Jul 29
Zelda Spellman being your CG moodboard.
Pictures are not mine.
seen from Georgia
seen from Netherlands
seen from South Africa
seen from Singapore
seen from Türkiye
seen from Australia
seen from Sweden
seen from China
seen from Canada
seen from Singapore
seen from United States
seen from Malaysia
seen from Türkiye
seen from China
seen from Netherlands
seen from Australia
seen from Singapore
seen from China
seen from United Kingdom
seen from Canada
Zelda Spellman being your CG moodboard.
Pictures are not mine.
Cosmic Love
Chapter 3 - The Phantom Agony
Zelda Spellman x Fem!reader
Part 1 | Part 2
Warnings: angst, lots of tears, mentions of death, cursing, not loyal to OG CAOS plot, uses of Y/n , This is set in 2016. 2016 = today PS: Proofreading is a myth. This is going to be a long one. Will there be a happy ending? yes. Will I make them suffer tremendously before that? Absolutely. I hope you like it 🫶🏻
Word count: 3.3k
The clock read 8:37a.m.
Across the flight announcements screen the temperature was announced at 13°C but you were sweating, the nerves starting to physically show as your hand shook ever so slightly as you held a cup of what had to be your 9th round of camomile tea that you insessantly drank as you attempted to lower your heart rate.
You hated airports. Specially after 9/11. What was once a comfortable experience suddenly felt like a wrong move could land you in jail.
You specially hated planes, you never liked the machines but since Edward and Diana’s “accident” you swore off ever getting in one.
Unfortunately for you, a lot of things you seemed to have sworn off a long time ago seem to become more and more inevitable by the day.
You had travelled plenty over your lifetime,but you had always been fonder of boats and trains. You liked the journey, the days spent on a comfy seat with a stack of nice books and plenty of time to think and reset before reaching your destination.
The first time you took a plane had been with Zelda and Ambrose a long time ago.
You also didn’t appreciate being separated from your familiar for long, but Orpheus was taking us own route there.
It had been barely past ten a.m when your flight departed Hearthrow Airport heading to Boston Logan’s.
It was now half past two p.m and you swore your ass was officially absorbed by your lower back as you squirmed in your seat trying to get your blood to circulate after falling asleep in a terrible position for three hours straight.
You needed to get up.
As you saw the bathroom light was green you carefully unglued yourself from your seat and stretched, finally feeling the blood coming back to your legs. Entering the cubicle you turned on the tap and washed your hands and face in an attempt to bring your mind back into your physical body.
You caught your reflection in the mirror and realized just how long it had been since you last looked at yourself from this up close.
You are a witch so it’s not like time aged you physically, at least, not in the way it would a normal human. You didn’t wrinkle or looked miserable to the unknowing eye. But the details would be obvious to someone who knew what they were looking at.
The bags under your eyes were gray-ish with barely visible blue veiny lines — rather than the regular dark and deep ones that will form in mortals. Your lips were slightly swollen and reddish from the assault your anxiety induced self chewing inflicted on them.
However, what truly gave away the heartbreak and toll the last thirteen years took on you, was what once was small patch of white hair in the front of your right side hairline, now, took over the entirety of the right half of your head.
You’d noticed it growing bigger a few months after your depart. At first it had been nothing but small hardly visible pieces of white, you thought it maybe was due to the change in season as it had been a temporary factor before, but when it didn’t go away and started spreading more after arriving to your old Oxford home, you knew it was a grief induced change that wasn’t going to go away. It had at least stopped growing once you settled in your new life, when you resided to the fact that it was over.
A knock came from the other side of the door and snapped you back to reality.
Smoothing your suit and fixing yourself quickly, you opened the door and headed back to your seat dreading the four long hours ahead of you.
Pulling out your notepad you started running your eyes through your notes.
You review the dream sequence you wrote down in an attempt to keep your memory fresh while simultaneously trying to make sense of what you saw and what it meant.
—
Diana no, Sabrina (she’s grown too grown) — Hilda (Orph)— the children — Ambrose (lucid/ present as himself — how?/why?)—Zee Zelda (I don’t understand)
Habanera?? “Prends garde à toi” “Si tu ne m’aimes pas je t’aime” “Si je t’aime prends garde à toi” not distorted like the rest — why???
Z hates Carmen — “foolish men/ no honour”
Sabrina is not Sabrina (sleep demon?)
Hilda would never, psychological torment purely?
How did Ambrose end up there at that very moment?
Sabrina’s dark baptism: what changes? Why is this different? Why is it causing disturbances?
Zee
Zelda: Betrayal, lied?, confused?, furious?, hurt
I never, would never. What happened? 13 years
who was she talking to? why was she scared?
I miss you
—
The more you looked at the pages the more questions seemed to pop in your mind.
You couldn’t shake the bad feeling that had been brewing in your stomach for the last 48 hours and because enough is never enough you couldn’t stop thinking about her.
— March 2003—
“Zee?” — you jolted from the parlour’s piano bench when the front door had been slammed shut with too much force to be accidental.
When you didn’t get any signs of your wife’s presence other than the telltale click of her heels fast disappearing upstairs you got up and followed her on her steps.
“Zelds? Bae? Are you alright?” Worry grew rapidly in your chest when you were met with silence yet again.
When you entered your shared room Zelda had been sitting on the corner of the bed, her face as red and her eyes were bloodshot. Seeing her crying had always had a visceral effect in you, it was like a knife cutting slowly and agonizingly through your soul.
“Sweetheart what’s wrong? You are scaring me.” You said softly as you knelt before her, softly placing one hand on top of her knee, the other pulling the stray strands of her usually immaculate hair from her soft pale face.
Unfortunately at this time it hadn’t been unusual to see your wife upset, it had been barely over a year since Ed’s accident, and while most days she was good at keeping it together having yet another child to raise and all this grief to get through while teaching at the academy and attending church business was getting to become too much.
Thankfully she had trusted you with watching over Sabrina and attending mortuary business specially the parts that required leaving the home since Ambrose couldn’t leave the vicinities. You gave classes five times a week. Two at Baxter, three at the academy. They took but a couple hours each so your schedule was mostly occupied by family business.
It still hadn’t been enough. You barely saw each other those days, you hadn’t cared. You knew things needed to be done and that you had all the time in the world. You had been thankful for the handful of hours you got to lay next to her, for the small moments at breakfast where you got to watch her read. For the cut-short and the lingering kisses you stole between moments. For all the quiet instances you got to love her in the middle of the loud chaos life had become.
“I— I don’t— no.” The words had been let out between strained sobs. By that point tears had begun pooling in your eyes as well. You hated seeing her like this. “Okay Zee” You whispered as you dried her falling tears gently, she had stared at you as one does a pet that needs to be put down, the sadness and dread were there you just didn’t know why.
You had let your hands softly slide down her shins all the way to her ankles and took off her heels. She didn’t fight you, she didn’t say a word. She just stared at you like you were a ghost.
You got up and held out your hand to her, she took it, conflict still brewing behind the green eyes you knew so well.
“Darling, you don’t need to talk to me but you should lay down and try to rest a little.” You whispered softly into her hair as you hugged her stiff form.
You knew it was better not to push but it was hard.
“I need to be alone.” Zelda’s voice had been hoarse from all the crying. She knew you wouldn’t protest her will. You rarely did in these cases, if there’s was something you were good at was meeting her regardless of where she was.
.
“For a bird woman you are much like a dog.” She had whispered to you randomly one night when you were lounging in bed enjoying each others company.
“How so?” You had looked up from your book slightly tilting your head in confusion at the suddenness of the statement.
“You’re extremely loyal.” Zelda stated simply.
“Loyalty is not a trait exclusive to dogs. Barn owls are loyal to their partners. Crows are extremely loyal towards their mates and homicides.”
“Homicides?” Zelda barked a laugh.
“Well if a big group is a murder… a smaller one can be an homicide, right? I mean murder sounds bigger than homicide even if it’s structurally smaller.” You were truly convinced in your statement.
“I love you and all of your uncanny train of thought” she whispered against your lips before kissing you senseless.
.
“Okay.” You whispered placing a soft kiss on her forehead. “If you need me I’ll be here”.
You had left the room with a sense of doom looming over you. Something wasn’t adding up, this wasn’t just a bad day, she had been upset beyond your comprehension.
When you had reached the bottom of the stares still wearing a frown of concern, Ambrose came out of the kitchen, muffin in hand eating like he hasn’t been fed in a week.
“What’s all the fuss about?” He asked non-commitedly more interested in the task at hand.
“I’m not sure.” You answered honestly.
“Is auntie Z okay?” Noticing your worried tone he had immediately refocused his attention to your obvious turmoil.
“I’m not sure. She doesn’t seem to want to talk.” You sounded defeated in your words as you passed him and stole a piece of his muffin.
He stood there for a second, processing the missing piece of his snack following you back into the kitchen.
“Who doesn’t want to talk?” Hilda inquired, hands deep into the sink where you assume the tray where Ambrose’s muffin came from was being washed.
“Auntie Zee.” Ambrose said as he grabbed another muffin from the tray.
“She works herself too hard. Even worse since they elected Blackwood as High Priest.” Hilda offered, disdain dripping at the mention of the man’s name.
“I can’t comprehend why would they choose —that— to represent the church. I may be biased but I know my wife and I also know that the man needs centuries of grinding before he could ever reach Zee’s knowledge on the matter.” You stated as you sat next to Sabrina who was quietly colouring on her tiny table next to the actual kitchen table, a hand softly petting her blonde locks.
“Y/n you know no witch could ever rule the church, its against unholy law.” Hilda gently reminded you, but by the look in her eyes she definitely agreed with you.
“I know, I know… I am purely referring to logistical matters. Blackwood is a tad sociopathic, plus he has had a fixation on your sister since...” You took a spot second before completing your thought “— forever.” A slight disgusted laced frown was now evident in your features.
Hilda and Ambrose both gave you a knowing look, quickly adverting their gazes away when suspicion and inquisition replaced your previous look.
“What…?” You squinted your eyes at the pair of them, hand still lightly playing with Sab’s hair as she coloured her drawing with al the focus in the world.
“Auntie… do you think— maybe… and hear me out— maybe, you might be hum… slightly jealous?” The last part came out as an almost squeak.
“Jealous?” You savoured the word, slowly repeating it as if it were a foreign concept. Because truly, it was. “What do you mean jealous? Jealous of what?” You were incredulous at the insinuation.
“I mean everyone hates Father Blackwood and we all know he is obsessed with auntie Zee and that he hates you… maybe jealousy was not the right terminology but, uncomfortable perhaps?”
“I—“ you haven’t thought about it like that, you frowned trying to piece together your own feelings trying to reach an accurate diagnosis.
“Xealus” Sabrina looked up at you from her seat as her tiny arm stretched towards your free hand to land you her drawing. A green witch, how fitting.
“Thats— lovely darling, thank you.” You said glaring at Ambrose and Hilda who were both suppressing their laughters while your niece climbed onto your lap.
“In all seriousness, I am not jealous I mean our marriage is older than Michigan
“And most of the fifty states” Ambrose mumbled.
“What I mean is— I haven’t felt jealousy since my age was in the double digits, if anything I am...— concerned. It’s not just that I don’t trust him. I have a dreadful feeling every time he comes around.” Your tone was serious and your face fell with worry.
The conversation moved as you all knew only time would dictate the facts.
Dinner time came around Sabrina was already out like a light for the night. You had tried to get Zelda to come down for supper but she had fallen asleep and you didn’t have it in you to disturb her slumber. You didn’t bother eating much that night, instead having chosen to take a long warm bath and get in bed with your wife earlier than you usually would.
It had been about an hour since you had slid under the covers with your crosswords in hand when Zelda’s breaths gradually became more shallow and a frown formed in her previously peaceful face. You didn’t want to wake her up right away so you softly rubbed her arm and whispered “Shhh baby, everything is okay. You’re okay darling.” But when it did nothing to help and her breathing became more erratic as her previously milky white cheeks became the same shade of crimson that you had seen earlier that day you had to keep her from panicking further
“Zee, wake up” you said as you shook her slightly, your heart beginning to race: But when she had started gasping for air you snapped in fear “Zelda wake up!”
She sat up clutching her throat, pulling away from your hold on her, panic and terror reflected on her eyes. You had seen a lot over the years, the smiles, the laughs, the tears, the sadness, the anger, the regrets and the fears. You truly believed you had seen all of Zelda Spellman but in that moment the dread you felt told you that you didn’t.
You didn’t—
“Sweetheart— deep breaths.” You instructed her breathing as you inhaled and exhaled with her a few times as you tried to steady your own shaky voice and racing heart.
After a moment she had finally managed to take in her surroundings and steady her breathing, you spoke.
“Can I?” You whispered as you slowly reached for her hand. Zelda didn’t speak. She simply nodded permission as she broke into another sob as she leaned onto your shoulder.
You slowly pulled her onto your chest and held her as tight as you could feeling helpless.
“Zee baby… I don’t know what’s going on in that brain of yours but I need you to know that I love you more than anything in the cosmos and I am here.” Your voice was hoarse with your own unshed tears, barely above a whisper. “Whenever you’Re ready I’ll be here, but please, don’t shut me out.”
She didn’t say anything. You don’t think she could have without breaking so you simply ran your fingers through her hair and kissed her forehead as you gently hushed her until she fell asleep glued to your side.
—
The announcement ping snapped you out of your thoughts as the pilot announced the plane was about to begin landing procedures.
“Thank Hecate.” You thought to yourself, wanting nothing but to properly stretch your legs.
.
After leaving the airport you still had a train ride and bus before finally arriving in Riverdale in the early evening. Deciding it was more than enough travel for one day you decided to settle at the Shady Palm Motel as it was the calmest closest option to your destination.
“Welcome to Shady Palm, how can I help?” The teenager staring at you from across the counter asked looking up from the desk computer.
“Hi, I’d like to get a room.”
.
“There you go, all settled in… — your room is 209.” She said as he finished your transaction and turned to grab the key to hand it to you. “Sick hair by the way. Enjoy your stay!”
You gave her a nod paired with the best “thank you smile” you could muster under your exhausted state and went on your merry way to find your room.“ Sick hair?” You thought to yourself in amusement at the kid’s comment.
.
The first thing you did after confirming everything in your room was in order was to take what had to be the longest shower known to mankind, feeling like you needed to wash the travel from your skin but also the flood of memories and worries clouding your mind.
Thankfully the long day took a big enough toll on your mind and body that as soon as your head hit the pillow you blacked out.
—-
Everything was dark.
The air around was impossibly humid. You could feel your hands shaking and the cold taking over you as it settled in your bones.
“Why did you do this? She was not a threat!” A clearly distressed voice was echoing from somewhere, You couldn’t tell where from.
“Silence witch!” A deep, gut wrenching voice followed. “You mustn’t question my will…— unless you wish to meet yours and your family’s demise child.” The voice was monotone but nonetheless threatening and bone chilling.
A series of deafening screams and wails of pure horror followed immediately, leaving you lost in a place you couldn’t pinpoint.
—-
A knock from your bedroom window pulled you out of your nightmares. Feeling your pulse in your hears you sat up looking at the radio/digital clock on the nightstand.
04:00 a.m
Sighing and rubbing your face you got up to inspect the Tok-tok noise to find Orpheus perched on the window cill. Opening the window you grogly muttered “Hecate have mercy, Orph where were you?”
“I’m sorry it took so long I had something to tend to.” He sounded apologetic but also short on his answer but before you could pry on his business he asked “Did I wake you?”
“Yeah” you huffed as you closed the window and sat back on the not-so-comfortable mattress “but it’s fine, it’s not like I was sleeping well anyways” you buried your face into your palms, annoyance starting to build up as the sleep deprivation slowly eats at you.
“Nightmares?” He inquires simply.
“Yep.” You say flatly as you throw yourself back.
“Try and sleep I’ll be right here.” He offers as he balls up on the pillow next to yours.
“Night Orph.”
“Night Y/n”
(Next chapter: Life's alright in devil town)
First 9 Pages of the CAOS Pilot Draft
Should Zelda Spellman and Lilith divorce?
Yes, absolutely
No, their love is forever
No, they're perfect for each other (derogatory)
They should divorce remarry and divorce again that's how divorced they should be
I don't know these characters but they look cute together
I don't know these characters but they should divorce
I have zero opinion on their relationship status
Zelda Spellman Masterlist
Cosmic Love (Series)
Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3
Cosmic Love
Chapter 2 - Seven Devils
Zelda Spellman x Fem!reader
Part 1
Warnings: angst, mentions of death, cursing, not loyal to OG CAOS plot, Y/n Prelude: Reader and Zelda parted ways thirteen years ago after an undisclosed event that broke the family. Today Y/N is a music professor at Oxford and after a long day receives a (series) of phone calls that may come to change the corse that the last decade paved. This is set in 2016. 2016 = today PS: Proofreading is hard after work and school so I am sorry if there are errors This is going to be a long one. Will there be a happy ending? yes. Will I make them suffer tremendously before that? Absolutely. I hope you like it 🫶🏻
Word count: 3.2k
“Oh my— that is no way to answer a phone now is it Y/n?” The voice on the other side of the line was cat like and none you recognized.
“Who is this? How did you get this number and what the fuck is it that you want besides driving me to insanity apparently” you were tired, exasperated and above all — really fucking pissed at this point.
“Ouch, I thought after all these years you would at least remember your good old friend” the pouty tone lacing the woman’s voice wasn’t at all convincing.
When you didn’t come up with a reply, too confused on how could anyone, let alone an unknown person be calling this phone on purpose when it had been made to connect Spellmans only— the woman offered an even more confusing response —
“Mary? Mary Wardwell? Your fellow teacher…”
Mary Wardwell? As in — Mary the Baxter high English teacher?
—
You had worked together for ten years, she was only a baby teacher when you first met, freshly out of college, smelling of hope and joy. Surely you didn’t mention you had been a teacher for over a century by then so as far as she knew you were both on the same “new teacher” boat.
You had been good work friends back then, even when your wife hadn’t been pleased with your double life of teaching mortal teenagers at school and witches at the academy. Sure that had been back when Edward was high priest of the church of night and had allowed you to teach despite your personal beliefs not aligning with the school’s.
You didn’t preach your faith. Nobody even knew that you weren’t one of Satan’s devotees. Your class “wasn’t important enough to impact the overall curriculum”, or so they said. There was a reason why even Satan wasn’t stupid enough to try you directly. You didn’t depend on him for power and you were practically royalty across the realms. It was best to keep you within sight and even better to keep your weaknesses on a leash.
—
“Hello?” The voice called from the old line.
“Yes, Mary. Hi.” You sounded breathless, you were confused and the frown that has been displayed on your face since earlier in the day might have just became permanent. “Just— how exactly did you get this number?”
“Oh that… I simply found it sitting in my drawer.”
You hum noncommittally at the dubious answer, not exactly believing a single word coming out of her.
“You see… we are in desperate need of a new music teacher here at Baxter high. Or may I say an old one.” There it was, that poorly masked mischievous tone that sounded nothing like the shy, nervous Mary you knew.
“Mary I— it’s been thirteen years — I am on the other side of the ocean — a whole different continent. I teach at Oxford. Why would you even call me? Are there no music teachers in one of the fifty states?” You couldn’t grasp what was happening at this very moment; you truly were waiting to wake up any second to find that you had put the wrong kind of mushrooms in the soup last night.
“I am calling you because you were the finest teacher in all of New England and because I have some very talented students that could use your guidance.” —She sounded bored— “ I also know that you hate scholars and that leaving wasn’t exactly a… thought through process— but I’m rambling— you see Y/n… strange things have been happening around here— I guess this was best attempt at reaching for some sort of… known stability”
You scoffed. Yep, those were definitely the wrong mushrooms. “Wait— what do you mean weird? Weird how?”
“You know… temperature has been rather chilly; more than usual— lots of… accidents—weird stories, hell, people have been speaking of the devil and witches as if we are back in the 1700’s”
“Look Mary I am sorry to hear that but there is no way I will be coming back to Greendale, not today— not ever. Have a nice day.” You hung up and look at Orpheus with a worried expression not understanding what the fuck is going on.
“We’ll see…”
—//—
The morning light came too soon. You had simply buried your face in the pillows and committed to ignoring life a little longer.
A little longer had been too long. Your pager was beeping and when you didn’t move to check it— or make it stop, Orpheus made a move to grab it and drop it directly on your head.
You groaned as you grabbed it and peeked to read “WYA”
When you turned to check the time you almost fell off the bed.
“FOUR PM? Why didn’t you wake me up sooner!?” You freaked out as you quickly fetched a skirt and button up shirt and ran to the shower.
“You needed sleep” your familiar answered matter of factly.
“I have a faculty meeting Orpheus I can’t just sleep in!!” You yelled at him from under the cold running water.
“It was a long day, you had nightmares. I worry” he kept his position and you didn’t argue as the visions from last night turbulent slumber flash through your mind.
—
You were at the mortuary. It was dark. So dark. You could hear music playing in the distance. You could identify the song. Old French opera; more specifically —Habanera. Only it was distorted, wrong. Deeply wrong. The player let out a screeching noise and a blond short haired girl in a white gown passed through a doorway in the distance.
“Diana?” You mindlessly called out to her as you followed her through the walls you once called home. When you reach a dead end and turn around to find her standing barely a foot from you.
Only it wasn’t Diana.
-Prends garde à toi-
“Try again” the voice coming from the girl didn’t belong to her. It couldn’t belong to her. It was deep, dark—demonic.
“Sabrina” you whispered when you recognized your brother in law’s eyes staring back at you before they turned completely white.
“Very good Y/n” the voice faded as you felt yourself being pushed into nothingness.
-Prends garde à toi-
Next thing you knew you’re in the kitchen a chopping sound coming from behind you. You felt nauseous.
After a deep breath you turned around immediately recognizing the figure in front of you.
“Hilda?” You whispered tentatively as you took a step forward.
“Yes darling?” She had a grin but it didn’t reach her eyes, and her voice was shaky. When she fully turned to face you, that’s when you saw the cleaver she’d been holding, her hands and forearms covered and blood, her eyes devoid of the light and warmth they had always held.
The image was shocking. But when you looked past her and laid your eyes on what it was she had been cutting the entire time that’s when you felt the bile rising to your throat and the panic take over your entire body.
“Orpheus” you screamed out as you saw your soul torn apart into a grotesque imagery right in front of you.
You started crying uncontrollably and when you thought you were about to pass out you suddenly found yourself in the morgue.
You could hear the faint music from upstairs once again.
-Si tu ne m’aime pas je t’aime.-
A small rattle came from the centre of the room. There was something one the table.
No, not something… Someone. By then you consciously understood none of it was real.
You didn’t know why any of it was happening, it had been a long time since you last dreamed this vividly. What you did know was that it had been a warning. Against what?, you weren’t exactly sure but it was bad.
When you managed to calm yourself and tended the nature of the situation, you reached for the identification tag on the corpse. It read “John Doe”. You knew but you pulled the sheet anyway.
Ambrose’s body laid on the table, pale, lifeless, cold.
You took a deep breath and held his freezing hand tightly as you begged Hecate for an answer as to why you were there.
“Auntie Y/n?” A small voice came from the corner of the room and your heart shattered. You didn’t turn around. You couldn’t; But when Ambrose’s voice came you felt the tears pooling in your eyes once more— “why didn’t you come back? We missed you”
The voice wasn’t the one from the adventurous “young” man laying on the table, but the one of the little boy you and your wife once held through the night when he slept in your bed because he was scared of monsters.
When you mustered the courage to face the voices you were met with him holding a —what had to be two year old Sabrina. You knew the timelines made no sense. Ambrose had been almost 170 by the time Sabrina came along. He had been over a century old before Diana was even born.
The image invoked the feeling of a grieving mother regardless.
Their eyes bored into yours, but before you could say anything they vanished into the dark and you felt a cold hand on your shoulder snapping you back to attention.
“Auntie Y/n? How—? What happened?” Ambrose sounded confused, but he sounded like himself and not a poor imitation powered by Hecate-knows-what.
“Ambrose?” Your voice cracked, sounding desperate as you held him close.
“Auntie how are you here? What is going on?” He held you tight for a moment pulling away to look you in the eyes.
“I don’t know honey but something is wrong and I haven’t been able to figure out what it is just yet.” You suddenly remember yourself and ask “Are you projecting?”
“Yes, I don’t know how I ended up here but listen to me, things are getting weirder the closer we are getting to Sabrina’s dark baptism.”
“I don’t understand. What is happening?” You were tired of all of the abstract statements and half-explained situations.
“I can’t say for sure but I am looking for answers.” He suddenly realizes how long it’s been and asks “Are you okay? Where have you been?” He wasn’t mad, he understood why you left the way you did. He was the one person that always granted you unconditional love and understanding and for that you were grateful.
“I’m okay, I went back to London after my travels and haven’t left since but this isn’t a safe place for astral projection you need to leave.” You said with a tone that left no room for discussion.
“But Aun—“
“I love you with all my heart Ambrose. I always will. Go!”You pressed a gentle kiss to his forehead.
“I love you too. We miss you!”
Complying, soon all that was left was the lifeless body once more.
You made your way upstairs determined to figure out what kind of sick joke was the universe playing on you.
Only when you opened the door at the top of the stairs of the morgue you weren’t met with the entrance hallway but with your old room. Zelda’s room.
Fuck. Okay.
You took a step inside. The door that had been previously behind you, disappeared into the wallpaper that covered the room.
There was an album perfectly placed on the center of the bed.
Blood red cover with gold accents.
Your wedding photo album, the one missing the picture you had found in the attic earlier that evening in your London attic.
-Mais si je t’aime si je t’aime….-
You didn’t want to but you opened it nonetheless.
Like clockwork the second you flipped the third page, a harsh cold voice resonated in the room.
“How dare you—“
You froze. You didn’t dare to look up.
“You have no right to be here. You have no right to those memories. Not after what you did!” Zelda, or this projection of her, was fuming and reached to snatch the item from your hands.
You couldn’t help the emotions from taking over. No matter how much you resented her for shutting you out and throwing you away all of those years ago, she had been, she was and she always will be the love of your life. It might not have been real but it sure felt like it and seeing her this close after thirteen years was enough to cut you deeply.
Over a decade of no answers to what happened, no closure to why the rug was pulled from under you in less than a second. It killed you a little everyday that passed with nothing but the knowledge that she wanted you dead and buried.
“You betrayed me. You betrayed this family. Your own family. ” Zelda spat out, her eyes were full of hate, no… pain.
You were sobbing, still not understanding what she was referring to after all this time. You refused to engage with the accusations.
“Two centuries Y/n, you managed to fool me for two centuries. I thought you loved me. Loved us— but you never did.” Zelda was sobbing and that’s what it took for you to break.
She could hate you forever she could kill you and throw you out a million times but seeing her cry had always been your biggest weakness.
You held her, shaking your head— crying uncontrollably “Zee I don’t understand— I trie— tried to stay—b—but you woul—dn’t talk to me— I—“ you tried to reach “her” but it was futile, none of it was real.
Her features quickly morphed into something painful— shock, hurt, betrayal, regret? All of them?
She slowly turned around slipping away from your hold to face a shadow that you couldn’t quite make out and suddenly it was like you were no longer there but simply became an expectator of something that had been meant to stay buried in the past.
You couldn’t make out the words being said amongst the screams and cries and when you thought your heart was going to explode in your chest everything vanished into smoke.
-Prends garde à toi-
You hoped it was over but the noise got louder and more distorted than before, suddenly you were in the parlour, facing your old piano. In front of you was a music sheet.
The last song you ever wrote.
Suddenly you heard a caw and looked up to find a crow staring down at you.
Watch yourself.
When you jolted awake the clock announced 3:33a.m.
Of course…
——
It took you a solid seven minutes to get ready, grabbing your bag you leaned over and gave Orpheus a little head kiss and thanked him.He puffed his feathers slightly before resuming his peaceful slumber.
Before you knew you were sliding in the auditorium on the east wing trying to remain unnoticed and failing miserably as all everyone turned to look at you with unreadable expressions.
“Miss Y/L/n how lovely of you to finally join us” the head of the science department remarked with a fake smile that didn’t reach his eyes “maybe you should just get a phone instead of that ancient pager thing you rely on.”
“Mister Harrington” you smile trying to hide your annoyance at the man “I apologize for my tardiness but I will not take any snarky remarks regarding my— or lack there of— tech choices so please do keep those comments to yourself” you stated as you sat in a corner and tried your best to remain invisible for the next three hours.
You hated the man, he was an unwelcome remind of Blackwood and the reason why you hated men with a passion.
He mumbled something about manners and how you should be nicer but subsided his commentary when the meeting resumed.
When it had finally ended you were as aware of the contents of the reunion as you had been in the beginning. You weren’t.
Mary had been right about one thing is that you hated scholars, specifically the mortal ones. So young and full of themselves. The only faith being their own egos and high horses.
Fools.
You were lost in thought when a familiar voice came from behind you, quick steps rhythmically marking the stride as the ginger tried to reach you.
“Y/n may I have a word?” the Irish accent was unmistakable. Arthur O’Brien , the head of the music department AKA the one mortal man who hasn’t made you wish murder was legal in this realm.
“Hello Arthur, how may I assist you?” You answered as you stopped and turned to face him.
“How is your class planning coming along?” He asked a bit breathless from all the jogging he had to do in order to reach you.
“I— truth be told I am not sure.” You answered honestly, defeat and exhaustion slipping through your tone.
“Look I will be honest, I am a big supporter of your work” his flattery told you everything you needed to know, “ but I can’t justify to the board opening an entire module this semester, not right now, certainly not with the current political landscape…” the man sounded truly apologetic.
“Arthur—“ you didn’t even know what you were going to say but he got ahead— “Y/n let me finish— I can’t open your class, but, I would like to invite you into my classroom. Your work is truly outstanding and I believe you can bring a lot of value to our students”
“I am leaving.” The words left your mouth before you even formed a conscious thought.
“What?” The man was caught by surprise “if it’s because of the class— we can figure something out. I can al—“ he tried to bargain but your soul decided before your mind did.
“I got a call from an old friend, I think— look I have somethings to figure out and to that I have to travel a great distance and won’t be able to be around.” You were shocked with your own words but you knew you couldn’t go another year without answering the questions that plagued your mind for the last decade.
“Are you sure?” He was looking at you, really, looking at you as if he was seeing you for the first time.
“Yes I am sure, thank you for all of your help O’Brien. You have been a good friend to me.” You gave him a reassuring smile and shook his hand. “Goodbye Arthur”.
———
“You are doing the right thing.” Orpheus stated as you threw several of your belongings into a bag.
“I don’t know about right… — What if there is nothing wrong and I just lost it completely? Maybe I’ve gone crazy?
What if I’m throwing away all the effort I put into leaving all of it behind for — what? A silly nightmare?.” You know it’s futile to overthink but you let your thoughts spill out regardless.
“Y/n, in thirteen years nothing has happened, the last twenty four hours have been nothing if red flags and sirens. Something is wrong, Ambrose was there was he not?” Your familiar was a really good at dissecting your thought for you when your own judgement was clouded by irrational doubts…
“Why yes. It was him I don’t know how he got there but I am sure.” Your eyes had a small glow, to them. You hadn’t seen your nephew in a few years, not since he last visited you in one of his astral projections. Not since you lectured him for endangering himself like that when he was a sentenced man.
“Y/n I may be biased but you deserve answers, you need to move on” Orpheus really was the voice of reason, always louder than your intrusive thoughts.
You scoff despite his reason “I moved on. I’ve built a life for myself. I mean— not everyone can brag about being a Professor at Oxford now, can they.” you tried hiding behind an empty attempt at humour but you knew it was pointless.
“You live in a house you once shared with her, you don’t have friends, you don’t speak for days— sometimes weeks at a time and, you haven’t sung in years. You didn’t move on and I can’t blame you because it requires closure and— that —requires at least some answers. You shut down and despite your very long existence thirteen years is a long time to be an hermit.”
You hated when he was right so you grabbed your headphones and chose to be a closed off hermit for a little while longer.
—
It took you half a day to pack.
It wasn’t exactly hard, most of your clothes are black, an habit you kept after all the years spent organizing and leading funerals and classical music concerts and all other preparation requirements consisted in covering the furniture properly and making sure everything would be properly forwarded to New England.
The night came and with it the dread of tomorrow’s day, the knot in your stomach got tighter by the hour and although you tried to sleep it had been nothing but a useless attempt.
You were in for a long journey...
(Upcoming: Chapter 3: The Phantom Agony)
And for my next trick I will be torturing the living hell out of y/n and Zelda on this series
Cosmic Love
Chapter 1 - Wildflower
Zelda Spellman X Fem!Reader
Warnings: angst, divorce, mentions of substance abuse (cigarettes/ alcohol), character death (non major), curse words, not loyal to OG CAOS plot, Y/N
Prelude: Reader and Zelda parted ways thirteen years ago after an undisclosed event that broke the family. Today Y/N is a music professor at Oxford and after a long day receives a (series) of phone calls that may come to change the corse that the last decade paved. This is set in 2016. 2016 = today
PS: not exactly proofread
Word count: 1.6k
“Oh for the love of Hecate” you mumbled as the wooden box flew off and crashed open as you pulled the sheet covering the ancient bookshelf that had been sitting on the attic for longer than you care to remember.
It had been just a quarter after three when the phone hanging from the wall downstairs had started ringing. You chose to ignore it, nothing good had ever came from answering that damned thing. Last time it rang was almost thirteen years ago. Hilda had called that evening to ask you to please wish Sabrina a happy birthday.
By then it had been a few months since you left the Spellman mortuary but the little blonde girl hadn’t forgot her aunt and had been incenssant on speaking to you and ask where were you and when would you be coming back.
— October 31st 2003 —
“Oh darling I am so sorry.” Your voice cracked a little but you took a breath and continued “ I had to attend to some very important business but I need you to know that I love you so so much and that I am always thinking of you, okay?”. Your tears had been falling freely by then.
“Okay Auntie Y/n, I luv you too.” Sabring answered in the heartbreaking voice only a three year old can master.
“Just what do you think you’re doing?” You heard the unmistakable voice of your ex wife coming through the background. Zelda was furious. You hung up before any more damage could be done to your psyche.
That October 31st had been spent with too many glasses of Jäger and a pack of Phillip Morris that had been both emptied in a few hours of sleepless disturbance. That night you played the century old piano that sat on your old Oxford home until your fingers bled. You tried distracting yourself with the lyrics of others creations but all you could hear were Zelda’s last words to you.
“Leave, Y/n, I don’t ever want to see you again, you are dead to me.”
— Oxford — current day —
You had been looking for an old spellbook much needed for your current musical project. You knew it had to be in the attic because that is where you kept everything you wanted to avoid. The edition you were looking for had been gifted to you many decades ago by a young Ambrose after his first travel across Eastern Europe. He had gifted Zelda one on Hexes and Dark Arts, both were signed “Thank you mothers for loving and supporting me, Love Ambrose”.
Back when you and Zelda had a massive shared book collection.
It doesn’t matter now. All that matters is that you needed the book for your class this week and by Hecate’s name you were going to find it.
You tore apart the piles that filled the victorian bookcase one by one, but, of course none of the 423 books that had been shoved in there was the one you needed.
The phone rings for what feels like the hundred time in twenty minutes and you groan, getting frustrated with the high pitched noise coming from the ancient telephone, making team with the dust floating around you, that is also now covering your clothes, plus, the absence of the book.
You hear a small coo from the rounded window and roll your eyes, your annoyance getting more prominent by the second of that ear splitting ring.
“Yes I know, I also know I will shove an ice pick through my eardrums before answering that cursed thing Orpheus” you answered your familiar.
“You know I am only trying to help” he answers back.
“Nothing good has ever came from answering that phone” you said with a tone of finality.
You and Orpheus have been together since you were a child, if anyone knew what you felt and thought— better than you did it was certainly the barn owl that was starring into your soul from across the room.
He knew arguing was futile so he settled for silence.
You resumed your quest, fumbling around a pile of boxes. You opened one and pulled out some old journals. You knew what they were so you dared not open them. You settled on a crossed-leg sitting position on the neglected floor. After opening all of them one by one at the bottom of the last box a shiny purple string poked through, immediately conjuring recognition. The book you had been looking for, finally. You buried your hand under the pile of covers and pulled it out.
“Yes!” You exclaimed finally coming to the end of your search, flipping the pages to make sure the years hadn’t worn it out too much.
“Is that it?” Orpheus asked, his voice falling distant as your eyes landed on the piece of plastic coated paper; a photo.
“What is it?” He asked as he propped himself on your knee, suddenly not needing an answer any longer as his eyes landed on the wedding photo.
Zelda’s face stared back at you, not with the harshness and cruelty you last saw on her features before you left all those years ago, but with love, pure unconditional love. Next to her you shared a similar dream like smile, on the bottom corner a tiny Ambrose jumped with an adorable grin photobombing the wedding portrait.
Tears pooled on the corner of your eyes and blurred your vision. You shoved the picture back in the box closing it and murmuring “Hell I need to get around to burn this stuff” as you got up and grabbed your book making a B line for the stairs that led back to the second floor of your home.
Orpheus followed in silence, he knew thirteen years were no match to the near two centuries you spent with the Spellman’s. It would take you a long time to heal from the events, if you ever will.
He felt it too, after Vinegar Tom died something changed in him. You and Zelda had been so connected that somehow it reflected in your familiars as well.
It doesn’t matter anymore.
When you reached the kitchen on the first floor you pull out a glass of scotch and thank Hecate that the phone stopped ringing. You take a sip and light up a cigarette as you try to sway away the memories of your past from the front of your mind.
After a moment of silent contemplation you hear a loud bang coming from upstairs and jump up from your spot, calming instantly once you realize it was just a door hitting because of the wind. You sigh in defeat as you make the way back upstairs to close the attic window and subsequently the door so you can settle away from that God forsaken room until you gather the courage necessary to burn everything that resides in it.
You finish making sure the window is properly closed and locked you spin around to find the wooden box from earlier and its contents fallen and scattered all over. You quickly bend to pick it up along with the set of clover and heart keys as well as the small stack of music sheets that had presumably fallen from it.
You put away the box and keys avoiding entertaining the thought of meaning, simply stacking it back amongst the books and covering everything with the dusty, thick, no-longer-white sheet and properly locking everything up this time, aided by the nicotine running through your system.
—
The ice cold water ran through your skin as you washed away the dust and the bitter sadness that accumulated over the evening. Cinnamon and sugar scent enveloped the air around as you finally turned off the tap and got out of the shower.
Once dressed in a cozy silk nightgown you settled at the piano with your book in hand and the sheets found earlier scattered around you trying to organize your upcoming class.
It was Tuesday, October 28th you had been trying to come up with a proper curriculum on a experimental music unit but you had failed to make something that would please the agnostic scholars without having your phd in theology bleed through.
You came from a powerful line of witches, Hecate worshipers, some had been writers, others painters, you had been one of the few singers. Before you could talk you had already been singing. It had been a long time since you last sang anything. You had played several instruments over the centuries but nothing ever got you like a good old piano has. That’s all you cold bring yourself to do.
Every song, every good song, you ever wrote belonged to someone else. Everything great, everything that granted you prizes and praise and standing ovations had been because of her, — had been about her. Every lyric was so entwined with your feelings for her that the thought of weaving them into speech was more painful than pulling teeth.
As you kept trying to focus on the words in front of you the telephone rang once again.
“It’s the eight time today, take a hint” you mumble into the air as if the message will register with “whoever” is calling. You keep your eyes on the page and a sigh of relief escapes you when the noise subsides.
When you think you finally found piece in your own living room, the vile machine rings yet again with what seems to be the screech of every single soul that has even condemned to eternal damnation
You slam the book and get up, knocking off the bench, making your way to the kitchen almost ripping the ancient phone from the even more ancient wall as you answer it with a poorly contained growl of pure discontent
“WHAT?”—
To be continued...
(Upcoming: Chapter 2 - Seven Devils)