winterdupont:
She wants to ask who this person is, but she supposes it doesn’t really matter. This is an opportunity to grow her magic, she’s not about to ask questions when she’s just happy to be being taught something new. Winter does as instructed, puts her hands over Markus’s and lets out a slow breath before nodding her head. It would perhaps help to know the person, but she can conjure someone wicked all on her own. The hair, the skin, the nails, they become a person in her mind’s eye and then slowly they begin to rot. Skin bubbles as if something is underneath it and seems to seep through, like water through a pair of nylons but…Thicker. It is like a fungus bursting forth, shingling like scales along forearms, biceps, and creeping towards the individual’s face and they are helpless, their skin sallow, gaunt like their very bones are sucking at it to conform it to their skeleton.
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Power built beneath their fingertips as he drew the mental image of his victim into the forefront of his mind, Markus drew man into his thoughts as he felt Winter’s power interlace with his own. The maggots within the satchel writhed and convulsed under the force of his magic, his incantation forced a reaction from the birds in the trees, the critters about the forest. It was dark and repugnant as his intention and all the beasts about them fled as the world grew silent save for Markus’ spell. Through the representational totems the witch could feel his victim stirring as Winter’s magic laid nicely into his own, perhaps a more natural when it came to curse work than she’d previously let on. The satchel writhed and then fell flat against the altar as its contents vanished with the spell’s crescendo. A great crack filled the air and Markus’ magic died down, in the distance birds could be heard chirping once more, and the witch’s hand withdrew from Winter’s. “It is done.”