Miriam was the second character that I picked up but the first one that I looked at. I thought, “Damn, that would be fun,” but I wasn’t quite ready to jump in with someone like Miriam at first. So, I picked up Nadia, made a character that was nicer, and then I pick Miriam up. I needed something to fall back on when I didn’t want to be a raging bitch.
The thing was, Miriam wasn’t a raging bitch. Now, don’t get me wrong, she was absolutely a bitch. She hurt people, some of them player characters, though most of them npcs, and she could be cruel, but she also learned to care about people. She went from being someone who thought that her only purpose in life was hurting people to being someone who thought she could do better, be better, even if she sometimes wondered if she deserved it.
The struggle with morality was always going to Miriam’s biggest struggle, and I’ve tried to capture that from the very beginning. Whether or not I’ve been able to do that is up for debate, but I have tried. And, just as that struggle has always been there, so, too, has been the knowledge that the end was never going to be pretty for Miriam. I knew from the moment I took her on as a character that I wanted something like this to happen. Miriam was never going to be the kind of character that got a happy ending. Even when I gave her friends and made her fall in love, even when I made her kind and gave her kindness, this was always meant to happen.
Back towards the beginning, there was an arcana based anon that called Miriam a daughter of pyres. She was. She was a maker of funerals. All pyres must burn out, leaving nothing but ash and bits of bone.
I want to take a bit of time to thank everyone, both past members and present, that have allowed me to write and develop this character in a way that made her seem real. It was always a fear of mine that Miriam would come off as one dimensional, that I wouldn’t play her properly, that some of her development might not seem real. But I’ve tried to play her to the best of my abilities, and, when her snotty little voice came into my head, I went where it wanted to take me, even if that was into gentler waters that I originally intended.
Miriam’s end is not gentle, and it is not quick. It’ll last for a long, long time. The pyre will burn well into the night and well into the day, over and over again until it all bleeds together. Who knows? Maybe, one day, someone will find her. Maybe, she’ll be screaming still.
TIMING: Current, and then some
SUMMARY: Miriam is going to get out of this.
CONTENT: No warnings :)
Miriam didn’t know how long she was screaming profanities at that woman, but she did it until her throat felt raw, and then she did it some more. She threw rocks that she found, avoiding the rosary when she could, though her hands grazed it a time or two. It stung her fingers. It didn’t matter. Miriam was going to get out of this.
She was. It’d just take a little longer than she thought.
There wasn’t much room to pace, so Miriam eventually gave up on it, taking off her jacket and placing it on the ground before she sat on it. Well, this wasn’t quite how she imagined the night going. There was a lot of apologizing Miriam was going to have to do when she got out of this, but she was going to get out of this. Morgan would find her. Evelyn would find her. Evelyn, who knew where she was going. Evelyn, who would be freed from her compulsion by morning, who would know to come looking for Miriam and who to bring. Yes, Miriam would get out of this soon, and then that little witch would regret it.
Or maybe she wouldn’t. Maybe this was a fool’s errand, chasing after something that would never give her what she wanted. Is that what Miriam was? Is that what a dearg-due or whatever was? Something bound to chase after revenge and pain and misery to the ends of whatever purgatory-like town they were bound in? Miriam didn’t know, but she was tired of it. Let the little witch live. See if she gave a fuck. She just wanted this to end.
She stared up at the roof of her temporary prison, but she couldn’t look at it for too long. The crucifix hurt her eyes. It wouldn’t be there long, though.
She’d get out of this soon.
When she got out, she’d call Elle and tell her to still follow through with what she’d asked of her, and to let everyone know that the shop would be closed all of next week. Miriam wanted a break. She wanted to spend time relaxing, and even though she enjoyed her work, she just wanted to spend time with the people that she cared about.
Thinking about that was nice. It was distracting, if only briefly. But there was no light, no way for Miriam to keep up with the time. She couldn’t tell if it was still night, if it was morning. So she started to count, the task monotonous but still giving her something to do, and she picked up rocks and threw them into the marble slab above her.
That was all that she could do for the time being.
Miriam wasn’t the most patient person in the world, but this wasn’t dissimilar to when she’d locked herself in the mausoleum all of those years ago. Then, though, Miriam had gone into a trance from the very beginning, trying to calm herself as much as she could. She’d remembered when the hunger started to set in, and then there was nothing. Nothing until she’d woken up when the gardener had discovered her almost two years ago, now. He was dead, and then Gillian had died, and then so many others, one after the other, until Miriam had grown tired of the blood on her hands.
And now, a part of her still wanted it, still craved it. But she was also so tired. She just wanted peace, love, understanding. She didn’t want to need misery and blood. But that was her lot in life, wasn’t it? That was how it would always be for her. It had been a pipe dream to think killing that little witch bitch would save her. She would always need blood. She would always need misery. But she’d been so good, the last few months. Perhaps she could continued being good.
Miriam, at the very least, was willing to try.
Her name being called out pulled her out of her head, and Miriam couldn’t help the relief that she felt. “Here!” she called out. “I’m down here! I’m trapped under here!”
She could hear Morgan and Evelyn calling for her, their voices frantic, and they drew closer and closer, and Miriam just knew this was going to be it. She just knew that they’d find a way to get her out. She stood, smiling, nearly laughing with relief. “Evelyn! Morgan!” They were right on top of her. They had to hear her. They had to know that she was down there.
They kept calling out for her, and then they moved away, their voices growing fainter.
Miriam felt something sinking in her stomach. Could they not hear her? “Morgan! Evelyn!”
They were getting further and further away from her, and Miriam was getting frantic. She dug her nails into the walls of the hole she was trapped in and tried to scale up to the top, pressing her hand against the marble slab. The crucifix burned her palms, and she cried out, but she kept pushing against until she couldn’t anymore, slipping and falling and landing on her back before she pulled herself back up again. “Evelyn! Evelyn! Evelyn!”
No one could hear her. Miriam was screaming her throat raw, sobbing, but no one could hear her. The sounds of her name being called were so faint that she could barely hear them. They were going in the wrong direction. They were getting too far away.
“This will never end for you, Miriam,” Theo said, appearing beside her. “This will never end.”
“I taught the girl well,” Gillian added, appearing on her other side. There was pride in her voice. Pride and sadness. “You won’t be getting out of here any time soon.”
“No, no, no!” Miriam cried out, still screaming. “Come back! I’m down here! Come back!”
There were ghosts filling the hole in the ground, surrounding Miriam. Some of them were familiar faces, others barely registered in her mind. There wasn’t enough space for all of them. Miriam felt crowded.
“This was never going to end any other way, Miriam,” Theo whispered in her ear. “Look at this. All the blood you’ve shed. Look at us. This was never going to end any other way for you.”
Miriam was damned from the very beginning, wasn’t she? No matter what she did, she was damned. Whether she’d killed that witch or ended up in this hole, she was always damned.
The past collected around her, and there were so many people that Miriam wished she hadn’t killed, but Theo would never be one of them. She looked at his spirit with such hate, and he echoed it back to her. They all did.
Miriam sat on the ground, her hands wrapped around her. The ghosts hands wrapped around her as well.
This time, when Miriam cried out for people to come and find her, she knew they wouldn’t. She called for them anyway. A perk of being undead: one’s lungs would never truly run out of air. Miriam screamed. She didn’t stop. She didn’t know if she ever would.
Hard to Dance with the Devil on Your Back || Helena & Miriam
TIMING: Current
PARTIES: @wickedwildething @meflemming
SUMMARY: Miriam wants to finally end this. Helena does, too.
CONTENT: Medical blood (used to perform magic ritual) marked in paragraph.
Helena told everyone she could snag a conversation with on Amity Row that she was planning something big in Hambry Park. A secret ‘wouldn’t you like to know’ big thing at midnight, the witching hour. And every night, she sat up with two slayer siblings she’d brokered a supply deal with, hoping that it would be true. The Witch Hunter would find her whether she sniffed out the trap or not.
Tonight, Helena pulled up grass by the fist-full and scraped at gravestones with her knife.
“Watch it, that’s sacred,” One of the slayers said.
Helena stopped, but not without grumbling “Oh, bite me,” under her breath.
When she heard about what was happening in Hambry Park, Miriam told Evelyn that she was going to deal with something. There must have been a look in Miriam’s eyes, something that Evelyn could see and understand and not like because she’d begged Miriam not to go, pleaded, said that she’d go after her. So Miriam had to compel Evelyn to not come after her, to stay at her house until morning.
Miriam fed really well before she walked out the door, and she’d never felt so guilty about it. She hadn’t been able to stop the tears from forming in her eyes. But there was no reason to cry, there was no reason for Evelyn to worry because this wasn’t going to end with Miriam suffering from the pointy end of a stake. She’d make it back to her girlfriend, and she’d apologize for being a bitch, and things would get better. Things were going to get better.
She heard the woman talking with the slayers (easily picked out by their stances, the stakes, their haughty expressions), and, really, there was no better time for Miriam to make her entrance. “I doubt they’ll bite you, but I just might, darling.”
Helena jolted to her feet. In the dark, the Witch Hunter looked like a monster half made in shadow. Like herself. Not the Miriam Fleming White Crest thought she was. “Gotta catch me first, bitch. And I’ve got backup.”
She flung holy water at the Witch Hunter in a blind arc and started running. She risked one look over her shoulder. The slayers were supposed to take her down alive, and she’d be pissed enough to hex them if they didn’t deliver.
Miriam shielded her eyes from whatever it was the witch threw at her. The skin where the water touched burned and sizzled, the sting of holy water making her eyes go red and her fangs pop out. Fucking bitch. But the woman was gone, running, and there were still two slayers to deal with.
“Good evening,” she said, and she didn’t give them time to react as she lunged. Miram didn’t have any sort of combat training, not like the slayers probably did. But she had speed and she had strength, and, sometimes, numbers could be used against each other. Miriam quite literally used them against each other, slamming into one and forcing him into the other, forcing both of them into a grave. “I don’t care about either of you, so stay the fuck out of my way.” Then it was time to pursue, following the sound and smell of the Wildes woman.
“Fucking fuck,” Helena hissed. The slayer siblings were supposed to at least buy her more than a literal minute. She pounded the ground as she ran for the nearest mausoleum. No time to do anything cute like secure doors or make fresh holy symbols. The best she could hope for was not getting ploughed down by her own prey. She tripped over the doorway of the stone building and fell, scraping her skin as she tried to stop herself. She got to her knees, choking on air as she tried to center herself.
Once she smelled blood, it was almost too easy for Miriam to find the woman. She was so human. For all that power, for all her window breaking bravado, she was just a woman. She was a stupid, feckless woman, and Miriam strolled up to her slowly, her movements easy, relaxed. “I kind of expected more from you. You come into my house, threaten me and my friend, put together this elaborate ruse to draw me out, and what? You trip over yourself in a goddamn crypt? You’re what’s left of them?” Miriam sneered, something primal and awful like she hadn’t been in too long. It was exhilarating. God, what would they think of you? What would Gilly think of you?”
Helena slapped the ground and poured herself into it. The floor (thick marble and dirt, so simple and so fucking exhausting to work against) dissipated and swallowed the monster standing on it. Helena coughed, already sweating in anticipation. The hole she’d made in the floor was a craggy mess, but it was deep and it held and she could crawl right up to the edge and peer in.
“I have a better question,” she wheezed. “How long can a monster last under a rock, and how badly do these babies burn you?” She tossed a rosary into the hole and reached for the stones she’d kept stashed by the crypts all these nights. “Aunt Gillian was into fancy detail work shit, so she wouldn’t think too much about this job.” With a gesture, Helena flattened the rocks into a slab, a large cross etched into the middle. It wasn’t a clean fit, not yet, but she’d spend her magic til she was sick making this right. “I wonder what she’d think of you right now. Food for thought.”
The ground disappearing from underneath her was a bit shocking for Miriam and she reached out, fingers scraping the edge but unable to hold it properly as she fell. She landed on her feet, the action painful as bones bruised and broke and began healing themselves as she landed, the meal that she’d had of Evelyn’s misery and blood from several days ago sustaining and helping to jumpstart the healing process. She glared up at the woman, and jerked away from the rosary beads, the holy symbols from a religion she’d once been ambivalent towards making a mockery of her as she shied away from them.
“You’re really going to do… what is this, exactly?” Miriam asked, watching the witch bitch shape rocks, her face showing off the effects of exhaustion. “You want to trap me in here? Truly? You think this is going to do me in? Darling, I was in the ground for years before I woke back up. I’ll be out of your little child’s play prison before you know it.” She sneered, already looking for a way out as the spellcaster worked. “That was willing. This? I’ll be out of this in no time.” Miriam picked up a rock, avoiding touching the rosary. “What did Gilly think of you. She was a competent witch, you know. Always was. What did she think of a creature like you? What’s it like being the last and the worst of a dead coven?”
The Witch Hunter’s taunting gave Helena the energy boost she needed to push the slab as much into place as it would ever be. Laying on it, half spent, she poured her magic into it like fresh cement and sealed every crack and crevice. To look at the floor now, you’d never know it had looked like anything else.
“It feels pretty good right now!” She called. “It’ll feel even better when I get a friend of mine down here to get me a wish. I’ve been pretty good this year, so I’m thinking, keeping you in the dark til the world’s forgotten you would be a nice early Yule present. Or maybe I’ll just ask for you to feel everything you made them feel when you killed them, forever.” She coughed again and knocked her fist on the marble. It was so thick it didn’t even sound hollow. “And as for Aunt Gillian, she’d probably be pissed at me for wasting so much energy on you. But she’s not here to care anymore, is she?”
The sound of the slab falling into place made Miriam pause, something like fear building in her chest. But she forced it out. She wasn’t afraid. This was nothing. She had people that would care for her, come looking for her. She reached up before jerking her hand away, the holy symbol burning and bright, even from a slight difference. She cradled her hand to her chest, snarling.
“It won’t feel good for long!” she yelled back at the girl, a fucking child. She laughed, the sound high, belying a panic she wouldn’t properly let herself feel. “Typical fucking witch bitch, getting someone else to fight your battles for you. It’s nice to know that if you didn’t have your stupid fucking wish you wouldn’t have any confidence that you could keep me here.” She threw a rock against the barrier, her stomach sinking at how solid it sounded. “Take your Yule present and shove it up your ass. I did Gillian a favor, killing her before she could behold the pathetic likes of you. At least her suffering is over. Your parents’ suffering, too.”
“That’s not the only part of my plan,” Helena said, now recovered enough to sit cross legged on the floor. “See, I don’t just want you to be trapped. I want you to be alone. So all these people who think you’re anything but a piece of shit family killer won’t be able to find you and pay their respects. No randos, no kids playing in the gravestones, no vampire buddies. They won’t hear or find a trace of you. It’ll be like you don’t exist. And that curse, I need you to know, is a personal gesture from me to you.
She crawled over to her bag of supplies and started setting up shop: candles, cauldron, the works. “And you’re right, about my family. I don’t need you to tell me you’re right. This is probably the only thing I’m ever gonna get right in my life, but I don’t care. Because see, their suffering is over. Yours is just beginning.”
[MEDICAL BLOOD TW] With one slice of her knife, Helena bled onto her offering plate. [MEDICAL BLOOD END] The best curses were sealed in blood and hate and when it came to the silencing of the Witch Hunter once and for all, Helena Wildes had more than enough.
‘You’ve got a fucking shitty plan,” Miriam yelled. There wasn’t enough room to pace, and she couldn’t try to climb up and get close without risking touching the holy symbol. “Nice try, but there are plenty who will be looking for me, plenty that know I came to look for you.” If Miriam could just kill this one bitch, she’d be free. She knew she’d be free. That was all she needed to do. “Go ahead and curse me. But I’m not the same person. I could show that to you, if you let me out,” she said, her voice sweet and cooing. She’d show the Wildes woman that she’d changed. Once she ripped out this one’s throat, she’d be done.
“You’re sealing your fate just like they did,” Miriam snarled, baring her teeth in the dark though no one could see. “I will get out, and I will make you suffer. I will show you what suffering really is.” She picked up a rock and threw it hard enough to embed it into the slab of marble above her, but it was pointless. It didn’t budge. She was starting to come to the realization that she wouldn’t be home that night, possibly the night after. But that didn’t matter. She’d be found. Whatever the spellcaster was doing, it didn’t matter. Someone would find her, and she could end this. Miriam was going to end this, damn it. This wasn’t the end for her.
Helena finished, doused the fire, and shoved everything back into her bag. She hoped the Witch Hunter was still screaming insults at her. She hoped she screamed all night and day and night again. She hoped that one day, when this town had finally eaten itself alive and the world was half burned and magic had started to fizzle out, the Witch Hunter would be screaming still.
TIMING: Current
SUMMARY: Miriam hears of something happening in Hambry Park. It’s time to end this.
CONTENT: No warnings :)
It had been while she was heading into her shop that Miriam overheard it. Low voices, trying to be quiet. They talked about something “wicked cool” happening in Hambry Park, some chick that had been talking about it. Someone wild. Someone Wildes.
It had been enough for Miriam to close early. She called Elle into her office. “If I’m not in on Monday, there’s something I want you to do.” Miriam explained what she wanted from the girl, watching as Elle’s frown grew more and more concerned as time went on, but she let Miriam talk.
“But you’ll be back on Monday, right?” Elle asked. She shifted her weight around. Miriam could almost smell her concern. “I’m not gonna have to do that, right?”
“Of course I will. This is just a necessary precaution. Trust me, dear, by Monday, things are going to be different.” Miriam smiled. “For the better. It’s all going to be for the better. I might even take a vacation with Evelyn. Somewhere nice. Somewhere out of town.”
Elle’s eyes widened because Miriam never went out of town, and she gave a quick nod before she left.
Which meant that Miriam was left alone until the sun set. She found herself drawing, thinking that she was going to continue working on those shoes she wanted to design for Evelyn but instead began drawing a face. A sharp jawline. Sharper eyes. A mouth that was made to form a smirk. They’d always matched in that way when they’d been together.
Theo looked up at her, his eyes lacking kindness. It was just like he’d been in life. Really, pencil sketches were Miriam’s true talent. She took a deep breath, pencil poised to destroy the drawing, before she let it out. She took the drawing and folded it, sticking it in her pocket, and looked at the time. It was late enough for her to be able to leave.
Miriam got in her car, but she didn’t immediately go home. She couldn’t immediately go home. Instead, she went to the cemetery. When she found Theo’s grave, she put the drawing on it. “This ends tonight,” she murmured.
“It doesn’t. It’ll never end for you.”
There was no surprise on Miriam’s face. She didn’t even turn to look at the ghost of her dead husband. “No. No, this is it. This is the end. This will free me.”
Theo snorted, the sound wet. Probably because, even in death, he would forever be choking on his own blood. “You always were so good at believing lies.”
“Fuck off,” she snarled.
“What do you think’s going to happen, Mim?”
“Don’t call me that.” She got up and looked at him, really looked at him, at the tattered remains of his skin hanging off of him. Miriam pulled her jacket closer, though the cool wind did nothing to her. She had more of Theo’s skin at this point than he did.
“You’re going to tell yourself this is the end, this is the end, this is the end,” Theo said, looking at her with dead eyes. Miriam always hated that, the way ghosts could choose to look. “And you’re gonna have that girls blood all over you, and it’s not going to be the end at all, is it?”
“Did you think killing me was going to be the end, Miri?” Miriam turned around, and there was Gillian, her head hanging at an angle from the way Miriam had torn through her neck.
“I thought that was the beginning,” Miriam said. “I thought I had a purpose.”
The two siblings that Miriam had loved so dearly and killed so horrifically looked at each other before they looked back at her. Theo stepped forward. “To kill spellcasters. And do you still feel that way, darling? You’ve been so good, recently.”
“Stop it,” Miriam said.
“What will your friend think with you falling off the wagon like this?” Gillian asked.
Theo sneered. It suited his face even in death. “What will your lover think?”
“Just stop!” Miriam said. And then she was alone, screaming in a cemetery. She could see them lurking out of the corner of her eyes, though. All of them. Every Wildes. Every witch. They knew that tonight was the end. Miriam snarled, baring sharp fangs, her eyes blood red. “She can join you. Won’t that be exciting. One big happy fucking family. The last of you.”
There was something on Miriam’s face, and she wiped it away, looking at her own tears. Ridiculous. Utterly ridiculous. This would all be over soon. Tonight. It would end tonight, and Miriam would be free.
She looked at Theo’s grave, at the way the sketch she drew of him fluttered in the wind. Miriam picked it up, ripped it to shreds. He was nothing. They were nothing. Soon, the last of them would be nothing. And Miriam? She’d be free. She could practically feel it.
Tucking her hands into her pockets, Miriam headed to her car. She wanted to go home. She’d see Evelyn, just for a bit, and she’d reassure her that everything was going to be alright, and then, then, she’d end this.
What is the best day your character can imagine having?
I think it’d be a day where she wakes up after actually sleeping, and she feels well-rested for the first time in years. There’s sunlight on her face, and it doesn’t feel like she’s about to be lit on fire. She feels happy. She feels warm. She feels content.
She can get in her car and drive around town. She can drive out of town. She can drive back into town, do some work, paint a little. She ends the day with a nice meal with the woman she loves, has a wonderful evening with her, and falls asleep holding her and being held.
It’s a simple day but a happy one, and that’s the best day that Miriam can imagine. It’s a fantasy, though.
[Meta] What is a personality trait your character developed that wasn’t in your original conception of them?
[meta] I didn't expect Miriam to be as... sometimes generous as I've made her, if that makes sense. Like, I knew that she was much more fond of people that aren't spellcasters and that the fact was going to come out a lot more, but she genuinely cares about people and can be relatively giving. She also rather fond of the youths, though I'm sure any that she's encountered probably tease the hell out of her. She's amused by the 21st Century even though parts of it baffle her and she keeps breaking her cellular phones. She's just more... fun, than I thought she'd be. It's probably because her version of fun isn't the kind of fun that the people around her necessarily enjoy because a girl's gotta eat, even if that means that she's got to make a few people miserable to do so.
One thing that I never expected Miriam to do again was love people. She was not supposed to actually get soft, and the fact that she did is a little baffling to me. She, albeit briefly, gave up on that thirst for revenge.
It’s back, though :) Granted, it’s only focused towards one singular witch, but she’s gonna see It through, and that’s something that I think was with the character from the very beginning. Singlehanded drive to get what she wants, when she wants it.
TIMING: Current
SUMMARY: Miriam can’t stop thinking about it.
CONTENT: No warnings :)
After cleaning up and shooing Morgan home with the assurance that everything would be alright, Miriam went to her workshop, the Wildes woman still on her mind. She worked on a few projects, finished up a few orders for her clients, started sketching out a Christmas present for Evelyn. She was thinking about trying her hand at making shoes again, a nice pair of boots for the woman that she loved.
She couldn’t get the Wildes woman off of her mind.
When Evelyn came home, Miriam explained what happened, though she could clearly see the distress on her partner’s face. For the rest of the night, Miriam stayed in the bed, holding and being held by her love. And it was nice, and it was comforting, and, even if Miriam couldn’t sleep, this was almost as soothing. Being with Evelyn was better than sleeping, really. She liked that she was aware of every moment that they spent together.
She couldn’t get the Wildes woman off of her mind.
Wildes. A goddamn, motherfucking Wildes. Miriam thought they were all gone. She thought that Gillian had been the last one. That was why there had been so little fanfare to her death. Miriam had just killed her, and she wanted that to be the end. That should have been the end. But it wasn’t.
She was still thinking about it as she drove to the shop early the next morning, driving to beat the sun. She was still thinking about it as she filled out paperwork in her office. She was still thinking about it as Elle walked in and jokingly asked her what she wanted for lunch.
“Oh, nothing, dear,” Miriam said absentmindedly.
Elle frowned at her. “You’re supposed to say ‘Just a coffee, Eleanor,’ Mim. So that your other employees are concerned about your caffeine intake, not the fact that you don’t eat.”
Miriam looked up at her. “Oh? Right, sorry. Just a coffee, Eleanor.”
“Yeah, alright,” Elle said, rolling her eyes. “Take it sleazy, boss.”
Any other time, and Miriam would have enjoyed bantering with the young woman that had started off as her nosy personal assistant but was now a friend. Instead, she was still thinking about the Wildes woman.
Miriam still didn’t understand what a dearg-due was. She was a vampire. She had a nearly uncontrollable lust for revenge. She wanted to cause misery, and, for the longest time, she thought that misery needed to come from spellcasters. She’d learned, of course, that wasn’t completely the case, but there were nights when it still felt like it. Killing them, hurting them for the way she’d been used by the people that were supposed to love her, that was what she still wanted, early in the morning when the only thing stirring was her.
There was one Wildes left, and Miriam was still filled with a desire to hunt down witches, and she thought there might be a correlation between these two things.
It was all that she could think about.
There was a message on her phone from Morgan checking in on her. Miriam responded, though she couldn’t recall with what. Something humorous, she assumed.
It was all she could think about.
Evelyn called. Miriam answered, smiled in all the right places even though it was a telephone call, tried her best to stay engaged. She knew Evelyn was concerned about her. She’d likely stop by the store so that they could go home together. Miriam wanted that. She needed that.
She couldn’t stop thinking about the Wildes girl.
Perhaps this was the key to Miriam’s troubles. There was one Wildes left alive, and she was, coincidentally, in town. If Miriam could get rid of her, then that would be it. That would be the end, wouldn’t it? She’d stop feeling like this, this awful need to hurt, to hunt, to slaughter. Maybe she’d even be able to leave this godforsaken town, live her life with the woman that she loved more than anything in the world.
Miriam tried to imagine that, a life (unlife) filled with things that didn’t revolve around the demise of others. She imagined that it’d be like the last few months, but better. She imagined that she’d be untethered to this place, free to do what she pleased, free to go where she pleased. They could start a family, if they wanted to. They could wait a few years if they didn’t. Miriam could see a world outside of White Crest, one that had changed and grown without her, and she could experience it for once.
She couldn’t stop thinking about it.
She didn’t know for sure, but maybe she could have that. Miriam should ask that zombie, MacLeod, but she didn’t want to get an answer that she didn’t want to hear. She needed this. She needed to be able to hold on to this. If she could just get rid of this one woman, this last woman, Miriam would truly get her clean slate. She’d truly be able to start atoning for her previous actions. She could grieve. She could grow. She could move on.
She couldn’t stop thinking about it.
“Closing time, Ms. Flemming,” one of her leatherworkers said, knocking on her door. Miriam looked down at the papers in front of her, only half filled out.
“Go on without me!” she called out to them. “I have some things to finish, and Evelyn’s on her way. I’ll see you all bright and early in the morning.”
She couldn’t stop thinking about it.
Surely, the spellcaster population in town would rejoice. There’d truly be no more fear of her. One more death, and this would all be over. One more look into the hate-filled eyes of someone whose life she ruined, and Miriam could have her own life. She knew it to be true. It had to be true. She could live. She could move on. She could get all of that wickedness out of her that was because of the creature that she’d become, and she could be a new creature, a better creature.
She’d kill the Wildes woman. It was all she could think about. It was all that she could think about.
Miriam heard the bell above the shop door ring, heard the sound of familiar footsteps, smelled familiar perfume. She smiled.
She had something better to think about. Thoughts of revenge could wait. At least, for now.
Why’d You Have to Rain on My Parade? || Miriam, Morgan, & Helena
TIMING: Current
PARTIES: @mor-beck-more-problems @wickedwildething @meflemming
SUMMARY: Miriam and Morgan are having a nice day. Helena wants a nice day, too.
CONTENT: Soft, until it isn’t
Sometimes, when she wasn’t with Evelyn, or in her office, or in her workshop, Miriam liked to paint in the great room of her house and pretend that things were still normal. She turned on the lights and pretended that sunlight could still stream in through the large, blocked off windows. Fluorescent lighting would never compare to the real deal, not for art. Still, it was what she had to work with. “I’m not the best at painting, still, though I suppose I’ve got plenty of time to work on it,” Miriam told her guest, looking over at the zombie who was in the room with her. Then she turned her attention back to her painting, her hands covered in trace amounts of blue and green and yellow orange. She blew a curl out of her face. She was trying to recall Dark Score Lake in the summer. Sometimes, it was more difficult that she cared to admit, remembering details from her life. It had been so long since she’d experienced a sunset properly. She missed marveling at the way sunlight hit the dew in the mornings, turning it all manners of colors. There was a lot that she missed. She knew there was a lot that Morgan missed, too, and there was a lot that she’d been able to experience again, only for it to turn sour. “How are you doing? I know I’ve asked, but there’s only so much depth that one can get out of an online conversation.”
It was so delicious to be over at a friend’s house and slurp her brain smoothie in peace, Morgan almost didn’t want to leave. If she wasn’t sure that Deirdre’s protectiveness would spoil the calm, she’d have called her over so they could all loiter around until Evelyn came home and then some. She was breezing through a trashy romance novel, nothing for school or research in any way, and it was going so well she was thinking of starting another for the hell of it. Calm like this was a nice little delicacy within her normal and she wouldn’t mind normalizing it a little more.
Morgan peeked over the top of her paperback as Miram spoke. “You mean all day, all night, and all forever?” She laughed and leaned over to take a better look. “I think you’re selling yourself short, though. It’s pretty beautiful. I don’t think I’ve seen the lake look so dreamy in a long time. I could always take reference pictures or videos, if it wouldn’t feel too sad.” She gave her friend a long look, knowing too well how complicated memory could be. Loss ached in surprising ways and adapting sometimes surprised even more.
“Oh, me? I’m great. The vampire countess just asked her astronomer lady-love to take her stargazing by the sea, so the real mushy, sexy fun is finally kicking off.” But Miriam hadn’t been asking about her book and Morgan closed the little paperback with a sigh. “I’m...okay. Maybe even more okay than I have a right to be. My adopted kid is doing great, I’m less outraged and bitter about the wish bullshit and losing a friend. Well, relatively. Less so than I used to be. I’m getting there.” She laughed dryly and took a long slurp of her smoothie. “I don’t think about it too much, which is probably good and bad. Mostly I hold onto how good the first two and a half days were. It was like...the world was new. It was better than memory, better than dreaming, and I was so stupidly happy I did a hundred different things. I’d press it all down into flowers, bottle it, freeze-frame it, whatever. I felt even more connected to the world than I had when I was alive. And believe it or not, I’m even more grateful for what I’m able to feel and do than I used to be. It beats being a mummy freak-show.”
“All day at the very least. I tend to have plans for the evening that involve a lovely lady, and my forever, well,” Miriam paused, grinning. “Forever is so very long.” Even if they had it. They both had it. They had it in spades. Forever would be nothing for them. Hell, people like her and Morgan would outlast the cockroaches. She looked at the painting once more, head cocked. “It’s… not quite how I remember it. Not quite. Though, it’s been awhile since I was, you know, out and about and enjoying the lake in my youth.”
Raising an eyebrow at Morgan’s description, Miriam merely looked at her until she heard the answer she wanted. With a nod, she said, “As fun as that sounds, I am glad you’re doing better, for what it’s worth. I was worried.” Narrowing her eyes, Miriam said with faux-seriousness, “If you tell anyone that, I’ll simply have to revert to my old ways and deal with a spellcaster, undeath be damned.” It was an old joke, an outdated one. Not that there were many people for Miriam to tell, but those that knew her were well aware of her somewhat reformed serial killer status. “Glad you’re kid’s doing well, too. That’s a new development. The child. Though, not a surprising development. I bet you’ve been mothering people since you came out of the womb.” And of course Morgan would hold onto the good. Of course she would. She’d been in a sort of sensory deprivation hell. Of course she’d snatch up the good things that she’d been able to feel. “Sounds fantastic, darling. The better than memory part, not the mummy part. That sounds dreadful.” She shrugged. “I wouldn’t worry about the losing a friend shit. You somehow forgave me for nearly killing you before we were friends,” Miriam laughed. “I don’t know how that happened, but here we are.” Drinking brain smoothies and blood and wine while reading shitty romance novels and painting. This was their life now.
“Forever is very long,” Morgan agreed, “Which means very fun and very unpredictable, which somehow means that everything is still special and worth seizing. Including painting, and finding ways of coping with the whole permanent vitamin D deficiency.” But her encouraging smile slackened as her friend went on and she thought some more about the tricks of time. She wanted to know how fading memories made Miriam feel, what she missed, what she wished she could have back, what she sometimes forgot to long for.
Morgan set her book aside, grinning. “It’s hard to say what is or would’ve been in my nature, fresh out of the oven. I didn’t get much of a chance to find out with the whole curse bullshit and childhood trauma. But I will say that as much as I never would have expected to suddenly be the legal guardian of a twenty-year-old girl, it does sort of feel like I should’ve seen it coming. The kids here are something else, and they need so much, and the world is so awful to them… I think I would’ve taken on others before, if they’d really needed me to, asked me to. But this is the one it happened with. Also, sometimes she’s so much like me, I get a little terrified. The only thing I want for her besides catching a break is to not make the same screw-ups I did.”
She came over to Miriam and leaned against her, arms folded over her shoulders. “You never put the life of someone I loved in jeopardy. And you were hurt and part of you wanted something different, or more, even before you became a different person. That stupid baby erinyes isn’t like that, so I don’t think I ever can forgive her. But I’m not worried about her either. I’ve got other friends, and I’ve got you, and you’re ten times better.” She kissed the top of her head, laughing softly. “And not just because you made me a cool jacket.”
“Unpredictable? Certainly. For a time, at least,” Miriam said. “Don’t you worry we’re going to run out of fun things? I mean, won’t things eventually get…” She looked down at the painting, took in it’s lines, and she remembered that she had been painting the same picture over and over again for the last few weeks, trying to get it perfect but never properly managing it. Something was always a little off, the colors not quite realistic enough for her. It looks like a dream, a memory. She wanted the real thing. “Stale?” She rolled her eyes. “Ah, yes, the vitamin D deficiency. I’ll never get a proper tan again. That’s the real tragedy of this life.”
Snorting, Miriam added. “I’m certain you were destined to be this ridiculously caring from the get-go, dear.” It was just who Morgan was. Miriam didn’t really understand it, doubted she ever would, but it was true. “You should have. The children in this town have all probably seen too much, even if they don’t understand it. I’m glad you’ve been able to properly help out one, at least.” Children. Miriam would have wanted children, years ago. She still did, sometimes, something that she thought about talking to Evelyn about, something that she considered, but. Well. Miriam was afraid, of herself and what she was, even if she’d never truly admit it, and there was so much about her that would fuck a child up. She didn’t want to do that. It’d hurt just as much as everything else in her life. “I think you’ll do just fine with her. Though, do warn her against meeting strange women in bars that reminisce about their dead husbands on the internets.”
Of course Morgan approached Miriam only to glomp onto her. “Watch my hair, you tiny terror,” she said, though there wasn’t any bite in her voice. She patted Morgan’s hand. “Right, right. I just put you at jeopardy. Truly, Morgan. Have a little more self respect. Hurting is no excuse. I don’t try to excuse my actions.” Wistfully, she added, “Sometimes I even miss them. I miss feeling full. I miss feeling like I was doing something for myself.” She missed feeling like she was doing a service. Killing witches, it felt like that, sometimes, especially getting rid of Theo, his family. They caused hurt, so much hurt. Wasn’t it only right that she returned the favor? “But I’m moving past that. I’m a good little vampire. I drink my blood and feed off of miserable people in bars and behave… I hate it, about your friend, though. Ex-friend. Sometimes people are stuck in their ways.” She swatted Morgan away as she gave her the kiss on the head before fluffing her curls again, mock indignation all over her face. “You stop that.”
Morgan rolled her eyes at Miriam’s cynicism and her strange brand of praise. “I can’t tell if you’re making fun of me with that ‘ridiculously caring’ thing or not. But, regardless of nature or nurture, I appreciate the vote of confidence. Keeping her from joining the murder club didn’t work out so well, so I’ll try not to pass on my affinity for strange women in bars with squishy hearts and criminal backgrounds. But no promises. She’s already softer than I am and cares for twice as many people, probably. This might secretly be a disaster in the making.” She laughed as she said this, but the truth was that she still had a lot of hope for Bex.
“Also, I resent this idea that I don’t respect myself.” She mussed Miriam’s hair again. “I don’t think having empathy for someone or giving out second chances when the situation is right stems from a lack of self-respect. Just because I recognized your lingering humanity, doesn’t mean I don’t care about mine. And understanding and empathy isn’t the same as excuses! And neither is forgiveness! Which I can give out however I want! You can’t stop me from forgiving you, or for not forgiving my erin-no!”
She cackled at Miriam’s exaggerated indignation and settled next to her, giving her another peck before settling next to her and fixing the mess she’d made of her hair. “Also,” she said, quieter now. “I’ve seen how straightforward you are with ‘The Youth’, you know. Is that something you think about? Having kids? I feel like you’d be a terrifying soccer mom, but in a good way. Someone who would bully the bullies.” In the space of a sigh, Morgan imagined all of them together with a set of conveniently faceless children, drinking in the moonlight and smiling at the sound of cackles and squeals. She couldn’t hold the picture in her head for very long, but it gave her a flutter of longing.
Helena had waited long enough. She’d never been one for burying herself in schoolwork, and all the books she’d managed to find said so many different things they were useless. Besides, she’d seen enough horror movies to feel like she could count on one thing: sunlight’s a bitch.
She drove toward the Fleming Estate and left her car a few streets over near a public place. The house was so easy to find, like the Witch Hunter wanted to be found. Like she was taunting Helena. Sunlight burned water down her eyes as she came up to a wall half paneled with tinted windows and drawn curtains. Could the Witch Hunter be more obvious? Maybe she didn’t think she had anyone to fear. Maybe she thought she’d destroyed all the spellcasting magic in White Crest.
Helena flexed her tattooed hands and checked her circles (five in all) and the knife and stake at her hip. With a wish and a ghost of a smile, she mounted the windowsill and the glass crashed into a wave of water and Helena tumbled into the flooding room.
“Me? Make fun of you? Darling, have I ever?” Miriam asked, hand moving to cover her unbeaten heart as if she was shocked by such insinuations. She frowned at the mention of this child, whoever she was, however old she was, joining them among the legions of killers in this town. “Some things just can’t be helped. But, please, keep her from becoming overly attached to strange women that she meets in bars. Or women with weapons. Or women that sometimes take just a little bit too much pleasure in our world.” She snorted. “Please, if you respected yourself more, we wouldn’t be associating with each other.” Miriam managed to soften, looking at Morgan with kind eyes that she wouldn’t have been able to manage years ago. “I am grateful for your forgiveness, even if I think you’re a fool for the way you give it out.”
Miriam began fixing her hair, fluffing the curls and running her fingers through the tangles that had managed to form. “Do I think about having kids?” she repeated, more in an effort to collect her thoughts than because she needed the question repeated. “Well, I-- I used to, but then there was all that blood and death, and I just don’t think that children belong in horror stories. But things have calmed down, and I’m happy.” She smiled, and she looked at Morgan before she ducked her head away, uncharacteristically flustered for someone who saw herself as infallible. She could almost see it, this version of herself that Morgan described, a mother, someone who took the lessons her too distant parents had refused to provide and did the opposite. “It’s-- I would have to talk to Evelyn, but I--”
It wasn’t that Miriam was stumbling over her words, though she was. It was that, as she tried to finish her sentence, her thought, sunlight and water poured into the room, sizzling and soothing her skin as she put her arms up in defense. Eyes red but squinted and fangs out, Miriam backed herself into a shadowed corner, trying to figure out just what the hell was going on. She could vaguely make out a woman’s silhouette standing before her, someone that she couldn’t recognize. Or maybe she could, Miriam didn’t know. It was too bright for her to see.
Water roared in Morgan’s ears. A second ago they were safe and alone; then they weren’t. Morgan sat up from her spot on the floor, soaked and dizzy. “Miriam?” She called. Light drowned her vision as she looked around. Morgan sloshed to her feet. She could see their glasses bobbing over the floor, a toppled easel, a soaked paperback, and a shadow of a woman her height with something sharp raised in her hand. The shadow darted. Morgan reached and slipped, palms slapping the ground with a splash that stuck in her eyes.
“Miriam!”
Helena landed on her feet and surged through the water. She had a few seconds before the Witch Hunter got her bearings and she was going to make them count. Helena grabbed her by her soaked shirt. Fury poured into the circles burned on her soles. The water churned and frothed.
“Not so safe and pretty now, are you?” She said. She swept her arm back and aimed the knife in her hand for the Witch Hunter’s throat. The bitch needed to hurt before she died.
Miriam wasn’t used to being on the receiving end of a knife. She looked at the woman in front of her, holding her by her shirt. It was nothing compared to the light pouring in, blinding her, burning her. She looked down at the woman holding her, and through squinted eyes she realized that this woman was small, even when Miriam wasn’t wearing shoes. Soaking wet and slightly sizzling, she still managed to smile at the woman. “I’m always pretty, sweetness,” she snarled out, and then she went on the offensive, pulling the woman close and slamming her head into the woman’s nose.
Helena’s head fell back, bursting with pain. The shock froze her upper body but her energy burned, scorching the Witch Hunter’s shirt into acid where she held it. Her knee kicked up to her groin and she let go while she still had skin left on her palm and sunk her hands into the water for her next strike.
But Morgan wouldn’t let her. Finally close enough to reach, she kicked the witch’s leg out from under her and rolled her onto her back, pinning her underwater with one hand around her neck and another fastening the witch’s hand to her own chest. She had just enough time to feel proud of herself before the witch willed her flood into a cascade of silver marbles that tumbled away from her face and freed up her other hand to take Morgan’s wrist and burn it down to bone.
“This was a nice shirt,” Miriam snarled as acid ate away at cotton, at skin. It burned, but it would heal with a nice meal and time. And, if she played her cards right, the little witch bitch in front of her would be that nice meal because Miriam was about to make sure that she ran out of time. “Morgan!” she called out as she watched the witch burn her friend, and Miriam lunged forward, shoving her arm into the witches neck and pushing her further into the floor. “Who the fuck are you?”
Helena stopped fighting. She knew the Witch Hunter wouldn’t recognize her on sight, she’d lost her baby fat and left the sad, crying child she’d been behind. But now, up close? Didn’t she see a little bit of her Aunt Gillian in her jaw, or her father’s eyes? Helena pulled on the Witch Hunter’s arm and kicked at her legs.
“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” she wheezed. “You went to all that trouble—” Another kick. “You waited until Gillian was old and soft to kill her, and you don’t recognize a Wilde face when you see one?”
A Wilde. A fucking Wilde. Miriam looked at this girl, this woman, this witch in front of her. She could see it now, the family resemblance, all of the little details that reminded her of Theo, of good times and bad times and death, so much death, her own and his and all of theirs. Gillian’s. The woman’s name coming from this child’s choked lips ate at her, and she pressed down harder, but Miriam was reeling from this information. A Wilde, in her home, pressed to the floor in her great room. A fucking Wilde.
“I thought all of you were dead,” she managed to get out. “She was supposed to be the last one. I was supposed to be free of you.” But it made sense, didn’t it? Maybe that was why she was still stuck in this town. Maybe that was why she still felt the urge to her and cause pain and awful, lingering suffering. It was because there was still one of them left.
There it was, the look Helena had been waiting for. She snarled, baring her teeth at the Witch Hunter. She had nothing to fear, nothing to lose, and all the resources she could ever want at her disposal. She wheezed for breath and strained against the Witch Hunter’s arm. Sweat was seeping through her shirt and trailing through her hair. The one thing her resources didn’t cover was energy.
Morgan hadn’t felt pain close to this since Erin’s speciesist bullshit nearly killed her. She fell over as soon as Miriam forced the witch to let go. She stared at her blackened bone, gaping silently with pain beyond screaming as it mended itself. She missed the witch’s taunting, but she caught the name on her lips.
“No…” she wheezed. “She’s not that person anymore, you both need to stop!”
Helena pulled on the Witch Hunter’s arm again. She wouldn’t get her now, not when she had a backup puppy, but soon. The fire in the Witch Hunter’s eyes was only too real, too close to her nightmares. The last thing either of them were going to do was stop.
With the last of her energy, she set the Witch Hunter’s limb on fire and slipped out of her grasp. She wanted to see her burn. She wanted to kill her puppy in front of her. But she wanted to be alive to gloat about it too. She deserved a few decades’ worth of bragging rights.
Was Miriam that person anymore? Not quite, not really, but she could be, she could be, if only for the woman right in front of her. She could be that person, that monster, that witch hunter. And she felt the woman tug on her arm again, and Miriam snarled, sharp fangs and red eyes. But she hesitated. It was damning that Miriam hesitated.
At the smell of burning flesh and the flash of pain, Miriam jerked away from the little witch bitch, cradling her arm in her hand and watching her leave. Fucking spellcasters. Fucking alchemist. Fucking assholes with their fucking magic that they always, always turned against others. She hated them. She hated her. If she wasn’t that person anymore, fine. Miriam wouldn’t be that person. But she was going to kill the last fucking member of that fucking family.
[pm] Meant the diet. The parts. But guess amount’s a part of that too. How you manage? The one I knew had trouble holding back. Caused all that Hm. No. She wasn’t picky. Why, do you? Do they taste better? Metzli did like Bex’s blood. Hm. Hope you don’t find her. And not surprising. Hard to met others when the land always calls you back.
.
[pm] Ah, of course. My mistake. I just manage, I suppose. I was a woman with meticulous self control when I was alive, I suppose that transferred to my unlife. I tend to go out most nights, though. And I keep blood in my house. I would say that spellcasters taste better, but a friend of mine thinks that’s just a personal vendetta. I was curious if it was typical of dearg dues. What does that mean Right, of course. Can’t leave this damn town.
[pm] Despite? Getting your morality from humans? She was sweet. Troubled. Great kisser. Scratched out Lost her number. Probably got a different one by no If you were wanting to connect.
.
[pm] Not at all, actually. Just people who think I don’t have to slaughter hundreds to exist. Troubled? Was she preternaturally inclined to go after spellcasters? Oh, no, I wasn’t looking to connect. Though that would have been I was just curious. I’ve never met anyone else quite like myself.
PLACE: Miriam and Evelyn’s apartment
TIMING: 8:21 PM
SUMMARY: Milo wakes up in Evelyn’s apartment, but it’s Miriam who makes him feel at home
WRITING PARTNER: @meflemming
CONTENT WARNINGS: Addiction tw, alcohol tw, drug abuse tw
[pm] Lemme know when your moon comes back. Always prefer to eat with others. Fucking miss it. And was your phrasing. Talk of diet and misery. Appetite, too. Only remember met one other and she could damn near eat a whole family in one night. With want of seconds. Why you ask? Rather be a mystery?
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[pm] Maybe one day. I try not to kill too often, especially not like that. Not anymore. I’m a good vampire now, despite the diet. Hm. Well that sounds familiar. Oh, just not used to people recognizing it. I’m the only one like myself that I know. What was this other one like? If I can ask, of course.
