Penelope didn't have a ton of memories of her mother. She was much too young when her mother passed. Her clearest memories were about her mother.

She remembered the funeral, a hundred people she vaguely knew giving her condolences she was too young to understand for a woman she had barely known. What eight-year old really knows who their mother is? You love her of course, and you know she gives you food and tucks you in at night. But how she felt about society, how she treated her friends, how long she had worked at some company with a long and nondescript name? She heard all that for the first time as the speeches were given in the cold air of the funeral home. A life lost too soon, they announced, by a drunk driver. She didn't understand either word, but they turned her stomach all the same.

She remembered her father returning to a bottle that he'd sworn off after he returned from his final tour of duty. Her mind had struggled to comprehend the scene in front of her as she peered through the gaps between the banisters at a sobbing wreck. You think, when you're young, that your father is invincible. So strong and so wise, and incapable of fault. Even he was a bubbling wreck before the cruelty of fickle fate. She remembered running off to bed when he came upstairs (she wasn't supposed to be awake). She pretended to be asleep as he kissed her on the forehead. She could smell the alcohol on his breath as he whispered, in shaky breaths: "Now don't you leave me too, Penny. I don't think I could take it."

She remembered her father telling her never to go into the basement. That was where her mother's office was, and he said it was better to leave it undisturbed. He couldn't bear to clear the room, couldn't bear to disturb any of it. It was preserved just as it was before her mom had left to buy ice cream from the corner store. The family photo of the three of them was perched right beside the computer monitor. The row of books was slightly askew - as it had been for years. And Penelope knew all this because when she was 14, she had broken in. She had learned off the Internet how to pick a lock with a hairpin, and tiptoed inside, doing her best not to sneeze at the layer of dust that had accumulated - her father cleaned it every month, but that wasn't nearly enough.

That's when she found the necklace. It had been hanging off the handle of the drawer, a simple little amulet on a silver chain. But the moment she saw it, it called to her like an old friend. She knew touching it would break a second taboo on top of breaking in, but she couldn't help it. She was at that age when curiosity dictated every action. The moment she did, she felt a heat on her skin, and her hands began to glow. She yelped in surprise as a bright pink streak raced its way up her fingers and across her arm, filling the air with tiny sparkles. And she found, to her horror, that she couldn't drop the necklace. It clung to her fingers as she flicked her hand, the chain jangling against itself.

"I knew you wouldn't leave well enough alone," came a voice behind her. Penelope's heart dropped, and she spun around to see her father in the doorway, staring at her with a resolute expression.

"I-um..." Penelope stammered, still trying to yank the necklace off her fingers. She grabbed it with her other hand, and it came free - but stuck to that hand instead. The flagrant disobedience of the laws of physics and magical sparkles could wait, the priority was the scolding that she was sure was coming.

"Didn't I tell you never to come into this room?" her father said.

"Yes, but... I'm sorry, Daddy," Penelope said, letting her hands drop to her side. The amulet dropped too, bouncing on its chain before swinging gently at the bottom.

"Just like your mother," her father said, shaking his head. "But I suppose I knew this day would come."

Her father walked over to the desk and sat heavily into the chair, something squeaking in protest as he did. He rapped the spacebar on the keyboard twice, and the computer sprung to life.

"The password's your name, and then the date of our anniversary," he told her.

"W-wait, you're not mad?" Penelope asked, confused, the sparkles still drifting around her.

"No, I'm not. I just wanted to wait as long as possible before you had to grow up," he said. "I think you know what's going on with the sparkles."

"No, I... I don't," Penelope said.

"Of course you do," her father interjected. "There's a reason I downloaded Sailor Moon onto your computer."

"I-I'm a magical girl?" Penelope said, her voice coming out somewhere between excited squeal and stunned surprise.

"As was your mother," he said, and he was opening a file on the computer. The image was of a woman - her mother - surrounded by little pink sparkles, giving a wink to the camera.

"Th-that's your phone's wallpaper, isn't it? That's just... cosplay, or um, photo editing?" Penelope said, still reeling.

"That's what she told me," he said, sighing. "I think your mother always wanted me to figure it out. But no, I only found out after she died, when I finally got this computer open."

"She... she hid it from you?" Penelope asked. It was all a lot to take in at once, and there were pressing questions to ask, but all she wanted to do was hug her father.

"Yes. I think she wanted to keep me - us - safe," he said. "I don't think she wanted you to take up this mantle. It's dangerous, really."

"B-but then why didn't you stop me from taking the amulet?" Penelope asked. "I mean, if mom didn't want me to do it..."

"Penny... do you know how your mom died?" her father asked, turning in his chair to face her. "They told you it was a drunk driver, didn't they?"

"I... yes?" Penelope asked, her stomach dropping again as the next of so very many revelations came crawling out of the woodwork.

"Your mother was an investigative journalist. She was trying to expose corruption in the government," her father said, his voice a strange mix of wistful and proud. "She had stopped being a magical girl by the time we met, she was too old for it - but she was always the same person. Principled, courageous, always wanting to save the world..."

"And if she had only told me," he said, his voice cracking a little. "About any of it, then I could've helped."

He shook his head, and looked seriously at Penelope.

"I have no illusions about stopping you from doing this, if that's what you want. You're your mother's daughter, and you're a strong-willed girl. I want you to decide for yourself. If you want to do this, to fight whatever evil she fought, then that's okay. You'll be 16, 17, by the time you're ready... same age as I was when I signed up," he said. And she saw in his eyes, now, that same intensity as when she was a little girl and her father was her safety and security. "I want you to think about it, seriously. You don't have to do this unless you really want to."

"But I'll be damned if I let you do it without my help. Your mom's not the only one who fought evil."