In Our Dawn/Our Souls Belongd/To Ashes In The Sea @f1uffy-turtle-fanfic - Tumblr Blog

Mar 17, 2025

Spectral Ties Chapter 1: A Mask of Lies

Chapters: 1/32 Rating: Teen and Up Audiences Relationship: F/F Warnings: Major Character Death, Graphic Depictions of Violence Fandom: The Owl House

Relationships: Amity Blight/Luz Noceda, Amity Blight & Luz Noceda, Amity Blight & Luz Noceda & Willow Park & Gus Porter, Amity Blight & Odalia Blight, Amity Blight & Odalia Blight & Luz Noceda, Alador Blight & Amity Blight, Luz Noceda & Manny Noceda

Characters: Amity Blight, Ghost!Amity Blight, Luz Noceda, Odalia Blight, Phillip Wittebane | Emperor Belos, Grimwalker Characters (The Owl House), Adrian Graye Vernworth, Gus Porter, Willow Park, Katya (The Owl House)

Additional Tags: Lumity’s tags are…, Friends to Acquaintances to Friends to Lovers, Amity Blight Has a Crush on Luz Noceda, Amnesia, Developing Relationship, Slow Burn, Amity learns to love Luz again after self induced amnesia, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Self Sacrifice, Paranormal Romance, Bittersweet Ending, Amity & Odalia’s tags are…, Parental Abuse, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Suicidal Thoughts, Self-Harm, Emotional Manipulation, Manipulation, Mind Manipulation, The rest of the tags are…, Deadwardian Era (The Owl House), Alternate Universe - Regency, Alternate Universe - Pirate, Golden Age of Piracy, Dark Fantasy, Blood, Murder Mystery, Brutal Murder, Genocide, Rebellion, Betrayal, Disabled Character, Beta Read, Screenreader Friendly, Podfic, This fic took me over four years to write

Thank you to deciMae for beta reading!

Ao3 Link Here

Podfic and written fic under the cut.

This is podfic for chapter 1 of my fanfic Spectral Ties.

Better to die than to live miserably. That was what Amity Blight thought days before her own life would be forcibly taken away from her.

One would think she had everything she wanted at a glance, though the fact of the matter was that all of her desires were forcefully stripped away.

Lifelessly staring from their portraits, the eyes of the scions of House Blight glared at her as she climbed the flight of stairs. She ascended the steps from the dark depths of the corridor into the light that peeked in from the outside, its rays shining in the form of an outstretched hand.

As she climbed, the dress her mother made her wear pressed against her shoulders by the seams, pulling on the bodice and suffocating her. Hopefully next time, her mother would let her or an abomination servant help fit her into the dress – but Amity knew that she wouldn't be able to convince her.

The stress of working with her mother made everyone want to leave, including her own family. Every project had such a small deadline that it was practically impossible to get anything done, even with more efficient methods. That's why her siblings left, anyway. That's why they left her to take the House on her own.

And that's why she could not make a single mistake. Not this time. Even when she was late, she could not reschedule. If she was offended, she could not retort. And when she wanted to run away, there was no escaping.

She could never escape.

Was this the best choice? The House needed a Scion to take control, but did she really have to burn bridges with everyone she loved just to please Lord Wittebane?

No – she didn't need to answer that. Her mother said this is what was best for her; what was best for everyone. And Amity knew she had to be right.

When she reached the top of the stairwell, a shiver went up her spine. Did it have to be Boscha? Wasn't there anyone else out of the list of suitors that she could meet with? She went through the names in her head: Amelia, Skara – no, Skara had other plans. As she went down the list, dread started to settle in her shoulders. Boscha really was the last one, wasn't she?

The stiff air filled her lungs as she took a deep breath and pushed against the heavy doors.

Gardens were never really Amity's forte, nor were they her mothers, but something about the courtyards of Blight Manor made her feel more at ease, so she begged her mother to keep them. After all, they were one of the few reminders of the friends she had – of the friends she would never see again.

'What friends?' she made sure to think , 'They were never your friends.’

That was what Mother said, at least. Especially after –.

She didn't want to finish that thought. Even when she heard that the first time months ago, she didn't want to believe it. But then again, why would mother ever lie to her? To use her? No, she always cared about Amity and the family, that much was clear, so she had no reason to lie.

The scent of dilacs filled the air and Amity took a moment to take in her surroundings. Flagstones lined the path just outside the double doors and wound around the terrain and foliage planted long before Amity was born. Thankfully, they were still in good shape, aside from the various wilted and dead branches scattered about. Amity wondered who the new gardener of the week would be – or had been. It was hard to keep track, especially these days.

Her feet met the flagstones and she walked down the path toward a wooden gazebo, where Boscha was waiting, not-so-patiently stirring some tea. There was no steam coming from the spout, suggesting that it had long gone cold.

"Smelling the dilacs, Amity?" she chided, "It took you long enough to even come here."

"Sorry I'm late," Amity said, "something required my attention."

"Did it? I'm sorry, I don't think I've noticed." A sarcastic drawl came from her in a voice that was – clearly and understandably – frustrated beyond all belief.

"Well, I guess you’re here now," Boscha continued, "I am glad that your highness didn’t take up the entire hour."

"It was only thirty minutes."

"Only thirty minutes?" she chuckled, "every excuse you’ve given me so far during the last four meetings had been a ‘mistake’ that would have taken less time or no time at all to sort out. Why are you stalling, Amity? "

With the venom laced in those last five words, Amity wanted to retreat. But there was no backing down. She took a deep breath to steady herself.

"What was ‘something’ , exactly?" Boscha interrupted her thoughts.

"I was –." Amity faltered, "An abomination of mine malfunctioned before you got here. I had to clean up the mess."

"Huh," she pondered, "I’ve never thought I’d hear you admitting to botching one."

"Don't you ever have days where you feel off?" Amity retorted, with a tone a little bit more defensive than she intended.

Boscha scoffed, "Amity, please , this is me we're talking about. Well, not really, we're talking about you – about us."

As Boscha reached her hand forward, a chill rushed down Amity’s spine and she pulled away.

"Let's take things a little more slowly, then," Amity said, hesitantly, "One step at a time."

Amity’s request was met with a disapproving glare as Boscha went to take a sip of her tea. Realizing it was cold, she sent an abomination servant to brew her a fresh pot.

"Alright," she said patiently, "we'll take things one step at a time. But, first thing's first, why do you insist on wasting your time on something that you can send a servant for?"

"Boscha –."

"The Lord's Coven and the Aniven make mistakes all the time, yet they still remain punctual."

"Look! I'm sorry! Okay?" Amity shouted.

Boscha leaned forward, "Then stop lying to me, Ami."

"Don't you –!" Amity paused. Yes, she was getting on her nerves, but she still wanted to salvage this. Well, no. Maybe she should escape, be anywhere but here. No, she can’t do that. What was she thinking?

Mother wouldn't want that. So Amity didn’t want it either.

She took a deep breath.

"Don't call me that – not by that name." she said, somewhat meekly.

Boscha paled, "I'm sorry, I thought we were on good terms."

She shot a glare at her, "From the way you were confronting me earlier, we both know that's a lie."

They sat in silence for an awkward amount of time before the servant brought them a fresh, scorching pot of tea. Boscha poured herself a cup and drew a long, slow sip.

Once she set the cup down, she asked, "How many suitors have you rejected? Tell me."

This caught Amity off guard, "I'm sorry?"

"I'm only asking because I've been talking with your mother." Boscha said pointedly, causing Amity to tense, "She told me that you dried up the entire dating pool."

"None of them met my expectations."

"Well," she scoffed, "I guess it's good to have high expectations. You only want the best of the best now, do you? Maybe lower your standards. You do want to be free from your mother, don’t you?"

Amity was silent.

" If you decide to marry me," Boscha said, "which is still ultimately up to you – it doesn't guarantee that either of us would become Coven Lords – Coven Ladies – whatever title you prefer. It’s going to be a lot of hard work. But either way, this is the only way you can stay above the rest. Isn't that what you always wanted?"

Is this truly what she wanted? Would she really be happy if she did this? She needed to think.

"I just –," Amity said, "I don't think I'm ready for this."

"Why not, Amity?" Boscha shouted, “You should have been married years earlier. Most heirs have their own partners selected when they were not even sixteen. Why do you think you’re so special to wait more than nineteen years? Do you want to become a spinster and leave your House in obscurity?”

"I don't know, Boscha!" she snapped, "What? Do you think I'm ready after everything has changed in my life so suddenly? After months of this constant pressure – like a sword dangling over my head? I need more time!"

The air grew thick and heavy as Boscha took another sip of her tea, staring daggers into the very depths of Amity’s soul.

"Do you think that your mother would let you have that time?” she said, “I don't think she'd want you to mope over your stupid dead father any longer than you already have."

Amity paled for a moment. Did she hear that correctly?

"I'm sorry?"

"Oh!" Boscha said, her voice deeply soaked in sarcasm, "You probably didn't hear that clearly. Let me rephrase that in a language you can understand."

She leaned in so close that Amity could smell the tea on her breath. "It's been nine months! Grow a Titan-damned spine for once and stop crying over your stupid dead father!"

Amity rose from her seat, fire roaring in her ears "Don't you ever –!"

"I hope this isn't news to you, Madame Blight," she taunted, "but he isn't here! He can't hold your hand. He can't sing you lullabies. He's gone and in his place, he left a daughter who is just as weak – just as spineless as he was!"

"Shut up!"

It happened too fast for Amity to process. She made mistakes in the past, but this one, she couldn't ever forgive herself for. Her indecisiveness had already hurt Boscha. It was only reasonable that she called Amity names and taunted her because of it. She would never think Boscha deserved a boiling teapot to be smashed in her face.

Porcelain shattered over her skull and scalded the first few layers of skin, leaving blisters in their wake. And then it was all over and Boscha was left there screaming, covered in cuts and blisters. A wave of realization swept over Amity and she fled the scene.

Amity didn't get anything to eat that night, she knew to expect that. It was the first appropriate punishment whenever anything went wrong during the day, even something small. It meant that her mother didn't have a proper punishment in mind, so this would do until she thought of something better. Regardless, she deserved this (or well, more than this) after what she did with Boscha.

She sat at the edge of her bed, mulling over her actions, staring distantly at the ruined dress in the corner of the room. Mother hadn’t bothered sending for a servant to get it mended, not yet anyway.

In her hands was a small music box, stained with abomination ichor. She wouldn’t wash it off, she didn’t want to. With the initials A.B. engraved on the side of the porcelain casing, it felt like the last bit of personality she had left from her father. Especially nowadays.

How could she be so stupid and hurt Boscha the way she did? If she hadn't acted out that way, everything would have been fine.

Boscha's words played again in her head: "He's gone and in his place, he left a daughter who is just as weak – just as spineless as he was!"

A sharp pang rang out in her chest. Boscha never knew her father as well as she did. How would she know? How would she care? Did she just want to hurt her?

Regardless, the way Amity decided to respond was horrible. She could have just talked her down, asserted her boundaries in a different way, couldn't she?

No, Boscha would have just talked over her, like everybody else always did. Her thoughts didn't matter. They never mattered. Nobody wanted to hear the things she had to say except for herself.

No matter how bad she messed up, even if she handled it any differently, she'd still be punished. She would still have no food to eat, though the punishment later on would be a lot better than whatever waited for her.

Her heart threatened to climb up her throat, but she carefully pushed it back down. She didn't have time to think about what was coming. She didn't have time to process.

The mattress sunk as she shifted her weight, the soft, silken sheets caressed her fingertips as she pushed herself up from the bed. Her feet pressed up against the cold, wooden floor and shivers went up her spine.

Just across from the bed, there was a bookshelf that lined the wall. She had finished just about three quarters of what sat on those shelves, and that was just from this haul. When did she last go to the downstairs library? About two and a half months ago? The whole case was about due for an exchange by now.

The cloth covered spines graced Amity's fingers as she looked over the books she hadn't read. Mastering Abominations, The Rise of Emperor Wittebane, and The Coven Lord's Handbook were a few among the many that lined her shelves. Her fingers hooked on the top edge of the spine of a random book as she slowly pulled it out, causing a number of papers that were hidden near the edge of the bookcase to spill out. Amity cursed under her breath.

They were drawings that she made – portraits. Her fingers smoothed over the slight indentations made by the strokes of the silverpoint stylus, revealing Luz's face. She was staring out a window, leaning into her chin. Even as a portrait, it almost felt like she was glowing. Amity's heart melted and heat rushed to her face. Oh, how she missed her. How she wished that she were here.

What was she thinking! She can’t even be around Luz, let alone fantasize about her. The heat wrapped around her face up to her ears and she threw the stack of papers onto the nearest desk, where they scattered across the wooden surface.

Why would she think about her? Why would she fantasize about running away with her? There was no sympathy for what she did. She would never excuse what happened. Why would the others join her? Was it all some sort of plot?

Damn it, Luz!

Amity dug at the roots of her hair and stopped before she could tear them out. Reaching behind her head, she undid her bun and let her hair droop down to her shoulders, combing through it with her fingers to smooth it down.

Amity didn't know what to believe anymore.

Cautiously, she made her way to the papers again and started organizing them. One by one, she leafed through the portraits.

She forgot about all of her worries as she paused to stare at the drawings. Her heart lightened and her shoulders relaxed.

Most of the drawings were of Luz, but there were quite a few of Augustus and Willow. In some of them, they were playing out in the forest. Others, in the Manor's courtyard. As she flipped through, all the memories they had made together during their childhood filled her head.

Then, in the back, there was a note written in a lavender parchment addressed to Luz. Her heart sank and she immediately slipped it behind the stack of papers.

How did her life become this … hell? She thought she had wonderful friends. She thought her father was going to live well after she became an adult. He made her feel free, like she could do whatever she wanted in her life, as long as she was happy. Now, there wasn't a choice.

After placing the stack of papers back in its place on the bookshelf, there was this burning pain that sat deep within her soul. A longing. Maybe she did want to see them again. Maybe there was still a way to make amends.

Oh, what was she thinking, there was no way her mother would allow that.

... Would she?

After Amity set up her papers on the writing desk and removed the stopper from her inkwell, she dipped her pen and started writing a letter.

Maybe there was some sort of unfathomable hope that still remained in her. Maybe she was being dumb. All she knew was that if she could set these words to paper and send them out to Luz, maybe they could finally reunite and she could finally escape.

Amity woke the next morning with her face pressed up against the desk, her head pounding. Luckily, there was no ink smudged on her face and the way she looked was still rather appropriate, barring the fact that her hair was down. She quickly pulled her hair back again and tied it up in a bun. The letter she wrote laid on her desk next to her. When she groggily picked it up, she read it once, twice, three times over. Quickly, she folded it into an envelope before summoning a flame and lighting a candle to seal the letter.

After she released the stamp from the wax, she breathed a sigh of relief. Was she really going to go through with this? If her mother found out, she would kill her. ‘ Titan damn her,’ she thought. Then she froze, feeling the ichor of stress and anxiety rushing through her veins like a poison.

Anger welled inside Amity, not at her mother, not at Luz. No, the anger was directed at herself. This was not the first time the thought of defying her mother bubbled to the surface, and it certainly would not be the last. Those thoughts became more frequent with every day that passed while she still lived in Blight Manor.

While she still lived…

That statement gave Amity pause, and made her think about what she was doing. To think the idea of running away would ever cross her mind. She wasn't supposed to be like this. She was supposed to be the heir to the House.

But why did the idea of carrying that name send chills down her spine every time it crossed her mind?

Would she be living under her mother's guise until the day one of them died? If she were to outlive her, would she try to take the House and run it in her own way, or would she end up like her?

She quickly put a stop to that train of thought, that was already too much introspection for one day.

Amity went to cast a spell to burn the letter, but the flame at her fingertips stopped just before it could lick the edge of the paper. No matter how much she wanted to force it, she couldn't bring herself to commit.

The flame vanished in a puff of smoke and Amity took in a deep breath.

Then, she twirled her fingers again, this time summoning a crow from a nearby flock. Once the letter was secured to the bird's leg, she set it free, hoping that it would make the choice for her.

Because all she could do now was hope.

A weight dropped in Amity’s stomach as she waited outside the doors to her mother’s study. She made a grave mistake, there was no denying that, but facing the consequences of her actions scared her more than anything in the world. If she couldn’t live free to be who she wanted to be, then she would be who she needed to be. If she couldn’t be who she needed, who was she? It would be so much easier if she forgot everything that led up to these events. Maybe it would be easier if she died – but no, that would only make things harder for Mother.

She took in a deep breath and pushed the door open.

Ever since her father died, not a lot about the Manor remained the same, and this was especially true of the old study. Against the wall, where his old desk once stood was now a bookshelf. Where his beautiful, elaborate rugs used to lay there now was something more simple, more utilitarian. All that remained from the old study, other than the small stains of abomination ichor on the walls, were the floorboards. Even then, they were sanded, polished and lacquered, to such a high degree that practically all the footprints that wore the stain out of the wood, all that history, were only memories destined to fade into obscurity. But that paled in comparison to the desk Mother set just a little ways off of the far end of the room.

The back of Odalia’s chair seemed to stretch infinitely toward the ceiling, framed by the wooden piers and pointed arches with sconces that, while lighting up the rest of the room, kept the woman’s face in the shadow.

Flanking her on both sides were stacks of papers and envelopes. Her desk was tilted upwards, an ink bottle already uncorked, and her pen furiously scratching away at the paper lying in front of her. Amity slowly closed the door behind her and Odalia looked her over with bespectacled eyes.

“Sit and wait for now, Mittens,” she told her daughter dismissively, “I’ve got work to do.”

“But,” Amity said, her breath catching, “isn’t this your work too. Isn’t there time that you could set aside for this, since you called me in here?”

Three loud angry scratches, a disgruntled sigh. Odalia took the paper that she worked on, dangling it by the corner, and twirled a finger to set the page aflame. Embers danced in the air, flickering until they died and reduced to ash.

“Why do you always insist on making this less efficient for me?”

“That’s not what I’m –.”

“It is what you’re doing,” Odalia snapped, “right now, begging for attention. Every single time. Do you know how time sensitive a lot of this work is?”

‘I would if you would teach me,’ Amity thought, but she wouldn’t even dare say that to her mother. Instead, she replied with a simple “No.”

“Then do not interrupt me,” said Odalia, “So much of my time is already taken up by you having these incidents to begin with. The least I can do is talk about this while I work.”

“Yes, Mother,” Amity said as she finally sat in the chair across from her.

They both went silent as Odalia resumed her scribbling. Page after page stacked up beside her as the other side dwindled. Seconds went by and became minutes and Amity shifted her feet.

“So,” she said sheepishly, “about the incident.”

“Do we need to have this conversation again?”

“I mean,” Amity faltered, “this was something different.”

“Barely,” said her mother, marking another stroke on the page. She placed the paper in the stack and got to work on the next one. “Every time I set you up with a suitor, something about them – I don’t know what – sets you off. Then you make a scene about the whole situation and it’s my job to clean it up and make amends with our current alliances. It is almost like you do not care for the House.”

“I – I do!” Amity stammered, “It’s just –.”

“It is just what, Mittens?” Odalia said, picking up the pace of her work, scratches accompanying every word she stressed, “You do not want to get married to them? I’ve chosen every suitor for you. I’ve bent to your demands and still you remain so picky that I’ve drained the pool for almost every possible bachelorette in Bonesborough .” With that last slash, she ripped a hole through the paper. Almost as if defeated, she picked up the paper and burned it.

Then she sighed, saying, “Titan knows I’ve reached beyond just our city by now.”

Amity sat up in her chair, “What do you mean?”

Her mother took another page from the stack and slid it over to her. Once she picked it up, she didn’t notice that her hand began to tremble.

The page read: Dearest Sir or Madam of House ___, you are cordially invited to a Gala at Blight Manor, celebrating the engagement of my beloved daughter, Amity. There will be a grand feast, hors d'oeuvres, music and merriment to be had. The event itself will take place on Scabruary 13th, at 6PM sharp. It would be a pleasure to enjoy your company at this event. Why would her mother celebrate her engagement? She knew well enough that she turned down every suitor. What could she gain by lying to them?

“Mother,” Amity said, "I don't know anyone outside of Bonesborough. I barely know anyone here.”

“This will be a good opportunity for you to meet new people, Mittens.” Odalia sat up from her chair.

“Then why would you lie to them?”

“Competition,” she said simply, “nothing more.”

“I am not a prize to be won!” Amity spat.

“Better to make you into a prize than to see you run away with those murderous Almagicians.”

Everything froze at that moment. Did she know about the letter? Was she trying to lure her into another trap?

“Mother,” Amity said, “I promise I have no intention to run away.”

Her breath stifled. Did she just lie to her?

Odalia cast her gaze at her daughter. Inhaled, exhaled. Her face was as cold as stone and twice as hard. When her finger trailed around the surface of the desk, shivers went down Amity’s spine. When Odalia reached the stack of papers, she set them alight. The bright flame illuminated her face and fear began to possess the room.

It was at that moment, the necklace that draped around Amity’s neck started to glow. There was nowhere she could run. Nowhere she could hide. Now all that sat between her and her life were the secrets kept between them.

When Odalia bared her fist on the desk, Amity flinched, only to relax when it opened. But the true horror lay when her mother lifted her hand from the desk entirely, because what sat there was nothing more than a crow with a broken string tied around its leg, not moving, not breathing.

Dead.

“What can you tell me about this bird, Amity?” Odalia asked, “I’m sure you would love to spill your heart, talk about the plumage, what its beastkeeper’s name is, the contents of that Titan Damned note it lost!”

Dum, da dum, da dum, da dum. Drums echoed within Amity’s ears, the pounding of blood and bile crashing against the canal. Her mouth opened to say something, anything, but nothing came out. All she could do was breathe in and breathe out, stifled. Fear flooded her bloodstream and the pace of her breath quickened.

Da dum, da dum, da dum. Nails drummed up against her mother’s desk impatiently. The air began to thin around her. Suffocate her.

Dadumdadumdadum. Odalia’s lips moved, but the words came out muffled. Her teeth were bared, her brow was furrowed. The Amulet around her mother’s neck now glowed. Amity was in trouble if she didn’t say anything. Her mouth opened again, but instead of the words she was looking for, instead of any words at all, a gasp for air followed. Her chest hurt, like she was being crushed.

Dadadadadadadadada.

“AMITY!”

“I DON’T KNOW!”

Amity’s breath caught in her throat. She knew what was coming next, and she wanted to do everything in her power to stall it. Though, her mind and body betrayed her. The overwhelming anxiety wanted to take over the reins of the carriage and veer her off a cliff, before handing everything over to her mother.

Her mother, who’d resort to rummaging around her mind just to catch her in a lie.

Deep breath in, deep breath out. A gaze upward found Odalia standing there, with her hands folded in on themselves and her eyes piercing Amity’s soul..

“I’m sorry, Mother –.”

“This is the last time you speak to me like that,” Odalia snapped, “are we clear?”

“Yes, Mother.”

“Amity,” she said, walking around her desk and stopping at her daughter’s side, “I am utterly disappointed in you.”

“I’m sorry,” Amity said, trembling, “please forgive me.”

“Then tell me why you lied first.”

“You’ll punish me if I do.”

“You’re getting punished regardless, Mittens.” Odalia sighed, “I promise you that your punishment won’t be any worse if you let me know your reasoning.”

Amity flinched away and stood from her chair, backing into the wall as Odalia tried to touch her hair. The older woman’s brow furrowed and she placed her hands on her hips.

“Miss Amity Blight,” Odalia threatened, putting her hand on the amulet around her neck, “you have until the count of three.”

Why can’t she just tell her? She is just making things worse for herself.

“One.”

It was hard to breathe. Her back was pressed up against the wall and she was staring into the cold green void that was her mother’s eyes.

“Two!”

Both of the amulets glowed brighter and brighter. Blinding. Amity opened her mouth and –.

“Three!”

The room exploded in a wash of blinding light. Amity’s skull pounded, blood swishing in her ears. The pressure alone felt like her head was about to burst. She went down on her knees to vomit, but nothing came out, as she had eaten nothing in the morning or the night before. There was nothing left in her stomach except for the lingering pain.

Despite all the agony and torment, she tried to lift herself up from the floor.

Then everything went black.

The white void was comforting, at least. When Amity opened her eyes, she found herself within a vast expanse of nothingness. She wasn’t dead, that much she knew. Though, after everything that happened, she wished she were. If only her mother killed her right at that moment, she wouldn’t feel pain anymore. She wouldn’t be afraid.

Wind rushed through her hair. A landscape appeared before her with spine trees dotting its hills.

Forearm Forest. That’s where she met her friends.

When her father was still alive, he would allow her outside the manor every once in a while to play around. The smell of the fallen needles after a long night of boiling rain was still fresh in her memory. She could get lost admiring the boughs of every tree and the way the sun cast its light through the gaps, leaving little halos on the ground. If Amity were dead, this is where she would want to remain in her afterlife.

But there was something odd about these particular trees. Paintings sat in natural alcoves, almost as if the trees themselves grew around them, paintings of various moments in Amity’s life. Her father’s death, Edric and Emira leaving the Manor. Then there was the memory that made her skin crawl, the one where she wrote and sent the letter.

So if she was inside her own mind, that could only mean –.

“Amity,” Odalia said, “I know you’re out there. Come out at once.”

In a panic, Amity took the painting of the letter and ripped it out of the tree. The frame cracked and broke apart. Panicking, she threw it over a nearby embankment. What her mother didn’t see wouldn’t kill her.

It was as Willow once said: Out of sight, out of mind.

“Amity,” Odalia sang, “Don’t you want to help me?”

Amity rounded the corner of a nearby tree and met face to face with Odalia.

“It took you long enough,” her mother snarked, “even in your own mind, you’re never on time.”

“I didn’t wake until now,” Amity said, “sorry.”

Odalia rolled her eyes and scoffed. “Just tell me what I need to find and I’ll be out of your hair; make this easier on you.”

The forest air was tainted with the heavy scent of dosewater and bile as Odalia walked past, a trail that could only be picked up when she was close. Amity turned and followed behind her, keeping a considerable distance away from her.

“It always baffles me, your mind,” Odalia said, “I would have expected that it’d look closer to the manor by now. What is it about this forest that is so special to you?”

There was no reply. When Odalia turned to look over her shoulder, Amity only shrugged.

What was wrong with her? Why did she keep lying? It made sense to comply, because then she’d get an easier punishment.

Easy? There was nothing easy waiting for her. Nothing easy ever did wait for her when her mother had to resort to invading her mind.

But if her mother learned the truth, it didn’t matter what she said, how she excused it, Amity would practically be dead.

She would rather be dead.

Paintings upon paintings lined the winding path of trees. Memories of her nineteen long years. The happier memories with her father in the picture. The memories of his grave in another one of the courtyards.

Then she saw Luz, nothing like she was now, but as a child of fourteen, just coming to the Isles covered in bruises and knelt over sobbing. A younger Amity stood to the side, shyly wanting to comfort her.

Even with all the damage, Luz was already beautiful back then. The softness in her face, the darkness of her eyes. Her wavy chestnut hair was tied in a ponytail and wet from the Boiling Sea. Amity could only imagine the suffering she must have gone through, trying to get out of that. Humans must have been accustomed to the heat.

It was many years ago, but it felt as if it was still yesterday.

“She was the worst of them all.” Odalia said. Amity, flustered in her trance, turned toward her.

“I didn’t think so.” Amity muttered under her breath.

“Then she deceived you.”

Tears welled up in her eyes. Surely, Luz didn’t kill her father. Why would she? There was no motive, he had been nothing but kind to her.

But if that was true, then why would her mother lie to her? To control her? No, that couldn’t be right. Edric and Emira left, her father’s dead, and her friends had all left her behind.

Was she the problem?

Maybe it was time for a fresh start, maybe she should remold herself – and there was one way she could do that, provided she could distract her mother for long enough.

“Yes,” Amity said, “she did. I am sorry I ever doubted you, Mother.”

“You’re forgiven, Amity,” Odalia said, “Don’t you ever doubt an Oracle’s intuition.”

Strange, she only used that line when she was off trading with other noble families, though the weight of the words hit harder now that she used it on her.

“You should go on,” Amity told her mother, “the memory you’re looking for should be back in that corridor we were in, further down the way we went. Turn right and after a few paces, it should be there.”

A smirk stretched Odalia’s lips, “Well, I appreciate that you’re cooperating. Some sense was finally knocked into you.”

Her mother’s spindled fingers ran through her hair, paused for a moment, and fixed a small strand into its place. Satisfied with her work, she left, carefully stepping around the fallen leaves.

When Amity couldn’t hear the pattern of Odalia’s feet any longer, she took the painting of Luz by the frame, tore it from the tree and dropped it on the ground. There was no time. As quick as her feet could take her, she ran over to the next painting with Luz, Willow, and Gus, and brought it over to the clearing.

One after another after another, she brought them. Memories of when they first met, memories of the games they played. The good times, the bad. Every memory she ever shared with her friends.

After a moment, she stopped to catch her breath. She knew there was only one more memory left to find. Thankfully, she turned her mother away from where it actually was. She had to get that one, no matter what.

“Amity?” her mother called out, “Are you sure you lead me in the right direction?”

“It should be there, Mother!” Amity lied, “Just a little further down!”

Blood pounded in her ears. Footfalls on the soft earth crunched against the various twigs and spine needles. She finally reached the place where she woke and traced her steps to the memory she was looking for.

“Amity!” Her mother called out. She was still further away, maybe could still pull this off in time.

In the clearing, a nearby tree was growing its roots, trying to repair the frame of the memory. What was it again? It didn’t matter, she needed to get rid of it. Her fingers wrapped around the frame and she started to pull, but it wouldn’t budge.

Again and again she tried but with no progress. The tree gripped against the frame with roots on every corner. She tried to maneuver it around, but the grip was too tight. She tried pleading to it, but there was no response. The tree just pulled tighter, threatening to swallow her along with the memory.

The pain in her fingers was too much to bear as she gripped the frame tight and pulled with all her might. And finally, the frame shattered before her, throwing her back to the ground. She gathered all the pieces as well as the canvas and ran.

Her mother called again, this time sounding much closer. “Amity Blight!”

Shit.

Amity raced toward where the pile was, through the trees. She weaved back and forth until she finally managed to reach the clearing and –.

Odalia stood in front of her, with the pile of memories right behind.

“Just what do you think you’re doing with that, Madame Blight?”

Amity hid the shredded painting behind her to keep it out of her mother’s reach. “What I should have done with these memories long ago.”

It was then, for the first time in Amity’s life, that she saw genuine fear dawn on her mother’s face. Not for herself, no, but for her own daughter. But why would she care about her wellbeing now?

“Amity,” Odalia said, “don’t do this.”

Her mother reached out, but she instinctively ducked out of the way and flung the memory onto the pile.

“STOP!” Her mother cried out, but her cries fell on deaf ears.

When Amity ran toward her freedom, her heart was alight. No longer would she be torn between pleasing her mother and seeing her friends. No longer would the thought of being married off leave her in a depression. She would finally be free.

She would forget about them. She would forget about her love.

Her heart started to ache and tears breached through her lids and rolled down her cheeks. No, this had to be done. This is what was best for her.

The air rushed over her as she dove behind the stack of picture frames and canvas. She was a phoenix and a new image of herself was going to rise from the ashes.

Ignoring one last plea from her mother, Amity drew a massive spell circle in the air, and set her memories alight.

Darkness. Amity’s eyelids felt heavy. She could almost make out someone talking with her mother. Who was it? Why did she feel so tired?

Her mother’s voice got louder. She was yelling at them. She normally did, when she was trying to protect her.

But protect her from what?

A door swung open and Amity was able to open her eyes just the slightest bit. Through the haze, she could see her mother and what looked like a healer, a bespectacled witchling in white robes with a blue trim running across the hem. She couldn’t make out their face, though.

“Lady Blight,” the healer said, “I was only able to recover the core parts of her memory. There were some parts that couldn’t be repaired, those frames were just too damaged.”

That’s right – she did remember running a fever. Maybe that was it and not some common mold.

“Which memories?” Her mother snapped, “Which ones? Is she still my daughter?”

“M-mom?” Amity said weakly.

Odalia gasped and wrapped her arms around her daughter, “Mittens! Oh, you’re okay! I was so worried about you!”

Amity was as stiff as a board, but she wasn’t sure why. An overwhelming surge of emotion overcame her and she wept, hugging her mother back even tighter.

“Shh, shh.” Odalia said as she ran her fingers through her daughter’s hair, “You’ll be alright now. They won’t hurt you anymore. Not even that dreadful Luz.”

Hearing that name, Amity recoiled in pain and pulled away from her mother. Her hand pressed against her throbbing temple and she wiped away what dripped under her nose with her fingers on her other hand. There was no mistaking that what she saw was blood.

Amity looked up at her mother and asked: “Who are you talking about?”

#reblogging to boost this again #f1uffyturtle fanfic #lumity #spectral ties #toh spectral ties #the owl house fanfiction #the owl house spectral ties #the owl house #toh #fanfiction

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