I’ve been getting lots of fanfics recently! They’re great! Keep ’em coming!
This one’s from Tabby (a.k.a LoveLoveLovix). As she explains it, it’s “a Bloom/Aisha story set mostly as a prequel to Winx Club, but partially at the beginning of Season 2. It is a mixture of all three English dub canons.”
Not gonna lie: this is one of my favorites so far. I think you’ll love it. 🙂
If you wanna see your own fan art or fan fic featured on the blog, email it to [email protected]!
December 10, 1994
“Bloom, honey!” Vanessa called as she opened the door to her young daughter’s bedroom. “It’s time to get up on your happy birthday!”
The girl sprang up so fast that her mother almost doubted she had been asleep at all. “It’s morning? Do I get my surprise now?”
Vanessa and Mike had promised their only child a special surprise for her birthday. Her older, eight-year old, friend Mitzi Addams had been taking dance since before she was in kindergarten, and Bloom had waned so badly to join her. Though the Peters family didn’t have much, Mike had worked overtime to be able to assure his daughter a year of dance lessons at Madame Morgana’s studio down the road, starting that day.
Mike walked into the room right on cue, pulling on his winter jacket. “Hmmm, I don’t know. Five is awfully young for a surprise as big as this…”
“But Daddy, I’m six today!” Bloom laughed.
He grinned. “That’s right! I forgot! So that means you’re just barely old enough. Get your clothes on and Mommy will help with your shoes, and we’ll get going.”
Racing to her dresser, Bloom tore off her pajamas and struggled into a bright yellow shirt, checking to make sure the tag was in the back and not the front. She slipped into a pair of overalls, then wiggled ten small toes into her socks. When she was done, Vanessa put a pair of sneakers onto her little feet, then coaxed tangled red hair into matching pigtails on the sides of her head. “Ready?” she asked her daughter as she helped Bloom into a small coat.
The family piled into the car and drove only a little ways down the road before pulling into an unmarked building. “Where are we?” the youngest Peters asked as she looked around.
“Nowhere special,” Mike commented. He swung a drawstring bag around until it hung off his shoulder casually. “Just a school.”
“A school?” Bloom wrinkled her tiny nose. “But it’s Saturday!”
“Well, maybe you’ll give this school a try. Here,” he said, handing her the bag. “That can be your school supplies. Open it up and see what you need!”
Bloom sat down on the ground, not paying any attention to the cold, and started to rifle through the gift Mike had given. She pulled out a pair of miniature ballet shoes, tights, and a leotard before coming to the pièce de résistance — a small pink tutu. “Is this ballerina fairy princess school?” the little girl gasped.
“Well, I don’t know about that,” Vanessa laughed. “But it certainly is dance lessons.”
December 31, 1998
At barely ten years old, Bloom Anne Peters called herself a dancer.
The rest of her sixth-grade class called her a little nerd.
It was probably an accurate name. She had skipped two grade levels, she drew manga all over her pre-algebra notebooks, she wasn’t part of the It Crowd, and her nose was usually stuck in a fantasy novel or non-fiction exposé about the supernatural. Her personal favorite was Fairies: Myth or Reality? and it was what was currently lying in the studio lobby with the rest of her school things.
Bloom wasn’t thinking about any of that at the moment. She was too busy dancing. That distraction had been precisely the point. It had been a very rough day, and if Bloom danced hard enough, she could go to her happy place.
Her happy place was a very tangible thing, to her, at least. And going there was quite an experience. The setting of Madame Morgana’s would first fade… then slowly, a new world would appear. This new world featured Bloom high up in a tower, one without walls. She could see blue sky all around. If she looked down (very carefully, at first), it was easy to see the most beautiful water she had ever encountered. Bloom could have spent all day looking at these sites, every day. But her body would keep dancing until she chose to return, and if she spent too long in her happy place, when she got back, she would be exhausted and incredibly hungry. She knew this from experience.
She could stop for a while in her dream, if she chose. But today, Bloom was in the mood to dance. Four years of ballet, with two years of jazz added on when she was eight (at the expense of a yearly Christmas gift), gave her a fun, twisted style that she played with as she spun and twirled. She stayed in one end of the room until she noticed a girl.
Not much younger than her, the lovely child had gorgeous dark skin and hair. She wore an elaborate blue headpiece and stunning yellow dress. Bloom could tell immediately that she was some sort of royalty. But her dreams had never conjured up another person. Maybe there was a reason… or maybe, the girl was magical! “You’re a princess, right?” she called out, slightly nervous. The girl looked up. “My name is Anne,” Bloom continued. She knew she had read somewhere that you should never give a fairy or other spirit your real name. But her middle name was probably safe… and she would respond to it if the girl cried out for her.
The beautiful girl spoke with a voice that seemed older and more weary than her young face did. “What are you doing up here in the Royal Tower?” she asked.
Bloom grasped at the first answer that flew to her head, hoping she sounded natural. “I snuck up here,” she said as she leaped a small distance. Then, completely honestly, she answered, “It’s my favorite place to dance.”
“I wish I could do that.” The girl sounded awed and a little bit friendlier. In return, Bloom hummed a melody and showcased some of her favorite steps.
As she landed from her last little leap, she spun to face the princess. “Do you want me to teach you?” she asked.
With obvious caution, the royal girl stood up and walked gracefully over to Bloom. She placed a small, dark hand in Bloom’s pale and gangly one. “Would you really? I would love it. Oh… I’m Princess Laylaisha.”
“Laylaisha,” Bloom said, testing it out. “Can I just call you Layla?”
Laylaisha looked shocked, as if nobody had ever suggested such a thing to her. But quickly, her expression turned into a smile. “Yes, please. Call me Layla.” Read the rest of this post