Florianne's Identity Trials

Part 1 – New Beginnings

Florianne pressed her lips together and held back the urge to sigh, her fingers trembling around the needle she was holding. The sprout placed it to the side, letting her head slowly come to rest on the bench she was working at with a soft thump. She’d been at it for days like this – over and over again, trying and working and stitching and sewing, but to no avail. There was nothing for it – Florianne didn’t want to make her bag.

She swallowed past the lump in her throat. Mother would not be pleased. “How’s it going over there?” Her mother questioned, startling Flo out of her thoughts. She scrambled to pick up her needle again, holding up the pieces of fabric feebly, with a smile that was weak and tired around the edges. “I-I’m working really hard at it, mother,” she assured the older bagbean, who pursed her lips and stared with a hard look at the barely-there bag; it was just some bits of plain white fabric, with marks on it for where Flo intended to sew.

After a long, crushing silence which Flo knew very well meant her mother was trying not to use a tone with her, the older bagbean finally spoke. “Have you looked at the straps I picked out for you? Do any of them please you?” The scathing undertone of the question was not lost on Florianne – young though she was, she was well versed in the subtle nastiness of adults. She felt her eyes water and the sprout looked away, her tail curling protectively around her body. She always wished that it were bigger and fluffier, so she might hide herself away inside of it and never be found again. She could always be soft and safe, then.

It was a stupid thought. There was no way to escape the wrath of her mother, no way to hide from the laser pierce of her gaze, the hard twist of her mouth, the way she’d bare her teeth the angrier she got. “Y-yes, I like th-this one,” Flo stuttered, wincing at herself. The older bagbean looked annoyed. She hated Florianne’s stutter. It brought her a constant sense of disappointment that she’d raised such a shy, withdrawn, odd daughter.

“That one?” She asked, her voice clipped. She walked forwards and Flo shrunk before.

“I liked all of them though, mother, really!” The young bagbean insisted quickly, her ears drooping down as her tail curled tighter. She gripped onto it with her paw, the fabric being snatched off of her.

“This was the plainest one I got you! You spent all that time saying how you needed the perfect bag, that it needed to be just right, and you settle for the plainest fabric I could find? You are so infuriating, Florianne. What’s wrong with you?” Her mother squeezed the strap, before throwing it down. The gesture lost its weight – the fabric was too light to slam against the wood like she wanted it to, but it didn’t matter either way. Florianne still winced with fear.

It had always been like this. Florianne was the disappointment – her sisters were so talented, you see, so bold and bright and beautiful. They were both confident, charismatic, drew Griffian’s in just like her mother did. They were addictive to watch, mesmerising to behold, everything good you could possibly be. They made mother so proud with their accomplishments; one a talented singer, he other taking after the family business of fashion design. She was well-known in her field, and her pieces were always met with impressed nods.

Florianne was much younger than her sisters. She didn’t think it was fair that she was always compared to them. She tried her hardest, really, to please her mother and be the best! She was always working on her sewing, sometimes going until her paws bled from needle pricks, and then going a little longer just to get something done. Her mother had only smiled and told her ‘good job’ once, and Flo craved that approval again. The love of her mother had been all Flo’d ever wanted, though it was rarely given.

The sprout swallowed, shut her eyes, and took a breath. It was okay, her mother was right. She should’ve been more creative. “I’m sorry, I just liked the way the material felt. It’s comfortable and practical, strong. I’ll need it to be strong for my adventuring, and for me to carry my sewing things with me,” Florianne explained, looking up meekly.

There was another silence. It dragged on for what felt like eternity. Without a word, her mother left. Florianne sighed with relief and turned back to her workbench, trembling paws reaching out to pick up the bag again. She sniffled, tears quietly rolling down her cheeks as she started to work again, bringing the plain bits of fabric together, forcing them to match up, pricking her finger over and over as the tremble became worse. Each prick drew another sob from her lips. It didn’t hurt, not really, she was used to it. Flo just didn’t know how to make this bag better. Her sister’s bags were beautiful, but Flo’s was boring.

Flo sighed as she finished her bag up, tugging firmly at the last thread tight on the strap and giving a firm pull to test out the strength. At the very least, her bag wasn’t about to fall apart anytime soon. No, Florianne was far too good at the technical side of sewing to make something weak and flimsy.

Really, she knew that she shouldn’t feel so sorry for herself. Other bagbeans weren’t quite as fortunate as her, to be born into a prestigious family and have a name to live up to at all. Her mother told her one day, if she worked hard, she would be great too. All Florianne had to do was work harder.

Still, looking at her bag, Florianne couldn’t help but acknowledge the truth. Her mother would not be pleased.
 

Part 2 – The Big Journey

She’d honed her fashion design abilities quite finely, and without the skulking presence of her mother, she’d found herself able to flourish and grow. Still, she hadn’t found her identity yet. Not quite. It felt closer every day though, and for Florianne, she knew that it was only taking so long because she needed to find herself, first.

The girl smiled, tucking stray curls of dark hair behind her ear as she wandered through a deeper part of the forest in her home. There was a bird perched on her shoulder, one she’d named ‘Cici’, and she loved it dearly. Naturally, she didn’t speak bird, but she felt that she understood the tweets and flapping wings quite fluently now. Cici was very friendly.

“I’ve got a good feeling about today, little birdie, don’t you?” She asked her feathered friend. Cici tweeted in response, giving a shake of her feathers, and Florianne took that to mean she agreed. “Maybe I’ll find it here today, though I don’t quite feel ready to go home. You would miss me, wouldn’t you?”

The small weight on her shoulder lifted off, and she watched the bird flutter over to a purple flower. The moment Florianne’s eyes landed on it, it hit her. “Oh my, that’s beautiful,” she breathed, approaching it with caution. The petals of the flower shimmered like the surface was embedded with glitter, and her fingers traced over them. She admired the heart shape of the petals and leaves, the swirling veins written into their surface. “A swirly heart flower,” she chuckled. “How utterly magnificent.”

Part 3 – Home At Last

Going home was not something Florianne had wanted to do. A large part of her had toyed with the idea of staying in this paradise forever, with her bird and her animal friends, surrounded by her beautiful flower. She had procrastinated as much as possible – 3 years, actually.

She’d been gone for 7 now, and with her bag in its final, complete state, she knew that she needed to leave. She’d re-made it 6 times, and that was bordering on absolute ridiculousness. The anxiety of seeing her mother again had spurred her into a flurry of sewing more than once, and she had come to realise that the more she put it off, the more she would resent the idea of going home. Maybe, if she stayed long enough, she’d start to forget she was ever a bagbean and only remember this peaceful home. Though part of her longed to say that wasn’t so bad, she knew it was.

Florianne was starting to get lonely, after all, even if she’d never craved much companionship in the first place. Having no one at all to talk to aside from a bird that couldn’t speak back did make you feel as if you were insane, or at the very least on the path towards it. So, Florianne had awoken that morning and made up her mind. “I’m going home,” she told her reflection very firmly in the water. Later on in the day, she’d repeated the same words to her bird, though this time with more heart and a great deal more tears. 

She would never be ready to go home, she’d told Cici, but she had to. She had to face her mother one day again, and show her that she was better now – much better than the bagbean had ever given her credit for. Steeling herself, Florianne had wandered around her home collecting things Fabian might like. She’d carefully removed one of her flowers with the soil and roots, placing it in one of the older shirts she’d made that she’d dampened to keep the roots soft. She hoped that Fabian would like the gift of her flower, as well as some local, shiny rocks and fruits.

Truth be told, she had no idea what Fabian would even want from her. It felt like enough, looking at the bulge of her bag which was filled to the brim with various things for him to enjoy. She carefully nudged the swirlyheart so it wasn’t being crushed by anything, before closing up her bag and looking over towards the old oak tree.

It hung over the hill it was seated on ominously, and it felt like within its roots, the tree held everything that Florianne was afraid of. The closer her feet carried her to it, the more she was filled with dread, anxiety, and a crushing sense of fear.

“Stop it,” Florianne told herself. “You’re older, stronger, better. You’re not afraid of her anymore. You don’t need to be afraid of anyone anymore. You can be your own bagbean, your own individual. It’s not about her.”

The pep talk didn’t help, but at least she could pretend to be braver than she was by speaking aloud.

She braced herself, before placing her hand on the portal door and pushing it open. She stepped through, gracefully not missing a beat as her foot landed firmly on the ground. She stepped her other foot through and shut the portal door. For a moment, she wondered what would happen if 2 bagbeans chose to return at the same time, before deciding that she really didn’t care all that much. She was sure there was some failsafe in place.

Fabian looked up from his desk, squinted at her for a moment, before smiling in recognition. She wondered how he knew who she was – they’d met so briefly. He must have a brilliant memory for these things, or it was a part of his magic. “Florianne. Welcome home,” he greeted. She found it ironic that this was no doubt the warmest welcome she’d get from anyone she’d meet today.

The thought would’ve once made her shrink in on herself and sniffle. Instead, the bitterness that had spent years festering inside of Florianne just smirked and found it amusing. Her family could hate her all they wanted – she’d show them. She’d be the best. She was determined.

“Thank you, Fabian,” Flo replied politely. “I’ve brought you back things as you asked. I hope you don’t mind that I brought you what I identified with – if you get it in a vase quickly, it should live for a while longer,” she reached into her bag and pulled out the wrapped up flower. He looked surprised at the gift, and Flo felt proud of herself for it.

She watched as he quickly grabbed an empty pot to fill with water and put the flower in. “This is beautiful. What is it?” He asked, inspecting the leaves and petals with a curiously delighted look in his eyes.

“I called it swirlyheart,” she replied.

“Because the petals are shaped like hearts and have swirls on them, I see. That’s clever, and apt. I suppose I owe you some potions now,” he replied playfully.

Florianne didn’t want to, but she found herself smiling as if that was the most darling joke she’d heard all day, even if she really hadn’t found the comment amusing. What was this instinct washing over her? Perhaps it was just a side effect of not interacting with others for so long.

“Here you are. You can pick what you’d like out of these, since you’ve brought me such a wonderful gift, and I can see more in your bag,” he pointed the others out. Florianne placed them all on the counter, before filling her bag up with some dyes. She had a firm idea in mind of how she wanted to look.

“Oh, and this,” he gave her a bean to eat to turn her back to her normal form. Florianne hesitated. She bit into it after a moment, and felt the last dredges of her optimism fade away.

It was time to face the real world.