till she was alone and approached the podium, clutching the book in her hands so tightly that she nearly tore it in half.

"Hi, Daddy," she whispered as she knelt beside her father. "You must be annoyed that so many people keep coming and going, barely giving you a moment's peace." She laughed softly and sniffed, reaching over and caressing her father's cheek. "Here, I brought you something."

She reached over and tucked the book in the side of the casket, but as an afterthought, decided that she would read to him one last time. She barely got through the first two pages before bursting into tears and having to keep the book away so she didn't wet it. Once she simmered down enough, she finished reading in a quavering voice, and held the book close. Hearing voices outside, she placed the book on her father's chest and crossed his arms over it, so it seemed as though he was holding on to it. Smiling, she leaned over and pressed a kiss to his forehead.

"Sleep tight, Daddy. I love you."

For a second, it seemed as if her father smiled, and she felt her heart thud against her chest.

Wiping away her tears, she whispered, "I knew you would love it."

-oOo-

"Please, Daddy. Just for tonight."

She looked up at her father with pleading eyes that she knew he couldn't refuse, and he finally sighed.

"Molly, sweetheart, don't you think you're already too old for bedtime stories?"

"Please, Daddy!" she cried, bouncing up and down.

Her father finally relented. "Fine. But just one more time. Alright?"

"Alright!"

He climbed into bed and she snuggled against him, sighing in content. She watched as he picked up her favourite book and placed it on his lap.

He wrapped an arm around her as he opened the book.

"Once upon a time…"

A/n: This is a rewritten version of what I had originally intended to write. The original was more concentrated on her getting the tattoo, but I just suddenly wanted to write this as a thank you to my great grandmother (she's ninety five and very very very sick) and as a prayer, and promise that I'll always love and remember her forever.

The prompt for this round was a Next-Gen character and I picked Molly.

Thanks you for reading! Any thoughts would be appreciated!

Lots of love~

Arty.