fifityshadesofplaid:
Death doesn’t happen to you, you’re not the one suffering the gut wrenching anguish, the sleepless nights filled with sorrowed wails and staining tears discolouring hollowed irises lilac. No, it happens to everyone left standing at your funeral, trying to figure out how they’re going to live the rest of their lives without you in it. And some couldn’t.
Something about her powerlessness to flicker a sign of life across her ashen and lamented visage hinted to the observant human that they had both been touched by the Grim Reaper’s wicked finger of fate one too many times. Yet, she seemed determined – a trait mutual to the both of them. She wasn’t completely deflated, there was a smouldering ember simmering beneath the despondency. Stiles pushed his first verdict to the back of his mind, knowing there was more to this witch than grief.
‘ Is anyone’s? I think we all live a fantasy, ignoring reality until it becomes too difficult and overwhelming to conceal the hardship…Speaking from experiencing anyway. And I’ve never been one who fakes, ’ he confesses, tentative feet brazenly carrying him forward. He wasn’t quite aware of her power, though he’d heard rumours of the abundance of energy following through her from a harvest ceremony. He wasn’t too keen to give her a reason to show him just how commanding she could be.
Comfort contorted his weary complexion, chasing away any notion of threat. Slender hands revealed themselves from his pockets as if to surrender wordlessly. She was as resilient as Atlas, the weight upon her diminutive shoulders ceasing to quake despite the fatigue evident in her own azure hues.
‘ Are you sure that’s wise? You look – Davina right? ’ Honey irises narrowed, softening with empathy. ‘ Would the dead want you to pray yourself into an early grave? I mean – I don’t mean to be so abrupt but you look like you haven’t slept in days… ’ He’d deal with her inquiries about her name later.
The girl had shifted her focus, muddled thoughts now racing into further ramblings about the next move at hand. Her newfound guest was clearly going nowhere, his voice continuing to flood from her ears into a dulled buzzing like a pestering fly. It didn’t take much practice to tune him out. Davina had spent countless moments the past few years listening to unwarranted lectures and warnings and spewings about ‘sides’ and ‘loyalties’ enough to last a lifetime. Eventually, they all became the same speech, just woven by different tongues and lingering intentions. Always an agenda. Nobody ever wanted Davina for Davina.
Nobody. Not until Kol.
Being born a French Quarter witch, the young girl was born indebted. Her hands were stained with the blood of her ancestors’ own tribulations. There would always be a price to pay. A war would always rage on these cursed streets, as new patrons crawling into an age-old battle with their own deck of cruelty to deal, lined up for a taste of it all. Servants of nature became something more sinister once crossed into Bourbon Street. Suddenly keeping the balance twisted into doing whatever to stay alive, even if that does mean selling your soul to the devil. Or a vampire. Witches liked to hold themselves holier than thou when it comes to the undead, almost as if they all didn’t have underhanded dealings going on beneath the table. ‘Anything to keep the peace,’ as they would excuse. It created a known reputation for the covens of the south, witches willing to bend a rule or give a favor, for a certain price. And with someone like Davina, with a power unmatched and as ancient as the dawn of magic itself, it wasn’t unusual for the girl to get her own fair share of visitors.
Needless to say, she was expecting the boy. It was rare for a witch to be granted the ability of foresight. In fact, it was more a myth recited in fables during rituals than anything. But Davina knew different now. At first, they were just flashes of moments within a glimpse. A checkered shoe. The model number of a Jeep. An unhinged smirk. Then came her séances. For months it had been either complete silence or pounding migraines equipped with bloody tears whenever she’d reached out to the ancestors. But for the past few weeks, there’d be a whisper of something, only for a second. It had been indecipherable at first. And then she heard it...a name. It’d haunted her for days now, to the point where she began drawing again in fits of agitation. Almost as if it were forced upon her, until her fingertips were darkened from charcoal and her muscles ached from exhaustion. Fits would last hours or minutes. It’d be one drawing or dozens. The same face. The same name signed beneath. Always. And it wasn’t until she wiped the tired from her eyes that she would notice she was in some enigmatic trance.
With power as great as hers, the young witch had all the means to set up defense after defense, becoming one of the most powerfully protected witches in history. It also meant that those beyond the realm of the living had a stronger hold on her than she cared to admit. The power the girl had wasn’t hers to keep and the ancestors knew that....and they were angry with her because of it. That’s why they refused to listen to her pleadings. And why the first message delivered to her in months were of this boy. For whatever reason they wanted her to know him, and she didn’t know what to make of it.
Davina almost missed him though. Her fingers weren’t that of a skilled artist, so to compare stencils to a real-life figure was harder than you’d originally think. If it weren’t for the ignited hum amongst her skin, the brightening of the flames on the dozens of dripping candles within the tomb, she might’ve almost missed him. And he mentioned her name. That was a big red flag. ‘So, you want me to entertain yet another Big Easy Groupie?’ she thought bitterly. Stupid ancestors with their secret motives. But a few moments of thickening silence and crackling tension had her sighing in defeat. “Fine, I’ll bite. But on my own terms.” She mumbled into a flame set upon the crumbling alter, knowing an essence was on the other end listening. Waiting. Davina took a breath before speaking boisterously, “Enough with the chit-chat.”
“Kembe po transi”
The power that flowed instantly from that nether being, something intangible that separated her from ordinary mortal into a witch, erupted amongst her skin, traveling and tickling until air stilled and time cracked at once. All to combine and erupt at her command, coming to fruition at the place her hand was outstretched to. Where the boy was standing. She was sure he wouldn’t notice it, as the barrier was invisible and undetectable by the senses. But he’d find it quite unmovable if he shuffled too far. Davina’s favorite boundary spell, to keep those in place until she deemed it otherwise. “Let’s skip the part where you pretend to care for my well being. The dead don’t, so why should you?” Her tone was rhetorical as she began to circle him slowly, surely. “Sentiment isn’t really their...specialty. They have many other uses, one is to keep those in power informed, though I’m sure you suspected as much...Stiles, is it?”
“I’ve been expecting you. Kept me waiting quite some time...so for the sake of it and my own lingering patience, how about you just get to the part where you tell me what you want and I’ll consider not turning your brain to mush ⎯⎯⎯ with the snap of my fingers.”
