And when the mirrors cracked, when the kingdom whispered ogress , Mama held her girl and said: “You are not a monster for choosing love. You are not less royal for growing thorns.”
So here’s to the quiet queen behind the queen — not of Far Far Away, but of forgiveness, of fierce and gentle mothering, of letting go so a daughter can roar.
Here’s a short piece inspired by — written as a poetic tribute or character sketch. Mama de Fiona
Long live Mama de Fiona. She never needed a spell to be magic.
Mama de Fiona knows the weight of a daughter who belongs to two worlds — one that sees green skin as a curse, one that sees it as a throne.
She doesn’t tower like a ogre’s castle, nor wears a crown of swamp flowers. Her hands are soft from bandaging knees, from braiding hair that smells like rain and mud.
She taught Fiona to peel an onion without crying, to sing lullabies that echo through stone towers, to wait — not for a prince, but for the one who stays when the glamour fades.