This series builds on previous witch posts, including Secret, lovely seer witch and Passing the mantle. There are hints from the beginning that all three sisters are witches, but this series focuses primarily on Elain's connections to witches. All of these posts are situated in the Maasverse and have spoilers for all three series, so please proceed with caution.
-1- Lovely monster
-2- Seed of power
-3- Herbs she planted
-4- The Ancients
-5- Song of the wind
-6- The sense chanted
-7- Groundings
More theories, connections, and headcanons about the middle Archeron sister here.
There was only one man who would ever touch her, and she’d grant him that honor only if he managed to best her. The witch hunter, after all, was supposed to be her equal. If he managed to get his hands on her, he’d kill her. And Elain knew if he touched her, was close enough to slide his fingers over any part of her skin, she was as good as dead anyway.
It could take him years to find her. Wherever he was, it wasn’t close enough to scare her. Only enough to keep the hair on the back of her neck perpetually on end. Her blood thrilled with each passing day—days in which she stayed in the sprawling, rural village to help deliver babies and see the sick, the elderly, and the infirm off into the under realm where they might know peace again.
And each day, that man crept closer and closer. Elain caught herself wondering about him. Who was he? What was he like? Was he battle hardened? A cunning warrior? She’d long wondered about him and the kind of man he’d be. What kind of skills she’d need to kill him.
Summary: Deep in the woods, the villagers say a forest witch dwells in her hut, alone, tending to her garden. They say she’s mad, that the bones of children hang from her ceiling and that people who enter the woods and stray from the path never leave.
When Elain Sees a nefarious visitor is on their way to her forest cottage, she decides to entertain her guest for an evening they both will never forget.
I was inspired by this post by @bittermuire, saying that Elain should have been creepier in canon. I wholeheartedly agree. I took it a few (a lot) steps further and made her a violent, bloodthirsty, unsettling forest witch, because, at the end of the day, Elain deserves it.
Rating: Mature/Explicit. Violence, animal death, bodily harm, body mutilation, smut. This might not be everyone's cup of tea but if you're in the mood for unhinged Elain, read on.
Word Count: 10K
Read on AO3. There are research notes at the bottom of the AO3 link, if anyone is interested.
XXX
Elain could feel change in the air like a punch to her gut.
It came on suddenly: the sensation lit across her fingertips like little shocks of static and settled on her arms like an unnervingly thick coating of dust. It filled her lungs like smoke from a forest fire and its bloody metallic tang hung in the back of her throat and coated her tongue.
It disappeared just as quickly as it had come on, leaving her slightly disoriented and gasping for breath. She spat on the ground - bloody. Elain frowned slightly. Yes, change was coming, and soon, though she chose to keep optimistic until she could divine more of the situation.
She hurried through the forest towards her house. Her dinner - a rabbit, neck broken - hung from the ratty belt around her waist. Her feet were bare and covered in dirt; a few twigs were tangled in her long brown hair. Her dress was filled with rips and stains, the hem nothing more than a tangle of threads.
“How interesting,” she mused aloud. “It’s been… decades, I think, since something has happened here. Not since that silly little human marched here with his fancy horse and iron weapons to try to take the woods away from me.” She looked down at the dead rabbit hanging from her belt, its body bouncing against her leg as she walked. “What do you think, Mrs. Rabbit? Is someone coming? Or perhaps a storm or drought?”
The rabbit did not deign to give a response.
Elain tsked. “Well you’re not a very good conversationalist.”
She was close to her home - she could feel her magic traveling through the earth under her feet. The trees around her reacted to her presence, dragging their leaves and branches across her body as she passed. They whispered their tantalizing secrets they had plucked from the air to tempt her to stay. She closed her eyes and sighed, enjoying the feel of them around her but sadly called out, “I really must hurry home.”
The forest groaned its lament but obliged. The trees picked up their roots and moved, revealing a small clearing ahead. She waded through the knee length grass towards her cottage, smoke billowing from the chimney. Her goats and chickens were in their pens, pawing and pecking at the ground, and her lone cow stared balefully at Elain as she passed, a large wad of grass sticking out from her mouth.
She threw open the door to her hut and tossed the dead rabbit on the table. A large tabby cat sat on top of her shelves, glaring at her as she entered.
“Hello Gray,” Elain chirped. The cat arched its back and hissed at her, its hackles raised. Elain ignored the cat’s frosty response. “Where are The Ravens? Have they dropped by while I was gone?”
The cat only growled. His memories were apparently sharp today.
As she did whenever she entered her home, Elain moved to the altar dedicated to Mother and added her new offerings she had collected while she had been out. She lovingly caressed the bit of bone and hair that had once been a part of Mother’s body that now blessed and protected her home before moving away.
She unlocked her corner cabinet and pulled out her grimoire, the cover cracked and slightly peeling. Elain frowned - she would need to capture another child to repair her book’s damaged skin. Gently she flipped the book to the ‘Prophet and Premonitions’ section and began reading.
Different spells required different ingredients, with the most powerful spells in her book demanding personal sacrifice as well. She didn’t really feel like offering anything of herself at the moment - the fingernails on her left hand were still growing back after she had ripped them out to ensure her chickens laid enough eggs so she could make her prized lemon bars- so she decided on a basic precognition spell.
This particular spell was rather simple with its three requirements: something from the earth, something from the sky, and something vital to life. The first two were easy - she plucked a bunch of henbane from her extensive herb garden and rooted around in her cabinets for the preserved sparrow entrails she kept on hand - but the third had some leeway.
‘Something vital to life.’ This was up to the discretion of the spell caster. Most people used an object that made their own life worth living - a bottle of their favorite liquor, their most prized book if they were a great reader, or perhaps their favorite food.
Elain tended to be more literal with her interpretation. Walking out to her chicken pen she surveyed the animals. She needed to keep her sole rooster and most of her chickens were on the younger side.
She sighed. “Sorry Nan,” she apologized, stepping over the fence and plucking her oldest chicken up. Nan squawked indignantly and tried to flap out of Elain’s arms.
“It’s alright,” she cooed in Nan’s ear, stroking the soft downy feathers of her head. A firm hand on the chicken’s body, another on the head and Elain snapped the chicken’s neck in one smooth, practiced motion.
Back inside her house, she set the dead chicken on the table next to the rabbit and hauled a bucketful of her Cauldron blessed soil to the wood floors and scattered it in an even layer on the ground. Crouching down, she began tracing the image of a Daisy Wheel in the blessed soil on the ground: a large flower with six thin, oblong petals evenly spaced apart, all contained within a large circle.
She laid her ingredients in the center of the Daisy Wheel then dug her teeth into the soft chicken’s body, covering the spell components in a thick layer of blood. The blood seeped into the grooves she had drawn. Elain plucked a few feathers from her mouth and daintily wiped the chicken’s blood running down her mouth and neck away on a stray kitchen cloth.
Elain knelt on the ground and took a deep breath. One had to go about witchcraft with a clear mind, lest one's thoughts and emotions muddle the results. She let her body relax, her muscles and bones becoming soft and pliant like the dead animal bodies littering her home. Her eyes drifted closed.
“One two three, one two three,” she muttered to herself in a sing-song voice. “Oh Mother dear, what will you reveal to me?”
Nothing. Elain waited for several moments, still as a stone. She opened one eye, looking around her expectantly for something to happen. A breeze drifted through her open door, wafting around her head, carrying the faint, cruel sound of mocking laughter.
Elain huffed like a petulant child - Mother did always demand more from her daughters. She angrily tore at the flesh of her palm. Her blood sprayed out onto the floor, mixing with the soil and offerings she had laid out.
The effect was instantaneous. A happy sigh on the breeze, then, like her blood on the ground was a living thing with a mind of its own, it raced through the grooves of the Daisy Wheel, coating each petal before zooming around the outer circle to complete its bloody mission.
When her ichor completed its route around the symbol, it began beating and pulsing like the heart of an ancient slumbering beast taking its first breath of fresh air after a thousand year hibernation. It shuddered and quaked, sending small vibrations through the ground, before small tendrils of blood began branching out from the daisy wheel.
Elain sat, transfixed, as the blood snaked its way through the dirt and began forming an image of its own: a snout, two pointed ears, four legs supporting a small body, a long bushy tail. It was an obscene two-dimensional masterpiece. Finally the blood finished its painting. All was still as she studied the drawing in front of her.
A fox? Elain hummed thoughtfully to herself. All of the predators in the woods knew to stay as far away from her clearing as possible, guided by a deep rooted instinct that they most likely didn’t fully grasp. A simple fox couldn’t do any harm to her or the woods.
But what did foxes represent? Cleverness, cunning and mischief. Elain swiped a finger through the bloody fox and brought it to her lips. Images like lightning came to her in flashes: a lone figure in a deep green cloak walking through the woods; a handaxe, gleaming, attached to a hip; a sheath of long, red hair; a large golden brown hand squeezing her hip -
Elain found herself on her back, eyes closed, a heavy weight on her chest. She wasn’t sure how much time passed. She took a deep breath and opened her eyes to see Gray sitting on her collarbones, one clawed paw extended towards her throat, his eyes narrowed in anger at his plans being thwarted.
“Oh hello silly,” Elain said weakly, reaching up to scratch his ears. A growl - too deep for a cat - rumbled in his chest before he slunk off under a cabinet, his yellow eyes the only thing visible.
Elain let out a deep breath, still laying flat on the floor. Change was coming, in the form of someone out to deceive her. Did they want to hurt her or the woods? She would never let that happen - the only way she would ever be separated from the woods was if her head were no longer attached to her body and plenty of people had tried and failed over the years.
There were only two reasons anyone came to her remote dwelling: the first was if a wayside witch or warlock came to trade stories or materials or spend the night; the second was a mortal arriving to kill the bloodthirsty witch rumored to live in the forest. She didn’t get the sense that this person was magical - her territorial instincts would have been set off much sooner if a fellow witch was near. No, whoever was coming was definitely mortal.
All this meant was that she was getting a visitor.
Elain sat up and clapped her hands together, beaming. “Well ladies!” she said brightly, addressing the dead chicken and rabbit around her. “It looks like we’ll have a guest sometime soon - time to make the home presentable!”
XXX
Hosting an impromptu dinner party for a yet to be seen guest was not a skill Elain could say she was blessed with. She had already spent hours cleaning up her cozy and charming home and had to admit that anyone other than a fellow witch would be horrified at what they saw.
Her altar to Mother was covered in dried blood and offerings; her apothecary filled with jars clearly labeled with all manner of poisons that would kill a human in seconds; a collection of bones, animals and human, children and adults, hung from the ceiling in the corner; and her fireplace was embarrassingly sooty and grimy.
Elain bit her lip. Cleaning all this was a daunting task and she wasn’t sure how much time she had until her visitor arrived - the sun outside was beginning its journey towards the tops of the trees and it would be dark soon. She could cast a glamor but the magic required to transform her entire house for an extended period of time would take a significant sacrifice. Slave away to clean and put away her private items, or glamor her house to make it look like a normal human house?
She had balked earlier today at the thought of giving any more of herself than needed to perform some basic Seer work and here she was, debating on sacrificing a not insignificant part of her body to hide her home and transform it into something human-like. Heaving a great sigh, she consulted her grimoire. More skin flaked off the cover. She thumbed through the pages as she went, ignoring spells allowing for someone to read other’s minds (too intrusive for Elain’s sensibilities), granting someone giant bat wings (cumbersome, how would they put shirts on?), and a potion granting the ability to change into a great beast (something to keep in the back of her mind, she thought appreciatively, if a man ever dropped by). Finally she found the glamor spell, written in old spidery handwriting.
She bit her lip and groaned - she had never cast a glamor and didn’t realize the cost: a long list of herbs, various potion ingredients, an essence of the space being glamored and a sacrifice from the bearer.
There was a sudden flapping at her window. Elain looked over to see The Ravens pecking at the window, begging to be let in. She opened the window and they hopped in, yammering at the tops of their voices.
“A stranger! A stranger approaches!”
“Deceit crowns him like the flames around his head!”
“Yes, yes, I know this already,” she snapped, her head beginning to throb. “It would have been nice if you two would have shown up earlier!” Gray hissed at her tone of voice and Elain hissed back.
Elain threw her head back and groaned. Why did she even care who this person was or what they wanted? She could rip them to shreds as soon as they crossed the threshold of her clearing, dead before their body hit the ground.
“Kill him and be done with it!” A Raven cried. Something soft twined itself around her ankles and she looked down to see Gray sitting dolefully at her feet, his prior memories gone for the moment.
Because your familiars don’t talk back the way a human would, a taunting voice whispered in her ear. It was true. Elain was terribly lonely, having no one but The Ravens and Gray to talk to, and they never talked back - not in any meaningful way. She was so desperate for any type of interaction with something that didn’t either squawk or hiss at her, that she was willing to harm her body to give the appearance of normalcy so this stranger would spend time with her before trying to kill her, based on the handaxe they carried.
Despite the threat of violence that hung at her doorstep, Elain couldn’t help but feel a small sense of elation that someone was coming to visit her. If she could perhaps persuade or trick them into thinking she was somewhat normal and not a witch, they might even stay for a while and have a chat. She could make a normal human meal and talk about… What did humans talk about? The weather? Their occupations? Regardless, she would find out when her visitor arrived.
It seemed her decision was made. Taking another look at her grimoire, she began gathering the needed ingredients: pressed chamomile flowers, fresh sage, vervain, foxglove, a sprinkling of dried meadowsweet, nightshade, dandelion leaf, lemon balm, hibiscus and finally freshly plucked rose petals. She had nicked her fingers on the rose thorns as she collected the rose petals and cursed the plant, thinking that she should enchant her garden gloves to protect herself.
She placed the plants in her large mortar and consulted her ingredients cabinet. She began pulling the rest of the potion ingredients and adding them to the mortar as well: an owl wing, a mummified finger bone from a fellow witch who had died several centuries ago, a bit of a tongue from a man sentenced to hang for thieving, and her last vial of virgin’s tears.
(Adding the virgin’s tears to the mortar brought up fond memories of the sniffling man she had killed to obtain said tears. Elain smiled softly to herself as she remembered collecting the tears from the dark haired man beneath her, after he had foolishly tried to seduce her by gifting her a glittering necklace. She had cut his throat with the glass charm and then wrung him dry.)
“Ravens,” she called to the twin birds, “could you bring the Cauldron blessed soil over here?”
Ever the dutiful servants, the birds glided down to the large pail full of soil and flew it over to her workstation, setting it next to the mortar. She scratched them behind the ears before shooing them away.
This next part was perhaps the most difficult: an essence of her space being glamored. She glanced around her home. It was small but it had everything she needed: a small kitchen space, a cozy armchair by her fireplace, cabinets and nooks and crannies to store all her ingredients, books and knick-knacks, even a separate bedroom off to the side of her altar.
The altar. Of course. It was the only area in her entire home that defined her space, as it was Mother’s relics - her bit of bone and hair - that had literally brought the cottage into existence.
Nearly a century ago, after Elain spent months wandering woods and swamps and glens, she had taken a rest in this empty meadow with her few meager belongings: some clothes, her grimoire, and those physical bits of Mother that connected Elain to her ancestor and the original witch. When she awoke, she found herself on the ground in front of the entranceway of a small cottage. The only thing inside the empty cottage was a clean altar, Mother’s bone and hair placed neatly front and center.
Mother’s relics were sacred and nearly impossible to come by now - for Elain to have two spoke of how highly Mother favored her, and why she pushed Elain to give more of herself than other witches. But could Elain sacrifice even a bit of these precious objects, items with which she derived her power and gave her everything she had and made her who she was? For a chance to have a normal conversation, to relieve this unending loneliness she experienced day in and day out?
She took her knife and began shaving a bit of Mother’s bone away. Yes, she would definitely give a bit of Mother in exchange for a normal house for her visitor.
The bone shards fell into the mortar; black smoke wafted from the bone. She was almost done, just a sacrifice from herself. She knew it had to be significant. She had just given a bit of bone from Mother for the glamor - surely she would demand bone from Elain as well, or something similar.
She ground her teeth in frustration - and did it again. Teeth were similar enough to bone and the effort and pain that would go towards getting it out of her mouth would surely count towards her sacrifice as well. Besides, her tooth would eventually grow back.
Elain grabbed a pair of rusty pliers out of her ingredient cabinet and steeled herself. Not giving herself time to talk herself out of what needed to be done, she wrapped the tip of the pliers around a back molar and tugged with all of her weight.
A burst of white hot pain, some of the worst she had ever experienced, shot through her head. She gasped, choking on the blood that instantly filled her mouth and dripped down her throat and flooded over her lips. Elain stumbled, nearly falling to her knees and dropping everything that was in her hands. Whimpering and groaning, she blindly grabbed a kitchen towel and stuffed it in her mouth to try to staunch the flow of blood. She bit down gingerly with her back teeth and moaned at the excruciating pain that rocketed from her head all the way down to her feet.
She could fairly hear The Ravens squawking in concern around her, the slight breeze from their wings beating near her head wafting her hair away from her heated face.
“Up, up, up!” one screeched, while another alighted to her side with a shiny red button in its mouth. It set it down on the ground and hopped back, looking at her expectantly.
“Oh thank you,” Elain gritted out through the blood and towel. “What a nice gift.”
Taking a closer look at what The Raven had brought her, Elain saw that it wasn’t a red button but the tooth she had just yanked from her mouth. Reaching forward with a shaking hand, Elain grasped the slippery tooth and pushed herself up on colt-weak legs. She stared at the tooth in her hand. Bloody nerves and blood vessels dangled from the pale roots obscenely like a second pair of legs.
Elain struggled to stand and threw it in the mortar without a second glance. The pain was nearly blinding and she wiped the sleeve of her dress over her eyes to collect the few tears that were threatening to run down her face. She reached over to grab the pestle and began pounding and grinding the ingredients into a thick paste.
She could feel the magic growing and forming as she continued working the mixture into a more coherent paste. Some of it traveled through the arm working the pestle and moved to her mouth, settling in the empty tooth socket and filling the void where her molar was just a few moments before, leaving a sharp zing in her mouth in addition to the throbbing ache in her jaw. Other traces of the magic traveled through her torso into her limbs, stretching all the way down to her toes, through the skin and seeping into her bones and marrow.
Finally the glamor paste was mixed and done; it had turned an oily black color, thick and sticky like molasses. Pure, raw power thrummed through her veins. This was what being a witch was all about, what made every sacrifice and day of loneliness worth it. The access to so much strength and potential made Elain feel drunk with giddiness and excitement and she realized belatedly the muffled, choking guffaws were coming from her own mouth.
The energy running through her veins was masking the pain in her mouth. Removing the bloody towel and replacing it with a clean cloth, she quickly consulted her grimoire for what she needed to do with the glamor paste. The paste needed to be spread around every opening of the space being glamored. She only had one window and the front door, so it didn’t take her long to spread the mixture around the frames with trembling hands, making sure the paste formed complete borders with no gaps.
Almost there. All she needed was to imagine the space she wanted and the glamor would take effect, and not too soon. Her hair was plastered to her forehead and the back of her neck with sweat, she could taste and smell nothing but the thick, metallic tang of her blood in her mouth and her legs felt like they were going to collapse under her at any moment. Turning and gripping the sides of her altar so hard her knuckles turned white, Elain thought of her cozy home free of anything that mortals might think odd and unseemingly. Gone were the bones dangling like a grotesque weeping willow in the corner; gone were her apothecary jars filled with poisons and items no one but witches would possess; gone, too, were the suspicious rectangular holes and mounds of all sizes behind her house, temporarily hidden from sight. Gone was her blood consecrated altar to Mother. The process of temporarily glamoring it felt like an act of betrayal to her very core.
Elain opened her eyes. If she hadn’t been intimately familiar with every inch of her house, she would not have believed she still stood in her abode. Her bone collection had been transformed into dried stalks of corn. The apothecary cabinet had been filled with a series of glass jars holding cooking herbs. The altar was now a basic three drawer bureau and her grimoire was disguised as a cook book.
Her fireplace was clean, and a bubbling pot of chicken and rabbit stew was placed over the hot coals. A fresh loaf of steaming bread was on the clean kitchen table, already set for two with what appeared to be a bottle of wine set in the center. The floor was swept and a clean rug was in the entryway and a coat rack - with a coat and scarf she had never seen before - delicately hanging on a hook.
Elain sucked in a breath, looking around her in awe before registering the lack of pain in her mouth. Her tongue darted to the corner of her mouth where her missing back molar was. The tooth was still gone, the space empty in her gums, but it was no longer bleeding. She touched her mouth, face and hair, startling at the feel of suddenly soft locks framing her face. Racing to the small mirror she kept in her bedroom, Elain lifted it up to look at herself.
All traces of blood, grime and dirt had been cleared from her face. Her dark brown hair, impossibly shiny and fluffy, hung around her round face in long, delicate waves. Her lips were parted in shock, her cheeks tinted with the light pink blush. Her large brown doe eyes were framed with long, dark eyelashes.
Even her outfit had been glamored. Her dirty, rough dress she had been wearing was replaced with a pale pink dress with long sleeves, a buttoned bodice and a cinched waist that flared out to a pleated skirt. A white apron was tied around her waist.
She had never seen herself look so… different. She no longer looked like a forest witch who regularly communed with nature; she was otherworldly in her beauty, stunning enough to bring anyone under her spell just by her appearance alone.
Elain laughed in disbelief at everything around her. Mother went above and beyond what she had requested in her glamor.
There was a crash from the front room followed by screeching from The Ravens. She ran out to find them flying around the room near the ceiling, a broken butter crock on the ground.
“The Fox approaches! He aims to kill!”
“The Fireling is near!”
Gray was sitting on the altar-turned-bureau, hissing and swatting at The Ravens as they flew around.
“Yes, yes, I know they're near!” Elain shouted over the squawking of The Ravens. She moved Gray off of his perch as she tried to corral the birds towards their clean golden cage in the corner and picked up the broken butter crock and threw it in her waste can.
Elain took a deep breath. Besides her familiars running around like chickens with their heads cut off, everything was in order and ready. A mixture of excitement and nerves coursed through her veins. She felt drained from all the magic she had performed today but couldn't find herself regretting any of it. Soon, very soon, someone would be here, with her, in her house, hopefully talking and conversing with her like mortals do all the time. They would share a meal and some drink and she’d learn what was going on outside of the woods, what petty issues the humans concerned themselves with. It was terribly mundane but Elain had to pinch herself to keep from screaming.
And then this visitor would most likely try to kill her, but she could preemptively forgive that, as long as they behaved like a decent guest for a short time before they attempted to murder her.
Suddenly Elain could feel the change in the air and knew the visitor was here. Smoothing out her dress, she swung open her door to reveal a tall, hooded figure, one hand raised as if to knock on the door. Their green hood fully obscured their face but she could make out a few deep red strings of hair peeking out.
The two stared at each other for a few seconds before the stranger lowered their hand.
“Excuse me, ma’am,” the stranger said in a deep voice that shocked Elain and sent a ripple of excitement through her body. “I’m a traveler who has gotten lost in the woods. Would I be able to shelter in your house for the night?”
Liar, Elain thought with a smile on her plump lips. “Oh of course,” she replied graciously, her smile never straying from her mouth. “All manner of beasts lurk in the woods at night - do come in.”
The man stepped inside and threw back his hood, revealing the most magnificent man - mortal or otherwise - Elain had ever seen. He had golden bronze skin, framed, like The Ravens had said, with flaming fire-like hair falling past his shoulder blades in a long, straight sheath. He wore a clean tunic over dark brown pants with knee high boots and though he most likely thought himself clever by trying to hide it, she could see the outline of his handaxe on his hip under his clothing.
“Would you like to hang your cloak by the door?” Elain asked.
Her visitor didn’t answer right away, taking a moment to study Elain and his surroundings and refusing to meet her gaze. “No thank you,” the man replied. “It’s rather cold outside and I’ll need it to warm up.”
Elain nodded and moved aside so she could close the door behind him. An awkward silence followed, with Elain staring at the stranger and the man staring anywhere but her, his eyes narrowed slightly. She realized she had no idea how to be a good host - must she insist he take off his cloak or shoes? - but thought offering some comfort would be a good start.
“I have stew,” she said cheerfully, moving towards the fireplace. “Wine as well, if you’d like.”
“What’s in the stew?” he asked sharply, still standing stiffly by the door like a caged animal.
“Uh, chicken and rabbit. I threw in some carrots and potatoes - ”
“I - yes,” he said, coming to stand next to the kitchen table, flexing his hands. His eyes finally darted up towards hers, looking slightly abashed and surprised. “I apologize for my tone. I was rather nervous that I would be lost in the woods for the night.”
Liar, liar, Elain thought viciously to herself, turning her back on the man to stir the stew as she smiled to herself. You knew exactly where you were going.
Ladling two bowls of the stew, she turned back to him with a pleasant smile on her face, batting her eyelashes over her large doe eyes at the man. “My name is Elain, by the way. Stew?”
It had the desired effect - the man almost dropped the bowl she handed him, stammering his thanks, before he placed the stew on the table and drew back a chair to sit.
Elain settled across the table from the man and opened the bottle of wine, pouring it into two glasses. It was a light golden color that sparkled in the firelight.
“Honey wine,” Elain said without thinking, a tone of surprise in her voice - her favorite. The stranger raised an eyebrow at her, as if she should know what she had put on the table. Rushing to cover her slip up, she said, “Made from honey from my bees.”
The man sniffed his drink before taking a sip. “I didn’t notice any beehives as I was walking to your house.”
“They’re around the back,” Elain improvised. “With how cold it is, they’re not producing anything at this time of year.”
She took a sip from her glass, enjoying the sweetness that flowed over her tongue. Seeing Elain drinking, the man also took a sip and began eating his stew.
Companionable, if a little awkward, silence followed. Elain couldn't help herself from sneaking glances up at the mystery man, who steadfastly ignored all further eye contact with her and focused instead on his food or trying to discreetly look at her house, no doubt looking for evidence of witchcraft. Doubt was marring his face, however. He had clearly come here expecting some wizened hag and her bloody ramshackled abode, not a clean young lady in a homey but isolated cottage.
She wasn’t sure how long the glamor would hold but prayed it would be long enough to get to know the man better.
“You know,” Elain started in a light teasing tone. “I’ve now invited you into the goodness of my home, and provided you with food and drink. I believe you owe me something in return.”
The man tensed in his seat; she noticed one of his hands leave the table. “Oh? What are you thinking?”
“Hmm.” Elain made a show of placing her chin in the palm of her hand, her fingers drumming along her cheek, her brows furrowed is if deep in thought. “Let’s start with your name. I’ve been calling you ‘Man’ and ‘Stranger’ in my head and that seems rather rude.”
The man relaxed. “My name is Lucien. Lucien Vanserra.”
Now it was Elain’s turn to narrow her eyes in thought. “Vanserra? Are you related to the local baron?”
“Aye,” Lucien answered, relaxing fully and grinning softly, confidently, as if he thought the power and prestige of his family could protect him from the horrors Elain was already picturing for him. “My reputation precedes me. The seventh son of the Baron. With six brothers ahead of me, I’ve had plenty of time over the years to travel the land, get to know the people here very well,” he smirked.
Elain could see the exact moment when Lucien no longer suspected her of being the gruesome witch the local villages gossiped about: his body loosened like jelly, his eyes stopped taking in his surroundings and his sultry gaze focused solely on her. The heat from the fire was nothing like the fire in Lucien’s eyes as he openly gazed at her and discarded his traveling cloak over the back of his chair.
She felt her inner witch awaken and stir with hunger, the need to tear, rip, kill rising, boiling her blood and causing it to sing in joy and exhilaration. Soon, she thought to herself. For the time being, at least, she was still a gracious host to her lordly visitor and would need to wait to pounce on her prey.
“And why was such an esteemed and noble gentleman like yourself wandering the woods this late at night, unarmed and alone?” Elain asked innocently, taking a sip of her wine. Her tongue peeked out from between her lips to gather at the liquid on her lips and she noted Lucien tracking the movement of her tongue like a hawk.
He drew in a stuttering breath. “I’m on my way to Alton to look to purchase a new riding coat. It’s an easy enough walk that I've done dozens of times so I didn’t bother bringing anyone with me. I got distracted and found myself off the trail, wandering the woods until I came across your little cottage.”
Liar, liar, liar. Whatever he said, Elain knew Lucien originally came here with all intents and purposes to harm her even if he no longer thought her a witch but she could barely stifle her feet from tapping the ground excitedly. Here she was, talking and eating with a handsome mortal who talked back in complete sentences, who answered her questions and no longer believed she was the fearsome witch everyone thought lived here. All it had taken were her precious ingredients, a bit of her most prized possession, a tooth pried from her mouth with her own hands and the most pain she had ever experienced in her life.
What an utterly delightful evening she was having.
Lucien smiled lazily at her like a cat that got the cream as he leaned back in his chair and finished his wine. “Now, what’s a beautiful young lady like yourself doing out here in this remote place? Does anyone live here with you?”
Elain blushed. No one had ever called her beautiful before. “I… ah… moved out here a short time ago. I’m originally from a small village down south but when my father died I had nowhere to go so I started making my way north. I heard of this abandoned house and that’s that,” Elain ended lamely.
Lucien hummed as he poured himself another glass. “And no other family?”
“Nope. No one but me.” Elain took a large mouthful of her stew to buy her more time and hopefully distract Lucien from asking any more questions.
She did have family but she hadn’t seen her two sisters in years. She had no idea where they were or what they were up to; knowing Nesta, death and destruction, and Feyre, hunting mortals for sport.
The light from the fire reflected off his russet eyes. “It must be lonely, being here all by yourself.”
Before she could answer, The Ravens started cawing from their cage. Lucien jumped, spilling some of the wine on his tunic.
“Oh, ignore them!” Elain called, rushing over to The Ravens and dragging a blanket to cover their cage. “Just some noisy birds -”
“Ah, so you don’t live here by yourself,” Lucien said conspiratorially, grinning at her. He walked over to the cage before Elain could cover them. They began screeching even louder as he approached, puffing their chests and flapping their wings at him.
“Stranger! Stranger!”
Lucien tilted his head and stared at the birds. “Fascinating,” he whispered. “I know ravens can sometimes imitate speech but it’s rare. Did you teach them this?”
“Oh no, they, uh, came with the house,” Elain laughed weakly, throwing the frayed blanket over their cage. Immediately the birds settled and quieted.
Elain was about to suggest they head back to the kitchen table when a small mass streaked by her and stopped at Lucien’s feet. Gray hissed at Lucien and butted his head against his ankle, herding Lucien away from the birds - and towards the front door.
That little bastard. Ignoring Lucien’s confused stutters, Elain picked up Gray and bundled him to her so he couldn’t claw and bite her. Gripping his body and neck tight, Elain hurried towards the bedroom. “Behave, or I’ll slit your throat,” she whispered in the cat’s ear. Gray growled and Elain tossed him in the bedroom before quickly shutting the door behind her.
Elain turned back to see Lucien staring at her. “An old forest cat,” she blurted out. “He’s rather resistant towards staying indoors.”
Lucien huffed a laugh. “You didn’t tell me you already had houseguests,” he teased, smirking at Elain with a heat and familiarity that far exceeded the short time they had spent together.
“Well, a couple of loud birds and an angry housecat don’t make the best guests,” she said, shrugging her shoulders and grinning back shyly. “I was hoping they’d all be on their best behavior.”
“And have you?” Lucien asked, sitting in her single cozy armchair. His voice had lowered an octave and he was staring at her with an intensity that rivaled the fire just a short distance away.
“Am I what?” Elain asked, walking to stand a few feet in front of Lucien, keeping her breath steady.
“Have you been on your best behavior for your esteemed guest?” His hand shot out to grasp her wrist and dragged her on top of him, her knees bracketing his hips. His warm lips placed small kisses on the inside of her wrist, moving up her forearm.
“It must be so lonely, being here all by yourself, with only some half-feral animals to keep you company,” he whispered, his voice low and deep. One hand kept her wrist steady in his grasp while the other trailed lazily up her body, along her outer thigh, a hip, then moving to her back and moving higher and higher up her body.
For as long as it had been since she last talked to someone, it had been even longer since she’d been intimate with another. She had had plenty of affairs with fellow witches and some warlocks over the years. Most recently a gorgeous blonde witch with the most beautiful red cape had spent the night in her bed and fucked Elain so thoroughly she had needed days to recover.
To say she was going through a dry spell was an understatement.
Elain took a shuddering breath, both to steady her nerves from his words and the feeling of his hand that had reached the back of her head and was now tangling in her hair, his fingers lightly massaging his scalp. She placed her hands on his shoulders and felt him flex his muscles. “It’s not that bad. I have my garden and my animals and my bees - “
“Oh, you lovely fawn,” Lucien whispered. “You wear your loneliness like a second skin, tighter than this dress you have on.”
She froze. That he had managed to get to the crux of her deepest shame so swiftly felt more damning towards her than any intelligence on his part. Had she been that obviously desperate? Should she have not been so inviting when she let him in and fed him? She had only wanted to be kind and welcoming to make him doubt, if only for a time, that she was a violent and bloody witch who could easily flay him alive.
Elain swallowed. “You must think yourself so clever to come to my home and attempt to make the measure of me based on knowing me for only a short amount of time.”
He chuckled. “Do you know what they call me? Lord of the Foxes, because I’m so smart and adept at reading people, figuring out what they want, what they desire.” The hand holding her wrist released her, his fingers weaving a delicate trail along the sensitive skin of her arm.
“Oh yes?” Elain said imperiously, trying desperately to wrest some control back into her hands. “And what is it that I want?”
Lucien smiled, all teeth and for a flash of a moment, Elain thought she had underestimated the man beneath her. “Me,” Lucien snarled, bringing her head down to his and claiming her lips in a brutal kiss.
A bolt of lightning must have struck the house and landed squarely on Elain. That was the only explanation she could think of when Lucien’s lips met hers and a zap of heat moved through her entire body. His lips were plump and slightly chapped and they moved effortlessly against her own. His one hand remained tangled in her hair, pulling softly, while his other hand moved to her chin so he could better direct her face over his. His tongue stroked against her closed lips, begging for entrance, for more, and she obliged, parting her lips with a gasp as she tasted the sweet wine on his lips.
He wasn’t entirely wrong, Elain thought dazedly. She did want him - just not the way he was perhaps thinking.
“Such a perfect flower you are, blooming for me so prettily,” he rasped against her jaw. His hands had dropped to her hips, squeezing the flesh there in his big hands. The honey wine had clearly given way to honeyed words, if his soft ramblings were anything to go by: she heard compliments - so beautiful, such perfect lips - and praise - yes, move your hips like that, you’re doing so well - and fevered confessions - I want nothing more than to hear you moan for me. His words sent a frisson of heat between her legs and Elain was helpless to do anything more than feebly clutch his shoulders and take whatever Lucien was willing to give.
His hands left her hips to move to her bodice and began slowly thumbing the buttons there. Elain was in no mood to be teased; she swatted his hands away and began unbuttoning the top of her dress herself, staring down at Lucien through heavy half-lidded eyelids.
The sides of her breasts were just visible after Elain had finished. Apparently no longer wanting to delay any longer, Lucien gripped her bodice and tugged, exposing her pert breasts to the warm air.
Lucien groaned at the sight of her breasts and immediately moved to cup the small swells in the palms of his hands. Elain gasped and shuddered, silently begging him to do more than just fondle her tits. He pressed between her shoulder blades towards him so she was forced down closer to him and his lips sucked a peaked nipple into his mouth.
“These tits are perfect,” Lucien groaned, sounding drunk off her body. Elain let him suck and caress and lick her breasts, feeling the rush of his fevered touches and words move through her body and end on her throbbing center. She wanted too many things at once - she wanted those clever lips of his elsewhere on her body, she wanted more confessions spoken into her skin like a sinner at church. Most of all, she wanted to see and feel more of the hard length she felt twitching against her covered center.
She settled on moving her hands to his luxurious hair and threading her fingers through the deceptively thick strands, giving a slight tug on his roots so he was forced to detach himself from her breasts and stare up at Elain, wild-eyed, lips swollen and glistening, his chest heaving.
She stared unblinkingly into his eyes, willing him to see and sense her desire for him - not just physical but emotionally, mentally. Damn him, but she wanted him more than she anticipated. She had only set up this farce of an evening as an excuse to temporarily fool the stranger beneath her to spend time with her, talk with her, before he undoubtedly went about his murderous plot. Now here she was, a writhing, panting mess in his arms and lap, letting him lick and fondle her to his - and her - heart’s content. She couldn’t get any more attached to this arrogant mortal than she already was.
Lucien stared right back at her, one of his hands drifting upwards to cup her cheek in his hand in the first bit of tenderness he’d shown all evening and she’d received in years. She melted into him like a newborn deer, turning her head slightly to kiss his palm. A spark ran through her lips at the contact with his warm flesh; based on the surprised gasp from Lucien, he felt that same spark as well.
A pause that lasted two, three heartbeats, then Elain tore into Lucien with a ferocity that surprised even her, and Lucien met her with a frenzy of his own.
His big hands rushed down her body and forcefully bunched up her dress so he had unguarded access to the heated flesh between her thighs. His fingers glided along her bare thighs towards her center and they gasped in unison at what he found.
“Oh, my darling fawn,” he groaned, lightly brushing a finger through the wetness between her thighs. “Do you always walk around bare, with nothing under your pretty dresses?”
Elain whimpered against his neck, too flushed with arousal to answer that yes, of course she never wore anything under her dress, why would she, when his cunning finger rubbed against her clit. Elain could feel the heat from Lucien’s eyes trained on her face the entire time he rubbed and caressed her folds, a satisfied smile gracing his lips whenever he found a particularly sensitive area.
Without warning, a single thick digit entered her pussy. Elain gasped at the sudden intrusion, shocked at how good a single finger could feel. She crashed her lips against his, clutching his upper arms for dear life and shifting her hips over his hand when another finger entered her slick channel, stretching out her sensitive walls and stilling inside her. Lucien nipped her chin and looked at her with a raised eyebrow. Elain gave a shaky nod and Lucien began moving his fingers inside her at a leisurely pace.
It would be a shame that she’d have to kill him after this night.
As Lucien’s fingers picked up their pace inside her, his thumb slid up her folds to circle her clit in quick motions at the same tempo as his fingers. His clever fingers, so thick inside her, reached ridges and flesh her own fingers couldn't. Her hips were moving over his on their own volition, rocking onto his hand for more thrusting, more friction, more anything.
She was so close. A little more, a little more, she begged, not realizing she had spoken aloud until Lucien answered, “Yes, yes, anything -”
One last quick flick against the side of her clit and Elain was tumbling down an impossibly deep mountain, falling and falling, gasping her pleasure-filled moans for anyone to hear. Lucien worked her through her orgasm, his fingers steady inside her before she grabbed his wrist to stop his ministrations, the nerves in her pussy hypersensitive to any more stimulus.
No, Elain thought, as she came down from her high, Lucien’s smug grin highlighting his perfect face, why must she get rid of him? She bore him no ill will for his original plans, even if he hadn’t confessed as to why he originally came to her home. He was a handsome man that coincidentally also found her attractive and freely gave her pleasure. Why should he be separated from her?
A plan, half formed in her hazy post-orgasmic brain, was taking root. Why indeed should this exceptionally stunning man be reduced to spare parts around her house? She originally thought to strip his skin and bind her grimoire with it, pluck out his eyes and install them over her door to serve as an alarm system, cut his lovely hair and use it as thread to mend her pillowcase, or perhaps make a lovely decorative wreath with it.
Using his body and discarding it would be a waste when it was his charm, his cocksure grin, his breathy moans and whispered words that attracted Elain and made her mad with desire. She couldn’t stand to be parted from this man after tonight.
Reaching down to his breeches, she began fumbling with his ties with trembling, excited fingers, barely able to contain her glee. She pulled his hard cock out from his pants and wasted no time in wrapping her hand around his length and pumping her fist. He was harder than a rock and thick, covered in the same golden bronze skin as the rest of him. Small tufts of amber pubic hair peeked out around his cock and Elain was desperate to get him bare, to see how much hair crowned his length but she could be patient and wait another time.
There would be plenty of time for that later, after she had bound them together.
Elain continued moving her hand up and down his swollen cock, twisting her wrist at the fat, red tip and squeezing slightly. Lucien threw his back and screwed his eyes shut, his hands grasping his hips and thighs.
“Look at me,” Elain commanded. Lucien snapped to attention, transfixed as he watched Elain spit in her hand and continue moving her hand up and down his cock, squeezing his base as well as the sensitive tip.
“Fuck,” Lucien gasped. He grit his teeth and a vein popped out of his neck; Elain resisted the urge to bend down and bite and tear the vein out and slurp it down, instead leaning forward to nip at his lips. She bit just hard enough to draw blood and delighted in his moans as the taste of his heady, metallic blood filled her mouth.
“Gods I’m close,” he groaned against her lips. Elain doubled her efforts, her wrist and forearm beginning to ache but she dared not stop, needing to see Lucien combust at her hands.
“Come for me,” Elain whispered in his ear, tugging his earlobe between her teeth as her hand clutched the tip of his cock, “and I’ll show you even more of what I can do.”
With a strangled moan, his spend spurted over her hand and landed on his breeches and her dress. She kept moving her hand up and down his length as he climaxed, feeling his cock pulse and throb in her grip. He had made a thorough mess of her but she found she couldn’t be angry - not when she suddenly had everything she wanted.
Lucien lay boneless beneath her, his body twitching with the aftershocks of his orgasm as the final drops of his come tribbled out of his softening cock. Lifting her come-covered hand to her lips, Elain took a tentative swipe over her fingers, then another when Lucien let out a wrecked groan at the sight of her licking his spend from her hand.
He grinned lazily at her. “How fortunate for both of us that I became lost in the woods this evening.” He was breathless, still recovering from his orgasm, his half lidded eyes taking in her flushed cheeks and disheveled appearance.
Elain leaned forward and brushed her lips against his before moving her lips to kiss along his jaw, one of her hands trailing down his body. “Well, we both know that’s not true, is it?”
Lucien froze beneath her. Her lips moved to his neck and she could feel his pulse beating wildly against the skin of his throat, could hear the rush of blood through his veins and arteries as his heart began beating a wild staccato in his body.
“Elain?“
“You were never lost. You entered the woods for one purpose: to kill the witch who lives here.” She leaned away from his body but kept herself on his lap. His eyes were wide with shock and a hint of fear. Only a small sliver of russet shown in his nearly black eyes.
“How - what -”
“You’ve been lying to me the moment you stepped through the threshold of my house,” she tsked. “Naughty boy. And once you decided I was no threat, merely a mortal woman, you decided to seduce me instead?”
Lucien stared at Elain with a mixture of blatant fear and rage roiling in his eyes. Neither moved for a second before his arms suddenly reached down to his side while his hips tried to buck her off of him. With preternatural speed and strength, Elain squeezed her thighs around his hips to prevent him from tossing her off him, while one of her hands shot out to wrap around his neck and squeezed.
“Looking for this?” From behind her back she pulled the handaxe that had been on his hip. She applied a bit more pressure to his neck, watching with delight as his face slowly turned more and more red. One of his hands flew to her wrist at his neck and the other reached towards the handaxe feebly. Elain chuckled. “Men really get far too relaxed with women after their cock’s get a little attention.”
Lucien’s eyes were becoming bloodshot as she strangled him, his face swelling and small, purple clusters of broken blood vessels appearing over his skin. He thrashed against her like a bucking bull, trying his hardest to escape.
Elain shushed him gently. “This will all be over soon,” she cooed. “Be still, just for a moment.”
Elain brought the handaxe down on the largest expanse of his available skin - his face. She only intended to skim his cheek but he jerked at the last moment and the sharp blade of the ax ran down the side of his face, too deep, over one of his precious eyes.
She threw the handaxe away after she had cut Lucien and removed her hand from his throat. Lucien screamed in pain as his hands went to his face to cover his bloody, mangled flesh and he threw his weight around to try to force Elain off of him.
She tried to pry his hands off his face but he refused to budge, moaning to himself through his pain. “Lucien, stop, I can make it better -”
“Get away!” he gasped, shaking with fear and blood loss, a whimpering mess. “Gods, please, just let me go!”
Elain sighed sadly. “I can’t do that. I told you I would show you even more of what I can do.”
Ignoring Lucien’s shuddering moans, Elain forced her hands against his bloody face, letting some of his blood mix with his come still on her hands. She licked at the mixture, her eyes slipping closed at how good Lucien tasted.
Cutting her palm with her nails, she let her own blood mix with Lucien’s fluids. She took a deep breath and closed her eyes, clearing her mind of all the external forces around her. Steadying herself, she began chanting:
Seed of my enemy, wrought from my hand
Blood of my enemy, I command
Transform this man, bound to me
Into a beast, ne’er wild and free
Lucien’s eyes rolled back in his head as the spell took effect. Scrambling off his lap, Elain watched in breathless delight as his body seized and twitched, his blood seeping into the fabric of the chair around him. His body slumped in the chair and he gave one last heaving breath before his body went still and silent.
Elain smiled. Now all she had to do was wait.
XXX
Hours, then days, passed. Lucien’s form was curled in front of the fireplace, now as sooty and dingy as ever. The glamor had remarkable staying power - it had lifted only earlier that evening in waves and pieces until finally, her beloved cottage had returned to its normal appearance.
A soft whimper came from the bundled mass in front of the fire. Elain shot up from her chair and rushed to kneel next to Lucien, cooing softly and running a gentle hand down his body.
Russet eyes shot open in fear and alarm at the sight of her. He tried to back away from her but his body was weak after her spell.
“It’s alright,” she murmured softly. She gave him her nicest smile, showing her lovely sharpened teeth. “You’re fine. You’re safe with me.”
Lucien finally got ahold of his bearings and tried raising himself off the floor but was hampered with his extra limbs. Flailing about, he looked wildly at himself as best he could in his new body. No doubt he could make out the most impressive features: four slim, strong legs and a small body covered in an auburn pelt with a long, bushy tail. Lucien fumbled about and began barking, his fear palpable.
It was only fair that a man who thought himself as a Lord of Foxes would turn into such a lovely fox himself.
Elain waited patiently for Lucien to settle down. “Do you really think you’re the first person who’s tried to kill me?” She cocked her head at him. “Hardly. In fact, I've had plenty of practice turning violent men into my pets.”
A soft fluttering and then two light weights perched on her shoulders. Elain saw Lucien’s panicked eyes dart to The Ravens who had appeared.
“These two,” she said, motioning to the birds, “were the first. Sent by some of my father’s acquaintances after I murdered him and fled. Twins. For human men, they put up a decent fight. I was going to just kill them and throw them in the chicken coop but thought, two assassins who call themselves The Ravens may have their uses. They’ve been like this for so long they’ve completely forgotten they were ever humans and only answer to me.”
Lucien now appeared paralyzed with fright, too scared to do anything but stare between the two birds cuddling against Elain. His terror was palpable and was the most delicious thing Elain had ever tasted.
Some softness grazed Elain’s leg as Gray rubbed himself against her, purring loudly. She smiled and reached down to stroke him behind his ears.
“And this one,” she said fondly, “was the son of a local lord who thought himself a general, with his impressive horse and iron armor. He came with his men to kill me and take the forest from me.” Elain laughed but there was no humor in her voice. “He was before your time - maybe the people still talk of the missing lordling who entered the woods one day and never returned. He’s still resisting the change but it’s been nearly fifty years - soon he’ll have forgotten all about those pesky human memories and emotions.”
Lucien was making soft whining sounds, his ears flat to his head, his body trembling. He was looking around wildly like he might escape but Elain saw defeat cloud his eyes.
“But you’re different,” Elain said indulgently. “None of the others tried to get to know me, none of them told me I was beautiful and made me come on their fingers. I’ll admit, I was just going to kill you but thought how nice of an evening we had together and what a waste it would be if I never got to kiss those lips again. When I allow it, you’ll be able to change back into your human form temporarily - when I need someone to talk to, or when I want you to use those clever fingers on me again.”
She patted his head and felt a growl rumble in his chest. His lips were in a snarl, his canines gleaming in the firelight. He raised himself on his new four legs and puffed himself up to make himself appear larger than he was.
Elain sighed happily. He was adorable, and all hers.
I took a much needed break and returned to this bewitching fic by my friend, @ultadverb. It has the best witchy vibes and I’m already obsessed. Please go read it and give it some love.
A Shot in the Darkest Dark
Summary:
It was always those who understood fate the least who spoke most freely of it, as though the future were a path carved of marble, all roads leading in one direction, and one direction alone.
It was always meant to be this way, they said, never understanding that fate was chaos and not order, madness with no clarity.
And fate could be changed, if you knew which strands to pluck.
