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andreafmn · 9 months

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Bound | Chapter 2

Word Count: 3K

Summary: Rosalie always carried the resentment of not being able to fulfill the image of the perfect family she had in her head. But the universe had set out to grant her everything she could've hoped for in the most unconventional way and in the form of a witch. Can their love withstand the promise of forever or will Rosalie and (Y/N) succumb to the grapples of time?

A/N: this is basically just a "and they were roommates" and a "history will call them best friends" situation. For all effects of the time period, they do refer to each other as friends though. 😉😉 Also, sorry I wasn't able to update my other stories. Have not been feeling very well these past few days and writing only exacerbates my migraines.

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What happened to her during the late hours of the night one late April in 1933, (Y/N) (Y/L/N) could not tell. She had been lying in bed when all of a sudden, all she could feel was pain and fear. Her body trembled and whined, begging for something –anything– that would ease that pain.

Her body raised from her bed, clutching at the walls of her room in the darkness. With the flick of a shaking hand, the candles on her vanity turned on, their flames illuminating the area slightly. (Y/N) sat in front of her mirror, checking her body for any sign of a bite or scratch, for any external reason as to why her body was in excruciating pain.

But there was nothing. Nothing to explain why she felt an unbearable burning running through her veins. It was the sort of sensation that could only come from a freezing state. The scolding blaze that only the lowest temperatures could bring. She could feel it flowing across her body, no site of emergence she could determine.

There was a feeling of fear inside her that she couldn’t explain as well. It called for death, tempting closer, its breath cold against her neck. She had never been afraid of dying. It had always been a fair spirit to her. Even if it had taken her mother at a young age, (Y/N) knew that it had been for a reason. But that night, she did not understand Her intentions or why she was seeking for her soul.

She tried to keep quiet. To hold in the scream that was boiling inside her throat. She wanted to release every ounce of pain throat her throat until it hurt from the wailing. Hard as she tried, sobs and whimpers escaped her, and the groans simply slipped out.

“Is everything alright, (Y/N)?” Her best friend, Bea, walked into the bedroom, rubbing sleep off her eyes. “I can hear you struggling from the living room.”

“I don’t…,” the girl tried to speak. “I don’t know –ugh– what’s happening.”

The groaning put Bea on high alert, scuffling toward her friend in an instant. “What is it, (Y/N)?” she questioned, her hands cradling (Y/N)’s face. “Where does it hurt?”

“Everywhere,” she croaked breathlessly. “It hurts everywhere.”

“Here, let’s get you to bed,” Bea cooed, wrapping her arm around her friend’s waist. She helped her to the bed, partially covering her shaking body with a blanket. (Y/N) was trembling like she was freezing, but her body was sweating as if a fever was ransacking her body. “I’m gonna scan your body, okay? Maybe that’ll tell us more about what’s happening with you.”

Bea left the room, and (Y/N) could hear her tinkering around the kitchen, gathering ingredients and items she could need. The girl stumbled in minutes later, her arms full of herbs, a mortar and pestle, a pitcher of water, a wooden bowl, and various vials that (Y/N) could not discern.

The raven-haired girl sat by the bed, placing all the ingredients and instruments on the floor. The smells from whatever paste Bea was making eased her body slightly. Scents of sage, rosemary, ginger, and moringa danced in her nose, letting her focus on something other than her hurt. The paste felt cold against her skin as Bea spread it on her arms, her chest, then her forehead, cooling everything that it touched. But it did nothing for the ache deep in her bones.

(Y/N) could hear her friend as she poured the water into the bowl, speaking an incantation she knew far too well but could not remember at that moment. Her hand governed above the liquid, turning counterclockwise with the fire-red light that left her body. Had she not been writhing in agony, she would have been so proud of how far Bea had come with her magic.

“I need your hand, (Y/N),” she said softly. Her hands took her friend’s, holding onto the index finger of her left hand. “This might pinch a little.”

In the midst of her pain, (Y/N) did not feel as Bea dug the point of a knife into her finger, letting the blood drip down the digit. What she did note was that instead of the water turning into black goo or simply a light pink, it made the liquid disappear in a small explosion.

“Well, that has never happened before,” Bea mumbled in astonishment. “I think we might have to call the High Priestess, (Y/N). I can’t explain what just happened to you.”

“NO!” (Y/N) exclaimed before she fell back with a groan. “Just stay with me. It’ll pass. Just stay with me.”

“Alright. As you wish.”

Bea sighed before ultimately crawling behind (Y/N) on the bed. She cradled her friend’s body, reciting a pain-relieving spell over the paste that covered her extremities. They stayed in that position as the night passed. As (Y/N) remained in discomfort, Bea continued comforting her as best as she could. She’d smooth down her hair, she would distract her with stories their parents used to tell them when they were younger, and she’d sing lullabies she remembered from their childhood. Everything and anything she could think of to make this unexplainable experience better for her best friend.

Hours went by, and the two friends remained in each other’s arms, and at some point, they drifted off to sleep. The rays of the sun snuck in through the windows, basking their bodies in warmth. Somehow, the night had shifted into day, and the body-shaking pain had subsided as though it had never happened.

When Bea finally awoke, she found that (Y/N) was gone from the bed. And though she worried for a second, she somehow knew that her friend had simply gone to the only place they would when the need to decompress was too high. She cleaned up the mess from the night before and headed to the river just outside the village their coven resided in.

She walked down the trail the two had traveled together many times over the years. The babbling brook had become a place of solace for both of them. When life seemed to weigh down their shoulders, they could go to the river and allow the cold water to make them feel new. It had been the only place where they could feel free. Where the eyes of some people in the coven or of the people from the town could not judge them. Whatever they were.

Bea found (Y/N)’s figure quickly. The girl was sitting by the river banks, the bottom of her white dress soaked already as her feet dipped into the water. In silence, she joined her friend’s side, a wave of relief washing over the burning in her veins. (Y/N) was alright –at least she seemed– and that was all she could ask for.

“You left so early this morning,” Bea finally sighed, breaking the silence. She took a strand of (Y/N)’s hair and ran it through her fingers, something she only did when her anxieties were getting the best of her. “I was afraid something else had happened.”

“I’m sorry to have worried you,” (Y/N) smiled. She kissed the skin of Bea’s shoulder and leaned into her friend’s touch. “But I needed some time by myself. Last night… last night was indescribable.”

“And how are you feeling now? Your complexion looks much better, I must say.”

“I feel amazing,” (Y/N) sighed contentedly. “I don’t know how to explain it. But I feel powerful. Like my magic has grown within me –if that’s even possible. I have no idea what I went through last night, but right now, I feel almost invincible.”

“Was it a magical resurgence, then?” Bea offered. “I’ve heard of them, but I never thought they would be so… violent.”

“It could have been,” she responded. “I can’t be sure. My magic does feel stronger than it has ever been. The earth around me feels like it is buzzing with excitement. As though it knows something that I don’t. Still, it has never been described this way in our books. And I’ve never heard of it happening after your twenty years of age.”

Bea sighed, her head falling slightly at the weight of the next words she spoke. (Y/N) was acting too nonchalant as to what had happened, and she was still shaking with fright from the night before. “I thought you were dying, (Y/N),” she cried. “It seemed like at any moment you would slip away from me.”

The girl turned her head to her friend, her heart breaking as she saw the tears falling down her eyes. Her hands flew to her face, her mouth kissing away the tears before they stained her skin. “I’m sorry, Bea,” (Y/N) whispered as she hugged her friend’s head close to her chest. “I would never want to scare you like that. Not willingly.”

“I don’t know what I would have done. I don’t know how I could ever go on without you by my side. I can’t lose someone else from my family.”

“Oh, my darling, Bea,” she said, her voice muddled by the black hair of her friend. “I’m right here, darling. I haven’t left. I’m right here.”

(Y/N) kept Bea close to her chest until the girl’s shaking sobs weakened. She ran her hand through the black locks of hair, calming her unsteady heart with a gentle touch. Thankful there was no one around, she kept her close to her chest, kissing the top of her head every few seconds.

“I can imagine it was scary for you as well,” Bea continued once she had calmed, her gaze suddenly more interested in her hands. “And what happened with your blood, I… at least we can rule out dark magic. But you were in so much pain, I could not bear it. Even if it did strengthen your magic now, I thought it was going to take you from me.”

(Y/N) cradled Bea’s cheek, forcing her eyes to bore into hers. “It’ll take the Great Mother herself to strike me down to take me from you,” she answered sternly. “You are my family, Bea. And I’m not planning on leaving your side.”

“Don’t speak that way of the Great Goddess,” the girl chuckled, her pale cheeks burning red. “You know the universe has a tendency to throw curveballs when you least expect it.”

“Since when do you speak in sports metaphors, Bea?” (Y/N) laughed. “The next time you come in from town, you’ll be dressing like Jean Harlow.”

“Don’t pretend like you would hate that,” she laughed. And it was such a beautiful sound that it made the woman smile brightly, the corner of her mouth stretching as far as they could. “But could you imagine what people would say if I came to the village wearing a red-silk slip dress? I’m sure I’d be run out of the coven with fire. I can already hear old Reginald telling me that a lady should always dress respectably.”

“Darling, you could be wearing a tarp over your body, and my eyes would still be on you,” she smiled. “There’s nothing that could keep me from gravitating toward you.”

Her hand rested against the skin of her cheek, tracing the curvature of her features, kissing the corner of her mouth. It was the same face she had looked at for years, and yet she never grew tired of looking at it. The way the corners of her eyes crinkled when she smiled, the way her dazzling icy-blue eyes beamed brighter when she spoke about her dreams to become the coven’s High Priestess, the way her pink lips slightly parted when she focused on listening to someone; all the things that made her the most beautiful woman she had ever seen. The very face she could have died staring at if that was her destiny.

(Y/N) wanted to confess the love that warmed her heart whenever she was with her. But those were words that would condemn them. They would force a spotlight on them that they could not bear. Not where they lived, not in the times they lived. They were forced into silence into stolen glances and a title that was far too small for the significance of her in (Y/N)’s life.

“It’s not fair, you know,” Bea sighed after a beat of silence. “We shouldn’t have to hide this way.”

“Have you been practicing your mind-reading spells?”

“No,” she smiled. “But it’s written on your face. It’s written on us every day that passes. It’s not fair.”

“I cannot speak to fairness, Bea. But it’s the world we live in. And maybe one day it won’t be, but for now, this is the way things are,” (Y/N) said, the thread of defeat sewn into her words. “I wish I could hold your hand when we are in town, I wish I had been able to steal a kiss from you in the halls of the school. I wish I could declare to the entire world that you are by my side. That you have been and always will be more than my best friend.”

“And I wish I could give all of that to you, (Y/N). I want that for you, and I want that for me,” she said, her voice breaking under the weight of her emotions. “I want the world to be okay with the way I feel for you. I want them to welcome us with open arms and understand that love can look a thousand different ways.”

“I know, Bea. But there are two secrets about us that the world can never know. Not for the time being, at least. Maybe in the next life, we’ll find each other again, and things will be different.”

“I hope so, too,” she smiled with a sigh. The river rushed rippled before them, running to meet the sea, to become part of something bigger. “You know, they call this the Bound Souls’ Bank. Have I told you the story before?”

“Only a thousand times,” Bea chuckled as she stared into (Y/N)’s eyes. “But I’ll never grow tired of hearing it.”

“Well, it’s said that a young couple met in this very river many, many, many years ago –long before even our parents were in plans to be born– a young couple met in this very river. Maybe it was by chance, pure coincidence. But many say it was fate. That it had to have been fate,” (Y/N) related. “Their paths had never meant to cross. Not in this lifetime, at least. They deemed it almost impossible for these two hearts to ever know of the other. Alas, life brought them together.

“The man had been chased to the river; not many know why. Still, he’d gotten there at the exact moment the woman had come to wash her linens. She did not know him, but she had decided to protect him that day,” she smiled at the words she said. As a beam of sunlight peeked through the trees, (Y/N) raised her head and basked in the warmth of the ray. “And the rest? Well, the rest was history.”

“They fell in love,” Bea added. “A love so intense that it defied time and space. A union people pray for but rarely get.”

“That’s right. The very founders of the village that is our home, even to this very day,” she continued. “They welcomed into the circle witches and wizards from all over the country, offering them a safe dwelling to live their lives in peace. Even opening the door to other supernatural creatures that rarely had a place in the world. And they called it New Forest Village. After the woman’s death, they named this very river in their honor as a way to say thank you. As her body burned down the stream, her soul returning to our Great Mother, they baptized the body of water. That way, no one would forget the two people who fell in love here and gifted so many with a home.”

“I wish you were my bound soul,” the onyx-haired girl admitted. “How grand would it have been if we had been that incredible love to each other?”

“It might not have been you, but you are still my soulmate, Bea. And no one can take that from us,” she offered. “And our love is not measured by whatever destiny the universe has in store for us. It is measured by what is in our hearts.”

“I guess the universe did grant us a favor, then.”

“What ever do you mean?”

“If you had been my bound soul, there would have been absolutely no one that could keep me from declaring how much I love you.”

(Y/N) pressed a chaste kiss to Bea’s lips, reveling in their softness and their warmth. Her hands snaked around her waist, needing the closeness of her body to let her know that Bea was there, right there with her. That she wasn’t a dream. She had kept quiet, but she had feared that when she had woken that morning, she had not been able to survive the night and was walking in the silence of the afterlife. The second she had seen Bea, she had wanted to believe she was wrong. But it wasn’t until she touched her that she knew she was still alive. So. Very. Alive.

“Then you will have to settle for telling it to me,” she grinned. “Whenever you feel the need to scream it out, I want you to tell it to me in any way that you desire. Through the water, through the air, the earth, or fire, darling. And I promise I will say it back.”

“You are my sun,” Bea smiled.

“My moon,” (Y/N) responded with a matching gleam.

“And all of my stars,” they said in unison.

At that moment, they swore that would be their forever. Even if they had to pretend to be friends and only friends until they were old and grey. Buried in each other’s arms was the way they were meant to live for the rest of their lives. How were they supposed to know their definitions of eternity were going to be so different?

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aliterarydumpsterfire · 1 year

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Home Is Where the Heart Is

This story was written for the discord server Nightshift Writers' bi-monthly prompt challenge, posed by member Ultra. As always, prompts are open to deviation in order to be flexible for writers. As it's clear, I deviated from some details to make it work for me. Here's the prompt:

The house creaked with age and emptiness. Every good natured protest from the home amplified a singular expression. Loss.

It was the loss of all manner of sayings, spells, and words of wisdom, and most of all, of the woman who spoke them.

It was the loss that Evie Price knew keenly as she stood among furniture hidden under sheets of white linen, unable to feel anything else. That loneliness threatened to consume her, forcing a pressure behind her eyes and an ache in her heart.

First Mother, then Grandmama, who’d been so old it seemed she would never retire, in mind or body. But then she did. All at once, Evie’s life… hell, the world, felt unbearably empty. Before Mother’s passing, Evie’s life had been so ordered. So predetermined. University courses, closing shift at the bakery, dinner, homework, rinse, repeat. Even the hint of skipping a short class, or leaving Mother to close the bakery on her own and Evie would earn the sternest of glares. What now, that her university classes were done, the bakery sold, and Grandmama was gone, too?

Resentment welled up. Out of habit earned from one too many stern glares, she pushed it down.

She could almost hear her mother’s voice scold her. No sense in crying over it. But Mother wasn’t here, and neither was Grandmama. Hopelessness dropped from her throat to her belly, and echoed back up like from a great depth. It whispered a lonely refrain.

Alice would be along soon, to help her attend to the home Evie’d not visited since she was a girl. Putting the house in order was a task she didn’t want to think about– when Alice volunteered to help, Evie nearly cried.

She still didn’t know what she wanted to do with the house. There was no one else to take care of it. The thought of renting it out felt like a cruel joke. Moving in though felt just as cruel. Staying here, without Grandmama? She didn’t even know how half the potions or pots in the kitchen worked. Symbols and words of power laced the rim of every implement. It would take a lifetime to learn what her grandmother had not been permitted to teach her.

But Grandmama’s home could never be too silent or somber for long. Somewhere deep in the beams, something started*.* At first it was a whisper, and it grew to a hum. It was a sound she never thought she’d hear again.

“What is that noise, Grandmama?” She tilted her head up, swaying with the quiet music.

The graying witch smiled, and handed a batter spoon to Evie. It tasted of cardamom and honey, with another flavor she’d never been allowed to know, but it was the taste that filled her dreams. In Dreamland, laughing fae that smelled of Grandmama’s fresh muffins danced to the hum of the cottage, but not even dreams could match the love that steeped her time at Grandmama’s in the waking world.

“It’s the song of home, child. Wherever you are in the world, if you hear this song, it is because you belong there.”

It was the humming that drew her to the attic. A warm, nameless tune pulled almost imperceptibly up the loft stairs. It wove up the worn railing, and grew stronger when her feet rounded the last step. She found herself in the attic, staring at a cedar chest. On the chest sat a book that should not have existed, upon a doily of spider-spun gold thread, wrapped in a music that could only be of Grandmama’s making.

Evie blinked and bit her lip, fighting tears that sprang of their own accord. Tendrils of warmth coiled in an almost familiar embrace wound around her as she reached out to the book. So interested was she, she did not hear the gentle footpads that followed after her, even as the floorboards have their croaky report.

“What is it?” came a soft, curious voice behind her.

She shook her head. “I haven’t seen this since I was little. I thought Mother burned it.”

“What is it?”, the voice came again.

“It’s a…” She couldn’t bring herself to say it at first, picking it up with a ginger touch. A layer of dust came away with her fingertips. “You’re gonna laugh.”

“Pffft. Show me!” A gentle hand tugged at her elbow insistently.

Evie stood paused for a long moment. The leatherbound cover was just as she remembered, with raised gold snakes and vines intertwining up pale pillars. At the center was a thinly etched circle surrounded by symbols of which she’d never known the meaning. There was a time she’d been promised that one day that knowledge and much more would be her’s. That was before Mother whisked them away from Grandmama, 5000 kilometers and lifetimes apart, so it seemed. But she would’ve known that book anywhere.

“It’s a spell book. My grandmother’s spellbook.”

Alice’s chin popped over Evie’s shoulder. “For real?”

“Mhm.” Rough paper edges whispered under her fingers as Evie flipped through the pages. Amidst the stiff parchment and flowing penmanship the faintest smell of dust and cinnamon tea came to her, bringing a smile to her lips.

“This book is the reason Mother made us move away.”

Her friend’s voice took on a cautious hush. “Is it possessed?”

“No no, nothing like that.” She snuck a sly smile to Alice. “That I know of.”

A slim arm hooked through her’s, Alice’s gooseflesh brushing over Evie’s own. “That’s comforting.”

The house creaked with a chilly draft in answer. Her companion’s shiver grated like sandpaper against Evie’s skin. The book hummed and emanated warmth. It did not apparently extend to other people.

“Come on, we’ll put a kettle on, we’ll use Grandmama’s special tea.”

The tea, on second thought, was a task Evie wasn’t sure she could complete. There were words, and an ingredient that danced on the tip of her tongue but that she could not find in Grandmama’s innumerable little vials. They settled on a tea Alice had thought to pack with them, and the two sat with the book on a settee of the deepest blue. They scoured each page, sounding out words they’d never heard before, cautiously forming half-spoken spells on untaught tongues. What it all meant, or could mean, was of little consequence to Evie. It was enough to not be alone.

Soon they had mispronounced all of the potions and principles of the first chapters when they reached the incantations. Both curled up, half entangled, tea forgotten, Evie’s heart leapt at the next chapter’s title.

“The Art of Intention, Incantations, and Spellcasting,” Alice read aloud. “Ooooh, like real, real witch stuff? Like wish spells and love spells, and…”

“We could practice,” Evie said, eyes wide. “I always wondered if love spells really worked!” Then the ridiculousness and absurdity of speaking the possibility struck her, and she fell back in a burst of giggles.

Alice joined her, collapsing on the pillows with a flounce and cascade of curls. “Oh, there’s no need for that,” she said softly. The two giggled again, nervous and giddy as they pored over the book.

Evie wished it was true. Then she could stop looking away so fast when their eyes met. She could sink into a comfortable cuddle when Alice sat close. She didn’t have to feel embarrassed when their hands touched, like when she made tea for two. She wouldn’t have to pretend to be apologetic when she stole fries from Alice’s plate at restaurants.

She doesn’t like me. Not like that. The whisper in her brain came with a little pang of loneliness. But at least Alice was here, when she had no one else. ‘Friendship is a special magic. Never doubt the power of love that is given freely and intentionally’, Grandmama would always say.

I should be more grateful. She swallowed back the lump that threatened to break her composure in two and instead said airily, more sing-songy than she could ever possibly feel, “Well, I guess we’ll never know”.

The book above their heads, Evie stared at the next chapter, Incantations with Intention. Unbidden, the image of Grandmama in her kitchen came to mind. There was always some lesson to be had while the octogenarian prepared some potion or another. ‘All the intention in the world can be for naught if you never give it life, child.’

“Can you imagine it, just… casting a spell and having your wishes come true?”

Alice reached up, taking one side of the book in her hand and pulled it closer. “Your Grandmama thought you could.”

“She’d be the only one.” Evie released the other side of the book, letting the back cover hang against the pages, the paper fanning out from the binding. Her friend lowered it, laying the tome down, and slung her arm over Evie as they both settled further into the cushions.

“I believe you can.” The sweet earnestness in her voice and lazy finger tracing swirls and nonsense in her palm melted Evie. For a heart as lonely as hers, once a devoid chasm deeper than the Marianas Trench, a spark flared.

Grateful, she laced her fingers through Alice’s. “Thank you.”

Encouraged by the sweet tones of a familiar humming, Evie rolled onto her elbow and curled into Alice’s embrace. She brushed errant curls from her friend’s eyes. Then she closed her own, and pressed her lips to Alice’s.

A nigh-imperceptible exhale swept warmth across Evie’s cheek. It was followed by a smile, a cupid’s bow curved into her own and the kiss was returned.

The cottage’s hum swelled gently around them both. Evie could have sworn it took on a voice, tender and joyful, as it whispered, “welcome home, my dears.”

#cozy fiction #cozy witches #sapphic witches #flashfiction #aliteral dumpster fire #aliteraldumpsterfire

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