#arranged stones and flesh and little sacks of water water water that would kill any blies if released

[catcrazies-midnight]

thinking abt the Light in jieu’reis culture actually thinking abt how in the void of space it bore itself and in it the Ten and in them the Mother and in it the blae and how they are all a shadow with a Light at its heart a Shadow with a light at its heart a shadow with a light at its heart and everything around it for incomprehensible distances are made in its fractal image and one day in the far far future beyond the perception of any living thing the Light will blow up in a great ball of fire and take everything it created with it but it is not sapient and it did not intend to create or to exist and it simply was because in the presence of the shadows there must be a Light and in the presence of the Shadows there must be a light and in the presence of the shadows there must be a light and it is worshipped and it is above anything but it is not a god and it is not alive it is simply a rule that the presence of one means the existance of the other

[yourdeepestfathoms]

melting fire

Bela had never been so hot before.

Delirious and fever-stricken, she squirmed on her bed, desperately trying to escape the burning heat inside of her. It was like she was laying in the hot sand of a desert, slowly being fried by the sun that wasn’t there. Because she was in her bedroom, shrouded by dim shadows, and the only light was coming from a singular gas lamp on her desk, flickering faint yellow-gold across the floor. But it was so hot, the blankets like plains of fire on her skin, doing little to bring her any comfort.

A soft moan managed to escape Bela’s flaking lips. Her mouth was dry, tongue like burnt coals. She desperately needed water--not even blood, but nice, cold water--but she couldn’t get up. She could barely even move aside from her twisting and turning in a vain attempt to get comfortable.

Her breath came out thin, reedy, and too-hot. She thought she could spout flames, maybe. She had to be burning alive.

There was a squeak as her bedroom door creaked open. She pried open her heavy eyelids to see two silhouettes creeping towards her bed. She instinctively bared her teeth and spat at the trespassers, too weak to raise her claws to defend herself.

“Someone is cranky,” teased a voice.

Wait-- she knew that voice.

Bela settled as her sisters perched on the edge of the bed.

“Sorry,” she rasped, her voice weak and hoarse from illness. “I’m kinda delirious.”

“Kinda?” Cassandra raised an amused eyebrow. “Do you know what you were doing before you passed out earlier?”

“Do I want to know?” Bela asked nervously.

Daniela helpfully supplied her with details: “You were all wobbly and Mother set a hand on your shoulder and said it was to keep you from falling. Your response was, ‘It’s okay, five-second rule.’”

Bela’s face flushed red--redder than it already was than her fever. “Oh--”

Daniela didn’t relent: “And then you started stroking Mother’s arm hair and said, ‘You’d make such a good carpet.’”

“Okay, that’s enou--”

“You also said, ‘my bones feel wet, may I have a napkin?’”

“Daniela--”

“Oh, and we can’t forget, while at breakfast and you were still trying to act like you were okay: ‘Coffee doesn’t taste like coffee, but it sure does taste like brown.’”

“Okay, okay!” Bela yelped, then coughed into her blankets. “I get it. I was out of it.”

“Very out of it,” Cassandra said, stroking her claws through Bela’s sweaty hair. Bela, rationalizing that she couldn’t get any more embarrassed than she already was, leaned her head into her sister’s touch, letting out a soft purr of contentment. Cassandra’s talons were nimble and uncharacteristically gentle against her burning scalp.

“Where is Mother?” Bela asked.

“Aww, are we not good enough company for you, Beli?” Daniela teased playfully.

“I didn’t say that!” Bela squeaked. She hunched her shoulders in. “I was just wondering.”

“Somewhere around here,” Cassandra said vaguely. “She’ll probably come to check on you soon.”

Bela nodded sluggishly. Her head was beginning to fill with fog again. “Alright…” she murmured.

“Aww,” Daniela cooed. “She’s getting all silly again.” She reached out and lightly dragged her claws down one of Bela’s clammy cheeks, probably thinking she was being comforting, when really her touch was just ticklish.

Bela bared her teeth at her, though she barely opened her eyes. “Shut it.”

Daniela tittered.

“Well, we’ll let you rest,” Cassandra said, tugging on Daniela’s arm.

“Sleep well!” Daniela said as she was pulled out of the room.

“Thanks,” Bela replied.

The door shut and she was left in darkness once again.

Bela rolled onto her side and curled up in her blankets. A moment later, she rolled onto her other side, but it did little to help her discomfort. Her body was aching all over and no position was good enough.

Outside, the wind was howling. Another snowstorm was blowing in, loud and powerful. She turned over again to watch the snowfall. The snowflakes flew like dozens of little whiteflies behind the glass, twisting and twirling through the air. It made her think of her own flies, and she broke off a piece of her skin into a cluster of insects. She was desperately lonely and wanted something to interact with since she didn’t have her sisters or mother there with her.

With blurry eyes, Bela watched dazedly as her insects flew around her head. She held out a finger and they lined up on it in a perfect arrangement: blowfly, flesh fly, dogbane beetle, Spanish fly, black vine weevil, drain fly, green bottle fly, clothes moth, click beetle, room spinning, ears ringing, eyes shutting…

Bela’s head jerked back when she began to nod off, sending her bugs into a scattering cloud of frantic wingbeats. She blinked her eyes furiously, but it did little to dispel the fuzziness over everything. It was like she was looking underwater. She rubbed her heavy eyelids, and moving her arms was like trying to move solid beams of lead.

Her fever flared. She moaned weakly in pain.

Her skin was baking, boiling right off of her bones. Her limbs were sacks of heated stones and smoldering embers that she had to drag around with her, and her ears simply felt like they were lit on fire. Her cheeks felt like someone was holding hot iron to the sides of her face and wouldn’t let go, no matter how loud she screamed.

To put it simply, she was like a roasted lamb on a spit, rotating slowly above hungry flames. Sometimes, she had fallen into their orange-gold mouths. She could almost feel the flaming tongues licking at her skin…

Bela squirmed, whining faintly. She couldn’t handle this. She couldn’t take this heat. She used to think the cold was bad, but this-- this was just awful.

She had to escape it.

As though beckoning her, the blizzard howled.

Bela raised her head--which was rather difficult, as it felt like it weighed a ton--and squinted. The snow usually wasn’t very enticing, but something about it now seemed to call to her. It was inviting her to join its cool embrace, promising to soothe her raging fever. She had to oblige to it.

Sliding out of bed, Bela staggered towards the window. The glass was cool against her palms when she pressed her hands to it, but felt even better on her burning forehead. She let out a sigh of relief as the chill invaded her, but it wasn’t good enough. She needed more. She needed to be rid of this fire inside of her.

Bela pushed against the window. It didn’t budge. She whined and pushed harder. It still didn’t budge. Mother kept them locked for good reason, but Bela needed to get out now. She felt like she was being cremated and didn’t know how much longer she could handle it.

Finally, after a few moments of desperate struggling, the window relented under her assault and she was embraced by the soothing cold. It didn’t hurt as much as she thought it would. It felt…nice.

Letting out a sigh of relief, Bela relaxed her body and shut her eyes to rest.

--- --- ---

Alcina was alerted by the sound of glass shattering. She had been idly flipping through a book when she heard the horrendous smashing sound. Instantly, she snapped to her feet and began striding down the hallway until she got to Bela’s room. Upon opening the door, she was greeted by a blast of cold air, which was as freezing as the black ice that suddenly sprinted through her veins.

“Bela?” Alcina shouted. Stepping inside, she noticed that the window was broken open and her eldest daughter was nowhere to be seen. “Bela?!”

Alcina rushed over to the crater created in the glass and looked out. Despite the darkness of the night, she could still distinctly make out the figure of Bela in the snow below.

She didn’t look like she was moving.

“Bela!!”

Alcina ran out of the room, where she was promptly met by her other two daughters. They both instantly leaped away from the doorway with yelps when the cold wind brushed against their legs. She quickly shut the door.

“Mother, what happened?” Cassandra asked.

“Stay here,” Alcina said instead of answering. She then turned and sprinted down the hallway and outside, nearly clipping her head on the doorframe.

When she found Bela, she may have been more concerned about her falling from the second-story window if it wasn’t for how leached her skin was. Her eldest daughter was icy to the touch, her skin as brittle as weak glass in the unforgiving cold. Alcina scooped her up into her arms, holding her close to her chest to protect her from the vicious lashing of the snowstorm as she carried her back inside.

Bela had been out there for less than three minutes, but Alcina’s mind was still running in panicked circles. Was it enough to kill Bela? Was her baby girl about to die in her arms? Alcina’s heart seized at the mere thought of losing one of her daughters. She frantically went over her own notes in her head: the flies generally began hibernating at temperatures below ten degrees Celsius, and it was definitely below ten degrees Celsius out there. When that happens, their metabolism drops and they go into a state of lethargy, which then causes extreme weakness and fatigue. There was also the pain and sensitivity that came from the cold, and though Bela didn’t seem like she was in freezing agony, Alcina still couldn’t be too sure.

It was then that Bela stirred, and Alcina snapped her head down. Bela was squirming in her arms, whining ever so faintly. She didn’t seem to be in pain, she just seemed distressed and very uncomfortable.

“Mother,” Bela panted. “Please--”

“It’s alright now, my love,” Alcina said, carrying Bela over to one of the many fireplaces in the castle, swiping up a blanket folded over a cushioned chair as she went. “It’s alright. I’ve got you.” She squeezed her daughter close to her chest, not quite realizing that she may have been smothering her. “It’s okay. Mother’s here now.”

“No-- no--” Bela tried to wiggle out of her grasp, but she was much too weak. “Hot-- too hot--”

Alcina frowned. She had been wondering how and why Bela got outside, but now it made sense.

Was her fever really that bad?

“You can’t be cold, darling,” Alcina said, crouching down in front of the fire, not releasing Bela from her vice. She wrapped her in the blanket, despite her wriggling. Under her touch, Bela's skin was still worryingly frigid and dry. She hoped the snow wouldn't leave blisters. “You must stay warm.”

“No--” Bela’s claws tugged feebly at Alcina’s dress. If it weren’t caused by illness, then it may have been cute. “Mother, please…”

Alcina sighed. She shifted Bela into one arm (it wasn’t exactly hard to do) and brushed her sweaty hair out of her face. Bela leaned into the touch, her eyelids fluttering shut. She purred faintly.

“You need to be warm,” Alcina told her. As hard as it was to resist her child’s begging, she couldn’t just go throw Bela out into the snow. She had to keep her near the fire, where her body could go back to its normal temperature.

Alcina cupped the back of Bela’s head and pressed her face into her neck, rocking her slowly. She should have kept a better eye on her. She should have been there, taking care of her. Now an awful chill had taken lodge in her precious daughter’s body and she was worried that it wasn’t going to come out.

“Mother?”

Alcina turned to see Cassandra and Daniela. They both looked simultaneously curious and worried.

“Is Bela okay?” Daniela asked.

“She will be,” Alcina answered, holding Bela closer until she was holding onto her like a baby koala bear. She was hoping her body heat would help dispel the ice inside of Bela’s own being. “Your sister thought it would be a good idea to break her window and go out into the snow.”

“I’m hot,” Bela whined. She quickly followed her words up with a purr as Alcina stroked her hair.

Daniela giggled. “Beli, I thought you were the smart one!”

“‘M gonna…turn you into a ceiling fan,” Bela growled without opening her eyes. “But…too tired… Maybe later…”

Daniela giggled again. Cassandra snorted into her hand. Even Alcina, despite her worry, couldn’t help but chuckle.

“Darlings, can you get a wet rag for me?” Alcina asked her other two daughters.

Bela chuffed against her neck.

“A moderately cold one. But not too cold. Just slightly below lukewarm. Please.”

Cassandra and Daniela both nodded and raced off to retrieve the item before the other.

Slowly, the cold was draining from Bela’s body, chased away by the tag-team effort of the fire and Alcina’s body heat. Her fever, however, quickly became apparent once again, searing right through the back of her gown and into Alcina’s hand while she rubbed up and down her spine. No wonder she had broken a window just to get outside; she was burning up.

“I’m sorry for not keeping a better eye on you,” Alcina said, shifting her daughter in her arms. “I should have been watching you to make sure this never happened. Though, I never expected you to break a window…”

“Not your fault,” Bela said, her breath hot against Alcina’s neck. “I was being stupid.”

Alcina leaned her back slightly, cupping the back of her head with one hand. “Are you slightly more awake now?”

“A little,” Bela said, her eyes glassy and half-lidded. “Feel like I’m on fire, though…”

Alcina frowned and tucked Bela back against her. She worriedly ran her fingers through Bela’s hair, which was damp with a mix of sweat and melted snow.

“I’m sorry I can’t do more for you, my darling,” Alcina said. “Damn, why did you and your sisters have to be weak to the cold? I would run you an ice bath if that didn’t put you at the risk of--” She didn’t finish that sentence. She shook her head. “Why flies? Why something that can’t survive in the cold? Why not something like-- like-- like birds!”

“Better than being hurt by heat,” Bela pointed out. “Then the fever probably would have killed me already.”

Alcina winced. “I suppose you’re right.”

“‘Course I am. ‘M the smart one.”

That got a small chuckle out of Alcina. “Your hubris is showing, darling.”

“No, yours is,” Bela mumbled, drifting off into a feverish, half-awake daze of slurring and purring.

Despite her remaining worry, Alcina couldn’t help but chuckle once again. She rocked Bela slowly until Cassandra and Daniela returned with the rag, Daniela being the one to present it to her. She thanked them, then shifted Bela in her arms so she could wipe her face down with it. Bela shuddered at the cold water on her heated skin, but let out a soft coo of pleasure.

“Thank you,” Bela whispered, cracking open her eyes slightly.

Alcina gave her a tender smile. “You’re welcome. Now, rest, my sweet girl. I will watch over you until you feel better.”

Afterward, she would make arrangements to strengthen the windows.

[jacklynnfrost]

Melizabeth Week #2

Submission for DAY TWO of Melizabeth Week @melizabeth-week This piece is Beta’d by Sinfulfics, thank you for always being a message away, and for being encouraging on my darkest days.

Chapter Two: Past By Jacklynnfrost

His face is dry, lips cracking, his skin chafing from the bits of sand that have maneuvered their way into his clothes. They escaped the sand storm hours ago but the effects linger as his raw flesh burns with the grit grinding against it. With a quick peek over his shoulder he checks to see that the Princess is still following as he knows now the task of getting her to the temple is a difficult one, and she must arrive so he can kill her at the right time.

Meliodas frowns, wishing his fathers would have given him more to go off of than, ‘You’ll know when it’s the time to strike’ as if a sign from the gods will guide him in this wretched task. He wishes she were annoying, or not so pretty, but at least she isn’t one for conversation as he can work with having no regard for her. She’s not complained once, her lips just as dry and her face rosy from the scorching sun overhead.

Without the sandstorm to shade the rays it burned, the sand underfoot practically glittered from it baking in the heat. It would have a certain appeal if they weren’t being cooked too. Nothing here is worth giving a second look, it’s something they both agree on but neither speak up about. Of course, when a pair of jutting rocks glint in the distance that connect to make the shape of a heart he does give it a second glance.

“We’re close to the first rest stop,” he remarks and he hears Elizabeth fiddle with her buckle, then crinkles paper telling him she is checking the map behind him. With a snort, he rolls his eyes. He memorized their first jaunt and all he has to do is keep his eye out for a lighthouse. The thought that this place, or anyplace near here once had a body of water big enough to need a lighthouse’s burn fire to guide their ships at night is unbelievable with how this land is now.

“I was told there would be beasts and clouds of remnant power that jolted lightning from above...” she mutters, looking out while tucking the map away once more to gaze over the empty landscape. “Maybe we have been lucky?” Even as the words leave her cracked lips, she winces, wondering if all the information she’s been given is accurate.

Only, as they pass under the heart-arch pillars, half-fallen stone walls appear in the distance. Their destination, and as they near with no towering lighthouse around, what they thought were rocks sharpens to outlines of figures. Elizabeth steps closer to Meliodas as they pass their first, a humanoid reaching out with most of its hand eroded away to leave a nub. It looks to be made of a tan stone, cracking with their features smoothed out, but their face is to the sky and their mouth is open wide like a divot in the rock.

At first, as they pass other statues, with them reaching and running, broken arms jutting from the sand, she wonders who would make all these. Then her heart stills as she realizes what’s happened. “They... were petrified,” she whispers, her throat thickening as her heart goes out to these poor souls having been caught in whatever did this to all these people.

“I wonder which side did this.” Meliodas isn’t sure if some of the eroded pieces are horns or wings or both, but he snorts as the sun is starting to set causing shadows to cast from the fuller bodies and larger stones.

“Does it matter anymore?” Elizabeth whispers, taking a shallow breath. “They all died for such a stupid reason and all of us are still paying the price for our great-ancestor’s, ancestor’s war.” He freezes, his steps sinking into the sand. Instantly Elizabeth tenses, looking around but inching closer to Meliodas thinking something must be wrong. Her eyes water as she focuses on their distant path, trying to make out the long curved structure that blocks their way.

Her words, it goes against everything Meliodas has been taught. What his fathers beat, literally, into him about how right the demons were in their part of this war. A rage bubbles, unfairly focusing on her for having any logic that pierced through what he understood of the world. A cognitive dissonance he liked to embrace, but seeing the effects, the bodies... he hated that her point stuck with him like a leech he couldn’t pull free. Because... Why did it matter anymore when it was three thousand years ago?

No one alive today is at fault. These deaths, the bodies stuck screaming around them until they turned to sand too, and this wasteland is both results of so much expended magic by both of their great-great-ancestor’s war. It was so bad that three thousand years have passed and nothing natural can live or grow here. It even sparked their current journey, as every ten years a goddess apostle must travel to the temple and... He frowns, wondering if she even knows what she has to do.

“Oh,” Elizabeth hushes. “The lighthouse has fallen.” Her arm grazes his cloaked shoulder as she points to the long cylindrical building on its side. With a shrug, he marches forward, shaking out his shoes as he can feel the grit. She hurries to follow, and he expects a thousand questions he can’t answer- about what they are going to find in their ‘safe zone’, which clearly isn’t how it was when the map was created however many years ago.

Yet, she doesn’t.

The sun is lowering, on its way to set and Meliodas knows they don’t have much time to look for an alternate place to camp out for the night before it’s here. The wastes have been so different than he imagined he doesn’t dare guess at what roams in the dark but the temperatures will surely drop without the burning sun. The shelter is a must.

Meliodas leads, looking into the cracks and open arches of the side of the lighthouse still above the sand. Some places are dark with crumbling floors and stones but after a few disappointing rooms he stops at what he sees in the next opening, the arch smoothed from erosion. A well’s rim, stone and jutting from the low levels of sand. Others must have cleaned the room out of trickling sand over the years, Meliodas’ first thought is the other warriors and their apostles must be keeping this clear each time they pass through.

“Here.” He climbs over the sideways arched window, noting the incline of sand that has made its way in that he now feels obligated to clear since the rest of this little room is. Still, he goes to the well first to make sure it’s still worth the effort he will put in. A dry well is worthless. Meliodas instantly feels better in the shade of the lighthouse and away from the grating winds that kick up the sands. He looks over the lip of the well and although it’s too dark to see he can smell the fresh dampness and hear a little trickle. There is no bucket or rope. “I’m climbing down. Give me your waterskin.” He reaches for his own and in a clean sweep has it to his lips and downing the entire thing.

“Oh, you know I can purify water then?” she asks and with a stark, hidden flush Meliodas looks from her and doesn’t answer realizing he drank the rest of his water a tad rashly. Elizabeth drinks the remainder of hers down before passing it over and as he climbs down, she gets to work, not wanting to be idle. The place is dark, cobwebs and sand cover most of the floor that she supposes used to be a wall when the lighthouse was upright.

The well must have smashed through it and she’s surprised it remains intact from the impact and after so much time. Still, she peers into the adjacent rooms, seeing them full of wood and stone rubble before looking down the well herself. She watches the top of his head disappear into the darkness while clinging to the side. He is strong, she can tell, she knew when she first saw him emerge from the Amber trial so early this morning.

After a few moments of silence thoughts of the price she has to pay for the actions of so many in the past start to trickle in and she frowns as the sun sets behind her. Without it, an instant chill sneaks up her spine. Elizabeth makes herself busy, dropping her pack and slipping into the room over to pull the wooden beams and planks free from the rubble inside.

When she has a nice pile, she arranges it in the main room to start a fire with extra on the side for when the night wears on. Elizabeth opens her pack, getting out her sleeping sack and then the wrapped bread and some fruit. When Meliodas still hasn’t returned she goes to the well and whispers his name down the hole. Her mind whirls with worries, wondering if he slipped, or if something else was down there. She starts to swirl her power in her hand, letting it illuminate the room and just as she’s about to drop the ball down the well she hears scraping while her senses spike with a sudden surge of dark magic.

Elizabeth readies herself, centering her own powers as she turns to the only entrance in and out of the room. The rush of air doesn’t come from there though, instead it’s from the well and with wide eyes she turns to see Meliodas emerge with dark flickering extra limbs out of his torso. She watches as the dark power sucks back inside him and it takes her a moment to realize he’s offering up the two waterskins.

“Seemed fine, but do your little purifying thing,” he gruffs, shaking out his wet hair and looking around at the food set out, her bedroll and the wood pile ready for their night ahead. “I’m actually surprised you aren’t more of a burden,” Meliodas notes as her hands glow blue over the full sacks. She blinks, processing before deciding to let it go.

He doesn’t. “I thought you would complain more, or not have any useful skills out here.” With a little smile to him, she tugs her water free from his grip and with their eyes connected a silence stretches between them, an understanding forming.

“There is no point in complaining,” she finally whispers before shaking her head and walking around him to the little camp she started. This sentiment is something he agrees with, a smile tugging against his will as he watches her walk, finding himself appreciating her form again. “Thank you for collecting the water, Meliodas.”

He isn’t sure how to respond, not used to gratitude but steps over to crouch beside the other pile of set out food. He readies for a strike, conditioned to expect it but eating quickly, finishing the entire offering in a few blinks and barely chewing. Elizabeth is curious, wants to ask but as he stands and begins a pacing patrol she chalks it up to him wanting to guard their new position.

She finishes, cleans up and starts a fire when the cold creeps in. He is ever attentive to the outside, a sentinel channeling his training, the full belly an unexpected benefit when he is used to working on very little sustenance. In the distance a beast roars, they both still, growing quieter but as he searches the dark he cannot see where the sound originated. After a moment, Meliodas hauls a larger piece of debri from the room over to rest mostly over the sideways window they entered to dull the glow from their fire within and to stop the winds from blowing the cold in.

The crack above still releases their smoke but he thinks it will be too dark to see it from any distance. Still, his job is to get Elizabeth to the Temple and he positions himself along the side of the largest gap to keep his focus on whatever is out there. He’s only distracted when she moves, ever aware of what she’s doing and when she lays down on her bedroll he watches her for longer than he should, finding it hard to look back into the darkness.

“Why did you compete for this task?” she asks, her voice just above the cracking of the fire. A slew of images flash in his mind, Chandler and Cusack with their sneering faces, his younger brother’s anger while huddled cold and hungry to his side as they watch a loving father clutch his daughter to his chest before going into their home. He finds it easier to look away then, but a lie slips through his lips.

“My name will be in the history books.” His tone is sarcastic, mocking as he hears Chandler in his mind proud of that very fact. He had always been so concerned about how others perceive him, wanting him to succeed. Only, she snorts, disbelievingly and an ire rises in him as his eyes narrow, finding her to pin the aggression on.

“Fine,” she answers, closing her eyes and he looks back at the nothingness thinking their talk is over before her soft, soothing voice rears again. “History is rarely true though.” Elizabeth sounds sleepy and he is surprised when most of his irritation dims from such a small shift in her. To cover it up, he swallows, forcing himself to be hard.

“Of course you’d want your history to be lies.” Meliodas hopes this will end their useless talk, but her little snort sounds once more.

“It’s not my history.” Elizabeth’s eyes are open and he watches the fire dance in their depths, entranced in a way he’s never been. “I’ve done none of the crimes of my ancestors and I’m sure you’re not thrilled with your Demon history either. Soul eating and all that.” He wishes there was more bite to her words, rather than her understanding explanation. “The past has changed us though.”

The melancholy he picks up sparks his curiosity but the distant howl rings through the air once more and he spins from her to survey the possible threat. The day has left him much to think about and he is grateful when he’s assessed they were still in relative safety, that she’s fallen asleep. He sneers at how trusting she is with him, waiting for her breathing to deepen before creeping over to her.

She is pretty, he cannot deny that but a face is just a mask and although whatever is underneath intrigues him he resists the pull. Instead, he snags her side satchel, the one she had before they stocked up on their supplies. The map is within and he unfolds it, leaving it open for an excuse if she wakes. He finds a book inside, a slip of fabric silky to the touch and a lone earring with stars that glitter with in.

“Stupid,” Meliodas mutters before pulling the book free to see the shining silver inlay of the front cover that shines in place of a woman’s face, leaving just the figure with at least seven wings on each side to be in full detail. His stomach rolls, knowing this is goddess lore or something equally as stupid as her other trinkets. Still, he has nothing to do, so he pries open the cover to try and make out what this is, only, he cannot read this language very well.

Of the things his fathers decided were important growing up, learning to read had not been on the list. But before them, when his mother had been alive... Old memories resurface of a worn wooden table and dirty parchment his mother would chalk over. Her face would glow when he got it right and slowly he works his way through what this book was about.

Rituals.

He puzzles over why, what she could possibly need this for as he flips through the pages. Pictures give him more clues than the words he successfully reads, but what he gathers by the time he closes it and returns the thing to her satchel is that goddesses are a source of power in the temple? The last picture was of a goddess with a dagger in their heart but, that can’t be right as he is tasked to kill her, if her death is part of the ritual then how is his planned act a rebellion? He isn’t sure, but as he looks at her sleeping face, flushed from the sun and sand, he knows he can’t ask her without giving himself away.

As the night wears on, he keeps guard trying to work out a way to get his questions answered without raising any concerns. She sleeps through the night under his protection and although he is a touch miffed that she trusts him to sleep soundly, he finds himself softening for the same reasons. It isn’t until she sleepily rubs her eyes, looking from the dead fire to the lightening of the sky through the cracks of their room that she speaks.

“You should have woke me, I would have kept watch. You haven’t slept.” Her concern is ill met, he slings his bag over his shoulder and uncovers the exit, answering as he climbs his way free while pulling up his cloaks hood. “I am used to going without rest. You obviously are not.” Meliodas barely catches her face falling and the subtle blush but he shakes his head, refusing to acknowledge it.

He memorized their next trek, hoping their day ahead goes as planned but as he looks to the skies the sparks of lightning, residual, unstable power above does not bode well. But, quicker than he expected Elizabeth climbs from the fallen lighthouse, ready to go and he leads without a second glance back. He knows she’ll follow, and having her at his back is... nice, somehow.

[hauntedgilbert]

@mikaels-son // under a cut cause it got long

The salt water was as close to tears that she was ever going to experience, leaving the ship had been the most painful experience of her life -- worse than losing Elena, as horrible as it was to admit that. The image of Klaus’ blood on her hands haunted her dreams, her every waking moment. They had cast her out into the sea and she deserved it, deserved to wander the empty ocean pregnant and alone. Whatever magic the sea witch had cast on her kept her child within her, growing with every passing day, and with each day that passed she thought of Niklaus. She hadn’t stayed to see if the knife she put into his gut had killed him, she couldn’t, she was too horrified by her actions, too upset to stay close to the ship and listen to the screams of anguish and the pained cries of the crew.

They knew what she was now, and they didn’t try to kill her.

Sunbathing on a rock jutting out from beneath the sea, Jeremia ran her fingers along the swell of her belly, feeling the strong movement of the babe shifting inside her. She winced and sat up, staring down at her belly as her baby moved sharply, distorting the tight flesh spread across her womb.

Mermaids across the ocean had heard about the anomaly growing inside her. Merpeople didn’t have babies like humans did. A mermaid’s purse wasn’t just produced by sharks, but the idea was the same. Females produced an egg sack and the males fertilize them, they were watched and tended to; so for one of their kind to be growing a baby inside them was fascinating to all of them. They would swim up to her, running their hands over her belly, asking her questions that she couldn’t or wouldn’t answer.

They couldn’t stand the mystery over the sex of her baby, they always left when she wouldn’t given them the answers they were looking for. Who the father was? Where she’d been for half the lunar cycle? What had she done to avenge Elena? They left her to swim across the sea, for open waters and silence while she stayed near the surface and enjoyed the sun warmed water heating her limbs. The baby seemed to prefer it to the colder depths.

Another sharp pain tightened through her abdomen as she hit the water, skin cooling as water surrounded her. She let her body sink through the water, her hand sliding across her belly as the muscle tightened painfully and stayed taunt, making her jaw clench and the tendons in her neck bulge out as she strained against her pain. Bubbles escaped her nose and mouth as her breath left her body, surrounded by a groan of pain muffled by the surrounding waves.

 She hadn’t felt pain like this since she was shot by the Spanish.

It came in waves, like the tide, and Jeremia wasn’t sure she could breathe through it and the baby thrashing around inside her. She was in pain, her baby was in pain. And she couldn’t think of a single person who could help her, not a real person. A beast of the sea and land and mystical, a woman who had helped her when she was in pain once and may again if she asked.

She was nearly suffocating by the time she reached the cavern, the Sea Witch was unsurprised to see her but the rest of her was a different story, and she cackled as Mia clawed herself onto the small damp beach beneath the sea. “You poor unfortunate creature,” the old woman hissed happily, taking hold of her by the arm and dragging her the rest of the way. Immediately her hand was on her swollen belly, shaking her head, a dark expression crossing her face. “Girl, what have you gotten yourself into?” 

“Help me?” Jeremia gasped, propping herself on her elbows. The pain had become constant and wrong, all movement from her baby having ceased leagues away. The Sea Witch made a face, standing and leaving her side, moving out of her eyeline. She whined, face contorting, and curled onto her side, tail flicking against the water’s edge. She writhed against the sand until she felt hands on her body and something sweet was pressed to her lips.

“Chew.” She opened her mouth as she was told, and for a moment relief swept through her. Dark eyes peered up through the strands of hair falling in front of her face, at the old woman once again with her back to her.

“What is this?” She tsk’d in response, but when the Sea Witch turned back there was a long and ragged knife in her hands. “What is that?”

“There is no way for that baby to come out,” she told Jeremia carefully. “Mermaids do not birth live children.” The dirty, ragged skirts she wore clung to the sand as she kneeled beside her, one hand pressing down hard against her belly, the other guiding the tip of the knife against her hip. “I gave you an anesthetic,” she explained, and without any pretense drew her knife deeply along her stomach. Jeremia cried out, hands flying out to grasp the old crone’s arms, but it didn’t stop her. “Hush,” she scolded, her eyes burning like hot coals. “I cut it out or you die, your choice.”

Her visioned darkened, grip loosening as the will and energy left her limbs, falling back against the hard and unforgiving sand. Her last moment was feeling the woman’s hands inside her, before she blacked out completely from the pain.

There was no sunlight in the cavern under the sea when Jeremia came to, stirring from the rising water level as it lapped against her scales. Her cheek pressed against the sand, her eyes opened slowly, a small noise of discomfort leaving her as she woke. She didn’t hurt, she felt no pain at all, twisting onto her back and staring down at her unblemished body. No evidence of her pregnancy lingered on her, only the smears of blood and dirt across tanned skin remained. “W…” her voice was cracked, throat dry. Her hand shook as her palm ran across the now smooth skin between her hipbones, twisting around again as panic clutched around her heart. “Witch!” Her cry was hoarse and pained, breath catching as her eyes landed on the back of the witch.

She felt...empty and cold. And the Sea Witch turned without expression of exaltation, putting down the pommel stone in her hands with a solid clunk. “Mermaid stamina,” she explained, turning back to her bottles and arranging them on the shelves. “The healing properties of fish meet the magic of the moon.” She glanced at her over her shoulder. “Shall I explain it to you?”

“Where’s my baby?”

“I suppose not,” she answered herself, reaching high until her hands encircled the corners of a small trunk, pulling it down to with a hard and heavy thunk. “But it’s very interesting --”

“What did you do to my baby?”

She turned, trunk cradled to her chest as she closed the few feet between them. The hardness in her gaze made Jeremia reel back, her skin scraping against the sand and sharp rocks as she pushed herself up. “Are you sure you want to see him?” the Sea Witch asked carefully, and her heart constricted, eyes burning.

“Yes.”

She tsk’d, sitting down on a low, flat rock and setting the trunk beside her. “There was nothing I could do,” she explained, avoiding the question and Jeremia’s command. “Mermaids are not meant to birth live children.” And she remembered the knife, the pain and the feeling of the witch pulling something heavy from her womb. “This was your mistake, not mine. You’re time limit was clear, girl; I gave you legs for the purpose of killing your sailor, not spreading them for him.” Her throat burned, a dry sob heaving through her chest until breathing was impossible; the Sea Witch, seeing this, took pity on her and shut her mouth, taking the trunk in her hands once again and setting it beside Jeremia on the ground. “There was nothing I could do. He was dead before he left you.”

Doe eyes fell to the trunk beside her, fingers reaching out to trace along the plain slats of wood, the simple metal keeping the little box together. Her hand was still as her fingers flipped up the lock, not daring to blink or breath as she lifted the lid.

He was beautiful, just like she imagined he would be. A small button nose and perfect little fingers, but from the waist down he was horribly deformed. Not quite human, but not mer either. His legs were twisted and fused together, small feet instead of flippers. Jeremia choked back a sob as she lifted his small body from the trunk, holding him closely to her chest. He was cold and heavy, but he fit perfectly in her arms. The Sea Witch didn’t say another word, and she wasn’t sure if she left her in her mourning on not but Jeremia didn’t care. She was sucked into her own world, wondering if this is what she and Niklaus would have had to look forward to if she had stayed on the ship, or if her time hadn’t run out.

She replaced the tiny boy into the trunk, sliding it along the sand and curling around it, her tail fanning over her head. She missed her Captain. She missed her future. She missed feeling… Her hands grasped tighter on her trunk, her son tucked safely inside, numb and alone, just the two of them.

Hours or days passed until she felt strong enough to leave the Sea Witch’s cavern, taking her son with her. They traveled as close to shore as she would let herself without being seen by ships. Finding refuge on a rock, she let the sun dry the wood, her arms a protective shield against the ocean spray. Her fingers plucked at the flint she had stolen from the crone, catching it against the rocks until sparks flew and caught against the trunk. Fire lit the wood, and Jeremia watched her little funeral pyre take her son back to the ocean, his ashes carried off by the waves. Niklaus would have appreciated it, she was sure.

The sun set on her, but Jeremia didn’t leave the rock until the last of her son was swept away by the sea, sliding back under the surface of the water. The cold embrace of the water cocooned her like it had when Elena died, but she didn’t sink to the bottom too numb to move. She had to swim, to move, to be anywhere and everywhere as long as she wasn’t still. Her path took her toward the London bay unconsciously, glass glinting in her eyeline. Bottles weren’t uncommon near the shoreline, but bottles with corks in them? Floating on the surface of the water with paper in them? Less so.

Greedy hands reached for her newest distraction, a simple smile on her face knowing that whoever the intended recipient of the letter would never --

Niklaus. 

His handwriting was unmistakable, the actual words irrelevant on the page. He was...he was alive? He was alive. He was alive.