#seren post

[witchbabywigg]

SUGGESTION TO MY DAUGHTER

dudes are garbage, dump that lion roommate of yours and date that ghost chick you hang with

[witchbabywigg]

protege moi de mes desires

[witchbabywigg]

just tell me what’s wrong (pt. 2)

it was the way you looked down at me as though you had never seen radiance before it was the way your voice sang tremulous and wide

it was the way your paw cupped my little head gave me nectar fed me seeds it was the way i bloomed again once more colorful and alive it was the way that you were dirt so i could grow it was the way that you were fire so i could burn (bird-mad girl bird mad girl birdmadgirl bird made girl) it was the way that you were water to carry yourself to me to my roots (never go to the roots, not unless i call in blood and fear, not unless i scream help) it was the way that you were the air that filled my lungs that didn’t work that you were the blood that filled my veins that didn’t flow that you made my heart skitter like a spider

it is the way that you tossed me aside after i was clean it is the way i bled for what was done to us it is the way that you fought and were cleansed it is the way that you remembered it is the way that you didn’t forget it is the way that you scented the air for me tracked for me walked for me flew for me and came to me

you smell like forgiveness feel like absolution and i wish i could sing all that you mean to me

instead i will speak my milk tongue and hope that you take the time to figure it out

[witchbabywigg]

just tell me what’s wrong (pt 1)

the way you looked up at me with love in your eyes hearts set with tears like rubies the way the moonlight danced in your hair made it the river that flows past baobabs in my daydreams

the way i have never connected to anyone but you but you but you not like this and never again

the way you became the sun

the way you are always near

the way you smell so nice so nice so nice

the way you think of me all the time the way i can’t tell you these things not to your face i have to make you say them you say them first you be weak first show me your throat and i will show you mine

[witchbabywigg]

Spring Fever

It was past sundown, yet the fences still radiated shimmering heat after being baked hot in the desert sun all day. The trees creaked and swayed in the spring breeze, their woody joints easing off the warmth of the day for the cool of night, bathed heavy in blossoms. Flowers had poked their sunny heads from the dirt, and even the night vines had popped open, filling the air with the scent of jasmine and orange.

Our Heroine, Seren Maddox, called the Bird, rolled about in her back lawn, sighing in some odd ecstasy. Her grasp of her masked form had become enough that it was second nature for the long-hair-that-wasn’t-really-there to become filled with bits of grass, blossoms of hay, little twigs, small pebbles and the like. Crawling along the lawn with her fingers, Seren stared, open-mouthed, at a procession of ants that were busy carting away the carcass of a grasshopper away to feed their egg-heavy queen. 

She rolled away with another sigh, and lay back, digging her fingertips into the earth next to her. Johnny-jump-ups, cheerful in their tiny purple and blue blossoms, sprung their way up, brushing against her fingers in supernatural growth. A sigh of relaxation from the ghostly pale woman in a ghostly pale blue nightgown.

From the edge of the back door came a sniff, and a man padded with the silence and grace of a mountain cat to where the little thing rolled about. He first made a show of paying no attention to the woman, dusting his worn hat with a few lashes of his pawlike hands, and then placing it on his head.

“What are you doing?” He began bluntly, as was his wont. He left her silence with which to answer, but when one was not forthcoming... “Did you take mushrooms?” His eyes narrowed, nose in a slight sneer at the sides, his tail lashing back and forth with the tip cracking side to side like a whip-head. 

Seren goggled at him, moon-eyed. “Eh?” Her voice came soft as usual. “Nooo... I didn’t take any drugs.” The gears in her head were almost audible before she gave him a curious look. “You know that I am less than fully here, on this side of the veil, and yet you think it is drugs?” He snorted. “You are still very human. Humans like drugs.”

“I don’t need drugs. And I certainly don’t like them. Not anymore, I mean.” She sighed happily, resting her head on her outstretched arms. “Silly cat. People take drugs to see the things I see without drugs.”

Suddenly the air was out of her, not that it mattered, because Rainier was sitting on her, cross-legged. “Silly bird, lets herself vulnerable in front of someone she thinks is a cat.”

Seren tried to take air in. It worked, a bit, so she squeaked out. “You are a cat. You have cat eyes, and a cat tail, and are a cat, because it is your curse. I am only a bird because you decided so. I haven’t even feathers, or a beak.”

Rainier chuckled, somewhat, and decidedly began to stretch out atop the woman, mushing her lightly against the lawn. “You are right, you know. You are unlike any bird on this planet. But do you know why I call you my bird?”

Gaining some lung space back, Seren turned her head to speak, thoughtfully. “You are Boer, maybe ‘bird’ is a slang that came from Europe to South Africa? Oh oh, you think I am small and defenseless but pretty and pleasant to listen to, so you keep me around in a cage until you can eat me. Like an ogre.”

Another chuckle, and he began to pick the grass from her long white hair that he knew full well wasn’t there because he had seen her without her mask on, but he tried not to think about it too much. “An ogre? First a cat, now an ogre. I get the feeling that I should be irritated at you for the implication.”

“Well why?” She wriggled. “You are the one who made such import of ‘oh we are beasts, you pretend humanity where there should be one, be the little stormcrow death-bird that gets me all stirred up’. Ergo, we are monsters, and monsterous, and destined to just be very bad things and would you please stop chewing at my ear like that? It is very distracting, dear.”

“I was not chewing.” He sounded incredibly put out. “It was nibbling. And distracting you was the point.”

“Well it was working and- what time is it?” Seren looked up at the moon, boggling.

“Past eight.” He eyed her ear again, sizing it up.

“Mmmph, shove off then.” She wriggled again, and he placed one large hand on her chest, pinning her. “Nuhhhh, really. I have to go bring Uncle Petyr his supper.”

Rainier grunted, rolling off of her. “Uncle Petyr, Uncle Petyr. Am I ever going to meet this mysterious benefactor of yours?” He eyed the grass as though it would soon be meeting an unhappy end via a mouthful of fangs in retaliation for His Bird leaving.

Seren brushed herself off for a few moments, too few, and suddenly her entire outfit and her hair was back to rights, untangled, unmussed, and perfectly clean. “Maybe,” she dodged. “It’s up to him, you know. I don’t make the rules in this world.” 

“I don’t expect you to tell me all your secrets in this world, little one.” He looked at her, dozily, blinking slowly, tail slowly sweeping back and forth on the grass.

She smiled back, more a smirk than anything. “Good.” She trotted off into the house, shutting the hunter green door quickly, as though expecting him to give chase.

Instead, Rainier stretched out, pushing his hat up over his face and wiggling his bare toes against the grass. Seren had been right. It was nice out here.

[witchbabywigg]

I got answers, but I don’t got truths And I got numbers, but I don’t got you And I’ve made promises But I’ve lied too Empty bottles and wine unscrewed Can you tell me not to worry? Can you tell me I’ll be fine? Can you tell me everything’s alright It’s alright It’s al- Can you tell me not to worry? Can you tell me I’ll be fine? Can you tell me everything’s alright It’s alright It’s alright

[witchbabywigg]

Gwanwyn

It was spring again, and the nights were beginning to grow longer, just barely. She woke up earlier than usual one night, tucked beneath her ruffled coverlet, sprigged with tiny blue flowers, and blinked, uncomprehendingly, at her bedside clock for a few moments. Rising, she shut her eyes, as was her custom, and assumed her pre-death form.

It wasn’t that she was one of the more horrific of the Nosferatu, quite the opposite. True, she had only two teeth in her head, sharp and needle-like in the very front of her mouth, her skin looked as though she had been created out of many, many layers of medieval paint that had begun to flake heavily, her fingers were less fingers and more long spindly jointed claws, and all of her proportions were made wrong, with eyes far too big and a nose far too thin, cheekbones far too high, and a face far too birdlike, culminating in a perfectly bald head and two large, long, pointed ears. But that was joyous, a sweet friendly alien in some sci-fi RPG game, in comparison to the sight of her “mother” unmasked. No, it was for her “stepfather”, her mother’s blue-blooded bondmate, who was not of their bloodline and was a bit weak-kneed when it came to the sight of a Nosferatu in all of their hideous glory.

She knew she had the cottage to herself for at least an hour, her mother and stepfather not rising until the sun was well on the other side of the world. One of the many negatives, she supposed, of being so distanced from what had made them human once upon a time.

Slipping on a dress and pulling her illusionary braid over her left shoulder, she padded through the small Cape Cod-style house. Her mother had decorated the house in a style Seren could only describe as “Victorian French prostitute’s boudoir”, all lavender satin and white Chantilly lace, with many decorative accents incorporating violets. The carpets themselves were lavender, the house smelled of lavender (and violets), and possibly the only room in the house that was not done up in purple and lace was her own room. Instead, owing to Seren’s favorite color being blue, the entire room was done in blue pastels, with little flowers and green vines, as though she were a good 15 years younger than she actually was. 

She suspected that was just how things were when you moved back in with a mother who only had you for a few scant months before you were a grown-up vampire with Responsibilities and Rules and Duties and had to go off on your own, tra-la-la. Elodie’s own mother had been not much of a mother to speak of, so she was doing, Seren supposed, what she thought a Good Mother would do. If that meant ruffles and sprigged calico and dead-eyed porcelain dolls showing up randomly, ones that made Seren uncomfortable to look at, well then, so be it. 

In the back garden, Seren flopped easily to the ground, relishing the feeling of the cool grass against her skin. It hadn’t been so long ago that getting near the earth or plants had been the most dangerous thing she could have thought to do. Infected with the blood of a Formori, it had caused her power over plants to go haywire, plaguing her daily death with nightmares, crooning to her to find a bit of earth and let things grow. Only with the help of the blacksmith, Louhi, one of Malkav’s children, had she been broken of that infernal curse.

For now, she merely took glee in the feeling of the grass growing rapidly around her, flourishing under her touch. Her plants were her friends, and plants made very lonely friends. Elodie was always busy with work, teaching advanced music theory to university students. Henry was always busy with work, some sort of speculation with banks and stocks and all sorts of things that made Seren’s poor head spin wildly when he tried to explain them. She had left many friends and lost many friends, but when the Archon went missing and then the Servire told her that it would probably be safer to go home to her mother, she went home to her mother. 

There was Louhi, of course, brave spitfire Louhi, who could probably rebuild the entire Colossus of Rhodes out of butter knives, if given enough time and butter knives. Xan, Louhi’s partner-in-crime, and a dazzlingly handsome (especially without all that silly makeup covering all the pretty scars on his ravaged face) and charming fellow, if mad as a hatter. Xan had always made her feel better when she was feeling low. The Servire, Brynn, who knew both her parents and had always been kind. Darling Noah, who Brynn had rescued and ferried back to his doting fathers on the West Coast. Mr. Finley, who had been so polite and kind to her. 

Precious Lucrecia, and the thought of Lu made Seren’s heart both seem to hurt but seem to flutter at the same time. Lu was... her Lu. Lu understood her, and being understood by anyone was a rare thing in Seren’s life. She never felt broken when she was around Lucrecia, never felt unloved or unloveable. Seren had loved people and Loved people and been In Love with people, but the way she felt for Lucrecia was completely indescribable. It was something transcendent, something that didn’t require anything physical beyond hugs and hand-holding (indeed the mere thought of actually -kissing- Lu made Seren’s head swim like it did when she ate the fairy flower). Having Lu not nearby, not knowing where Lu was, felt like there was a good-sized hole somewhere in her, one that she was disappointed she had never realized was filled until she felt the lack.

Stan, and a hiccup came, unbidden, with tears, unbidden, and she blinked them away and shook her head, hoping he was still out in the woods in Canada, somewhere, safe. No use in imagining the worst case scenario: he was a warrior and he was good at surviving. She just hoped he was alright.

Then there were the ones lost, the ones she would never see again. Her clanbrother, Sally, betrayed by her naive words, whom she hoped to never see again, as it would be the last time she would live to see -anything-. Little Genevieve, her Wildcat, stricken ill by the Formori and... mercy-killed? Murdered? by

Reinier.

Her body involuntarily flinched at the memory of him, in memory of the pain. Rein, who had hunted her like a cat does a bird, calling to her Beast, and having it call right back. Rein, who never wore shoes, who would show his affection by gently thunking his forehead against her shoulder, her arm, her neck, and resting there, just for a moment. Who she gave the choicest tiny treasures she would find in her foraging for herbs and seashells, who knew exactly what she smelled like, who said he could (and would) track her across the world, through every country, to get her back if she was taken. The one who came back over and over and over again, for her, because of her. Never before had someone simply wanted her for her, for all the things she was. People had wanted her before for her talents, her body, her attention, her love, her powers, but never all of her, faults included. There were always conditions to their love, always agendas that needed filling, and he simply wanted her so that she could be safe to just Be. To exist, as she was, in any form, as she wished. No one had loved her like that before, and she doubted anyone would love her that way now. 

Perhaps, when she got old, and such things became beneath a vampire of her age, she would cease trying to replicate the things mortal life told her were important, and things like being loved with full passion and unconditionality would no longer matter. Until then, she would mope. Moping is human.

She stopped, because the crickets had stopped.

Someone is here.

She closed her eyes, and tried to make the world pretend she wasn’t worth paying attention to, and she felt that it didn’t work.

Someone is here and they are watching me right now.

She stayed incredibly still, and concentrated on her fingers. Soon, she would be able to disguise them as her fingernails, but for now, they were wicked talons. She did not move. 

The moon was full, and she could see the entire backyard clearly. She did not move. Nothing came for her. 

The crickets started again. She closed her eyes. The world convinced itself that she was not of importance. She could not be seen.

Seren waited for a full count of ninety seconds before she rose from her prone position. Everything was normal. She moved around the perimeter of the yard, creeping like a vine, examining her plants, looking for anything out of place. 

A ghost flickered at one end, near the graveyard that was not far from their property. A proper looking gentleman with a fine moustache and a beaver tophat gestured to the elm tree, before tipping his hat to Seren and flickering off into nothingness after a few steps back into his stroll. She flitted over to the tree, intent.

She closed her eyes and covered her ears with her hands and took a long sniff of the air. Musk. Sweat. Skin. The body heat that comes from blood circulation. Copper. Iron. Pumice. Adobe dust. Vines. Leaf juice. Some kind of lemony flower. Brimstone. Pheromones. Body hair. Skin oil. A man. A mortal man.

Seren breathed his name to the stars above before opening her eyes, catching sight of a piece of brick tucked carefully into the forked limbs of the elm. Carved with the relief of a quetzal, she almost dropped it at the rush of age-memories she received from the touch of it, before examining the crude carving on the side.

“I promised you I would always come back.”

Something licked her cheek.