It was a moonless night, but Strega’s feet knew the way through the graveyard out to Matiiya’s home well enough now. She pulled her shawl more tightly around her as she picked through the stones. She could see faint cracks of light around the edge of the door as she approached, and she sighed in relief; although she knew her friend would insist it was no trouble, Strega had been afraid of waking her by arriving at such a late hour. Still, her knock was soft and timid.
Seeing Matiiya’s face when she opened the door was a greater comfort than Strega knew she had needed, and she burst into tears. “I couldn’t stay in the Abbey any longer,” she finally managed to say between sobs, and all but threw herself into her friend’s arms.
A small package was left by the Cardinal’s doorstep. Inside was a large pouch of the magical bath she’d once prepared for Strega, only more tuned to the Cardinal’s needs. With it, a bundle of butter cookies from an old recipe, a tin of tea, two hand-dipped candles that smelled of honey and sandalwood, and a soft, silky red handkerchief with a hand-embroidered C in one corner. The simple card inside looked old but of good quality; the note read: “for warmth, for light, for comfort. Love, Matiiya”
His foot nudged something as he stepped out of his door. Glancing down, he saw a package left there with a few very interested rats sniffing at it. Surely, if it was something dangerous, they would be doing their utmost to warn him away from it. Still, he opened it with a little caution, relieved to find wonderful gifts instead of something threatening. Holding the package up, he inhaled the many pleasant scents that emitted from it.
“Oh, how thoughtful,” he said aloud, sparing a glance towards the rats at his feet. They stood on their hind legs and looked at him, noses twitching. “Did you finally get me something, eh? I think not.” The Cardinal turned the card over in his hand and opened it to read the gentle note inside. His eyes grew warm, as did his cheeks - it had happened an embarrassing amount as of late. Shuffling back into his quarters, he put the gifts down. “I should have known. How kind. We have been truly spoilt this year, haven’t we?” Running his thumb over the pretty handkerchief a moment, he then tucked it into a pocket.
The weather outside was cold. The trees were near enough bare. A bitter scene, year after year, staved off momentarily by warm fireplaces and pile after pile of work. However … it seemed a little different, now. Munching on a butter biscuit, the Cardinal gazed towards the outside world with something more of an open heart, acknowledging that perhaps there was some beauty to it. There must have been, after all, if people could put so much thought into bringing some joy to others.
He shared a crumb with the black rat that had taken to his shoulder. It was one of the oldest of them, starting to lose its hair in places, but it nibbled excitedly at the biscuit nonetheless.
“Now, is it just me …” Copia said to it, though his gaze remained turned towards the window. “Or have things been a little easier this time around, hm? Maybe it’s true even for the likes of us: that things get better. Finally. I think that it has been worth the wait, even if it only lasts a minute.”
He turned and looked back at the package on the table. For one to have such an understanding of another’s needs was surely one who had known a bitter loneliness, too. It was the nature of being different, finding oneself on the outside with nothing but silence for company. But sometimes people could find love in the most unlikely of places.
“I think that our gift is one best delivered in person,” the Cardinal said to his small rodent audience, raising a finger in thought. “Yes? No? Yes. Why am I asking you, of all things, eh?”
Later that evening, Copia treaded carefully about the herbs and other such things growing about Matiiya’s home, balancing himself with a parcel and a large box. He had somehow managed to sneak out of the abbey with it all in tow - and had snuck a few things from the kitchens, too, with a little help. Inside the box was a large ice-cream cake decorated with swirls of cream and strawberries. The parcel contained a large and very warm tartan patterned blanket he had used himself in the past, so it had something of his scent on it. There were also a few neat little tools and baubles to aid with magic, large crystals and the such, along with some festive cranberries and holly to decorate it all.
Awkwardly knocking on the door with his elbow, he waited patiently until the door opened and he offered the gifts forwards with a touch of nerves. His hair and black garments were dusted with snow.
“I forgot a note - well, one of the rats ate it. So, a little something for you to stave off the cold, love, Copia?”
The storm was over, and Strega made her way back out to the graveyard the next day. Her time was largely her own, outside of rehearsals when the touring Ghouls were in residence; she took shifts in the kitchen out of a sense of duty to the Church that now housed her, but suspected that many of the staff would just as soon she kept to herself. Hopefully, the others would see her worth once she had a ritual or two to her credit. She was more than simply a bedwarmer for the Cardinal, and intended to prove it.
She’d been so closely focused on following Copia and tuning out her own thoughts the night before that she wondered if she would find the right spot again...but sure enough, the stone in her pocket began to hum once more, the marque between her shoulder blades resonating in harmony. She stopped, noting the headstone at her feet. I wonder what it is about this grave in particular, she mused.
“Matiiya?” she called softly. “Are you there?” She reached into her pocket and rolled the stone gently between her fingertips.
The Cardinal took a little time to wind down following the rehearsal, having been energised by it, pleased with the direction in which the new set was heading. While his ghouls packed up their instruments, he made his way over to the dressing room Strega and Matiiya had vanished into - not bothering to change back into his cassock beforehand, believing that it would no doubt make him appear somewhat more intimidating, so entered in his more casual wear of a black button up shirt and the usual form-fitting trousers.
Struck by the human appearance of Matiiya, Copia regarded her with a degree of curiosity a moment, then stepped forth to take Strega’s outstretched hand into his to kiss it in greeting. Attentions turning back to the half-breed, he inclined his head towards her slightly, making a small, elegant gesture of welcoming with his gloved hand.
“Matiiya,” the Cardinal said in his usual musical lilt, one that seemed to border on both good will and mischief at any given time, though the truth was that he was finding himself somewhat nervous. There was no presence of his rats, and indeed, he was far from being one to easily extend his trust to others. To finally meet one that he did trust aroused both a certain intrigue and a touch of anxiety; this person was still new to him, after all. Any concerns of his were not made manifest, and he simply smiled slightly at Strega’s friend, his hands loosely clasped at his front. “So, I believe thanks are in order before we move on to anything else. Grazie, Matiiya.” The man’s head bowed a little yet again, though his mismatched gaze remained focused on her. “For looking out for Strega in the dangerous world that is the abbey. Hm. It is a comfort to know that little stone will safeguard her from the threats that linger, and it is a comfort to know that she has a friend such as you.”
Matiiya looked around the space, feeling for any negative energies or things out of place. “I think it would be best if we did this before you moved things in, just to be on the safe side.” She set her basket down on the bed, rummaged around for a bit, and then held out a short, yellow candle to Strega. “Light this and stand in the center of the room.”
As Strega carried out her task, Matiiya brought out bundles of sweet herbs and set about crushing them into the stones in the four corners of the room. She sang a bright tune, aware that the talisman Strega held was probably singing in unison with her, as she went about clearing the room.
As she came back around to the bed, she stood at the foot and motioned for Strega to come stand next to her. She pulled out a long feather from her basket and used the candle to set it alight. She sang a few more lines at the bed and then swished the feather in a halo around Strega’s head.
Song done, she took the feather, crushed the flame out with her hand and… ate it. She then sprinkled the ashes left in her hand around the foot of the bed.
She turned to her friend, bemused by the expression on her face. “All done, Strega. The room is now fully yours.” She gave a little belch and giggled.
Strega took the candle her friend held out to her, then pulled a box of matches from the mantel. She lit the candle, tossing the burnt-out match into the corner of the fireplace, then stood in the center of the room as instructed.
She watched in fascination as Matiiya made her way about the room. The same confidence Strega had seen in her friend on their walk down from the crypt was in full bloom here. Her voice was clear and strong as she sang, the stone in Strega’s pocket providing an ethereal descant. Strega’s marque thrummed between her shoulder blades, making her think once more of the height of ritual, where she felt the music as much as heard it.
Joining Tiiy at the foot of the bed, Strega watched her light the feather, the scent an odd topnote over the freshly-crushed herbs. The smoke curled around her head as her friend finished her spellsong, the final notes softly dying away.
Strega’s eyebrows shot up into her hairline as Matiiya doused the burning feather and promptly pushed the remnants into her mouth. She’d read enough to know that spell components needed to be disposed of properly - she just hadn’t realized that ingestion was considered proper.
And then Tiiy belched, and giggled again, and Strega could no longer maintain her composure, bursting into delighted laughter. Setting the candle into an empty holder on the mantel where it could safely burn out, she turned back to her friend and embraced her. “Thank you, so much,” she said, her smile evident in her voice and her eyes as well as on her lips.
Strega was curled up in the Rose Suite with the rats when the keening began.
She had wanted to be with Copia for the Forum rituals, as important as she knew they were to him personally and to the Church as a whole. They had even figured out a way to work her into the ritual, finally adding a female soloist to the set list, but ultimately decided the risk was too high that the Elders would spot her, even as heavily veiled as the costume was, and so she stayed behind. They had regular Doom calls during the tour, mostly on travel days between shows, as well as the occasional night when he came offstage and forgot that time zones were a thing. She never minded being awoken by his ringtone, though he kept those calls shorter as a courtesy - typically just long enough to share whatever ridiculous thing had happened that night to make him want to call in the first place.
The sound that woke her on this particular evening was something that made her blood run cold. The cloister bell when Archbishop Samuels died was eerie, but this was inhuman. With an apology to the rats that she dislodged in the process, Strega flung back the covers and staggered out of bed, crawling back into the clothes she had removed earlier. She reached to pick up the warding stone Matiiya had given her a timeless time before...and dropped it again almost immediately.
The stone was ice cold.
Cautiously, the feeling of dread inspired by the sound in the halls beginning to grow, Strega picked it up again. Braced for it this time, the cold was not quite as shocking, and beneath it she could feel the vibrations that she had come to associate with the link she and Copia shared with the half-ghoul, but they were much fainter than they had ever been before.
The Elders are dead. Matiiya's voice was sepulchral in the back of Strega's mind. My ties to this world are severed at last. Remember me...
And with that, she was gone.
Strega was hard pressed to determine which of the two was the greater shock. Sister Imperator had seemed as strong as any other woman of her years when she left on tour with the Project. But while Matiiya had been used by the Elders to prolong their lives, that of Papa Nihil in particular, Strega never would have thought they were keeping her here, in return.
Then she stopped to consider how cold and unfeeling the world had been to Tiiy. She loved her dearly, of course, as did Alessandro, and that love was reciprocated. But they were only two bright lights in a sea of darkness. With her tail returned to her, and the Elders no longer in a position to threaten those she loved, perhaps it was no surprise, after all, that she would want to leave.
Strega hoped she would be with her Maman again.
Scrubbing her face, she took the warding stone and placed it on her devotional altar, lighting a single black candle. "I will remember you," she promised, looking at the quintessence rune carved on the face of it. "Always."
Strega blinked awake in the early hours of the morning.
Matiiya’s hovel was secluded enough that she needed no curtain over the window; plants on the sill were enough for privacy’s sake. The light filtering through the bare branches outside cast shadows that made Strega think of stained glass windows as they fell across her lover’s sleeping form. One of Tiiy’s hands was resting on the pillow near her face, the other arm outstretched at her side. Combined with the stubby horns upon her forehead, she was an unconscious homage to the window dedicated to Baphomet in the main chapel.
As peaceful as she looked, however, Strega could not resist reaching out to stroke Matiiya’s jawline, and smiled as the other rolled over to face her. “Good morning, sweetness,” she murmured.
you know I'm here, always. even if I don't have the right words, I have two ears and a heart that is warmed by your friendship. - Matiiya (and her mun ofc)
Oh, my dear sweet ghoulfriend. I miss writing with, and for, you, and I’m anxious for Strega’s storyline to get back around to you again.
