hatred is is a single-minded, fickle thing β a paradox of pride and fear. you learn your lesson young. it's in the whispers that follow you through town like a living shadow. your mother, the cunning woman. even before your birthright manifests, they seem to sense the difference in you. and when the skin of your palms turn black as an oil slick, when horns emerge from a mess of wild, red hair, you come into the truth. adults are just people, marred by their faults and imperfections, and your father is just a man.
they put her to death on a rainy friday. burn the witch. and as you hide in the shadows, face streaked with tears, she gives you one last smile and whispers i love you. your father is home, seeking absolution at the bottom of the bottle.
youβve never been one to do things by halves, and so shades of grey elude you. you are firm in your convictions, no matter how hard your conscience tugs at your sleeves or how urgently it whispers Β βΒ are you sure? you tear down cities. you want to make it right, for her. your mother, the martyr. but just because you feel it, even if you burn with it, doesn't mean it's right. you are neither judge nor jury. your crown is a halo of light, ephemeral, and it disappears with the sun.
they say the road to hell is paved with good intentions. you've laid every brick by hand Β βΒ and what do you have to show for it? nothing but ashes in the sky and ashes at your feet.
πππ πππππππ : present day, new york.
as one thing ends, so another begins. cyclical. ourobrus. in your dreams, even now, you smell fire. you see fire in the righteous set of their shoulders. you see it reflected in their blades. people look to you for guidance, but if you speak in a low enough voice and dress the point up in metaphor, no-one cares to really see. you are not a prophet, nor a scholar. you have no real answers, because this story can only ever end one way Β βΒ in the plumes of the pyre.
to be continued . . .
πππππππππ πππππ : gideon blight. they/them. 400+. lesbian. 5"6. aquarius. high warlock of brooklyn.
for all the dubious privileges of your birthright, you were not a happy child. your first breath was a wail. your first word a refusal. shallow girl. shallow affect. shallow dreams. you walked the halls with your chin aloft Β βΒ tarnished spoon clutched tight in one clammy fist. you didn't flinch from the dark, even then. you stared into it and felt certain, under the light of the pale moon, that it was staring back at you.
your mother sat you at her vanity and pressed her cold palms against your cheeks. legacy. promise. a gold-plated girl, dressed up in diamonds to hide the dirty truth of the matter Β βΒ that a name is just a name, and a name is only worth the weight it carries. back then, a naive child, you would have crawled over splintered glass to preserve your family's pride.
you met him on a cold winter night, your father holding court at the far end of the table. such a pretty face, he mused. and from then on, your future was a foregone conclusion. the countess, mircalla karnstein.
but you didn't run to your fate gladly. you walked as though to the gallows. the count was a fine man, but your eyes wandered everywhere but.Β the pretty servant girl, with her crooked nose and crooked smile. the governess. all you ever had was longing. but longing felt too intimate, too pretty a word to describe the hunger in you for something, anything, to make you feel. you moved through the world as atlas, chained by leash and collar to the weight and veracity of your own desire.
so when those chains were severed by sharp teeth, in shadowy corner of the ballroom, you welcomed the bite. only when your lungs were starved of air, when your heart stopped beating, were you able to finally breathe.
πππ πππππππ : present day, new york.
femininity as performance. mask in one hand, blade in the other. you have cycled through so many anagrams of a name, settling on carmilla, the lie, and mar, the person you become when nobody's watching Β βΒ when you wipe away the rouge and meet your own eyes in the mirror, the beautiful truth laid bare.
