#hbd cora! | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

leechobsessed · 4 years

Text

Chapter 1

“Not all storms come to disrupt your life, some come to clear your path.”

characters: Cora Crawford words: ~2.9k warnings: mentions of abuse and drowning, suicidal ideation

notes: It’s Cora’s birthday, so here’s chapter one of her story! Don’t know Cora yet? Take a peek at her bio here.

The Crab Isles are not a friendly place.

Nothing about the climate, nor the people for that matter, are welcoming. Found further south than the Scrougelands, the weather is bitterly cold almost year round, making the main livelihood of the islands— crab fishing, as it would be— to be exceptionally dangerous, difficult, and undesirable work.

The attitudes of the island’s inhabitants have only been made worse by the remarks and jokes of the rest of the world; the Crabmen were actually half crab, but whether that half be the top or bottom depended on who you asked.

That bit, of course, was not true. Yet much like the crabs the people fished for, they had developed a hard, almost impermeable shell around themselves, turning their community into a collectively abrasive group. Fiercely protective of their own, intimidating to and wary of anyone else.

The South is unforgiving, and the people who live there have adapted to their harsh environment, becoming harsh and unforgiving themselves. They were a collectively stubborn, selfish and superstitious bunch, quickly weeding out and eliminating what they perceived to be dangerous in order to ensure the survival of their community.

And to them, nothing was more dangerous than Cora.

Cora Crawford came into the world silent, an omen of bad luck that was only fed into when she was discovered to have been born with The Mark. In the center of her palms, a small black circle, almost resembling a bruise, perhaps a touch of dirt, easily missed by the casual observer. But the elders knew this was a mark of dark magic, a soul that came into this world tainted. Evil.

Her parents tried to deny it; not their child, it couldn’t be. No one in the Crawford family had shown a propensity for magic in almost a century, but here she was, undeniably touched by dark forces, silently observing the world with her hauntingly pale blue eyes.

Her father wanted her drowned, as did the elders, but her mother wouldn’t allow it— or so she was told. She found it hard to believe her parents would have ever fought over her life, given how little they cared for it now.

The Mark was rarely seen in the Crab Isles, but was spoken about often. Those with The Mark were said to be stronger than the heaviest winds, more destructive than the fiercest storm, as unpredictable and uncontrollable as the sea. Though her parents tried desperately to deny it, to hide it, the rumor that the Crawford’s girl had The Mark spread through the village like wildfire.

Even if they weren’t sure it was true, those in the community ignored and avoided her, terrified of what she was and what she was capable of. And Cora was scared too. For the first twelve years of her life, she was constantly reminded how dangerous she was and she was silenced, hidden, forbidden to use any magic, even as she could feel it crackling under her skin like lightning, threatening to burst free at any moment.

The power was overwhelming, and she had no way to control it, no one to teach her how. Cora tried, she really tried, to keep her magic hidden, and was successful more often than not. When she did give in and lost control, allowed the power to be free for only a moment, she was punished severely. Her parents hissed foul curses at her as they beat her, reminding her how horrible and evil she was, how she was a threat and hated by everyone around her.

But every beating only seemed to make her magic stronger and harder to tame. And her mark only continued to grow.

What had started as a faint black spot had begun to crawl through the veins of her palms, spreading to her fingertips, turning them black from the tips of her nails to the second knuckle. She knew the mark only grew when she practiced magic, but it didn’t grow every time. She couldn’t predict when it would or wouldn’t spread, and she had no one to ask about it. So instead, she continued to cover the marks and pretend that she didn’t terrify even herself.

This morning, as usual, Cora wakes up earlier than the rest of the household to start her chores, knowing not having them done before breakfast will mean nothing but trouble for her. She sits up in bed and stretches before sliding out of the covers to get dressed. Sitting on the edge of her bed, she pulls her heavy flannels on, then her coat, her hat, her mud boots and finally her gloves before she sneaks down the stairs and out the back door toward the henhouse.

The hens are all huddled together in the coops, unwilling to be outside any longer than necessary. And Cora doesn’t blame them. The weather this time of year is hovers just above freezing, violent storms prone to rolling in from the sea at any time. She stands out in the yard, looking dubiously up at the sky, her hair standing on end from the electricity in the air.

She quickly spreads fresh feed for them and she collects the eggs the hens have laid in her basket before she jogs further down the hill to the barn. The barn used to house about a dozen goats until her younger sister was born, and her parents decided they didn’t need the stress of more mouths to feed.

Truthfully, she was surprised they didn’t get rid of her instead, but she supposed her being able to work on the boat was more helpful to the family than the small amount of money they made from selling the goat’s milk.

Cora missed the goats. They liked her because she fed them, let her lay on them when her father made her sleep outside, and wouldn’t tattle on her if she used their space to practice magic, which is something she couldn’t say about her seven year old sister.

The golden child of the Crawford family, she thinks, rolling her eyes.

The barn is now used to store fishing gear, but it’s still a suitable place to practice her magic if she really wanted, and usually she would. But the lashings on her back from when her sister caught her the week prior have just started to heal, and she really isn’t looking to get any more. At least not today.

Instead, she gently lies back on a pile of netting to stare up at the worn wood of the barn ceiling, pulling off her gloves to call a small orange flame to her fingertips. She lets the flame dance across the black tips of her fingers for a moment, extinguishing the illusion quickly when she hears someone approach.

She wrestles her gloves back on and stands up quickly, picking up the basket of eggs, just as her older brother enters the barn. He studies her for a moment as he leans against the doorframe.

“Ma is lookin’ for the eggs.”

She nods quickly, fumbling with her gloves and the basket. “I’m comin’.”

“I know. I just wanted to find you before Pa came out.” He takes the basket of eggs from her to allow her to fix her gloves properly, watching her with the same green eyes as their father, though his look more kindly on her.

Cora offers him a small smile, nodding in thanks.

Tevin had always been good to her. He was very protective of his younger sister, understanding from a very young age that she was being treated unfairly and unkindly by the people who were supposed to love and care for her most. Everyone in town, including their parents, thought she was dangerous and evil, but he knew her, and he knew she wasn’t, even if she didn’t.

But after speaking up in her defense a few too many times, and receiving just as many beatings for it, Cora told him to stop.

“It’s not like it helps anyway,” she had said.

“Ma is making us breakfast,” Tevin says, looking back toward the house. “We shouldn’t let it get cold.” Cora nods and follows her brother out of the barn and up the hill, picking up the pace as thunder rumbles off in the distance.

The two children enter the kitchen to find their mother preparing their morning oats, their younger sister Orla reading quietly from a book at the table. Riona glances at the two of them, her thin lips pulling into a frown as she takes the basket from Tevin. “I was waitin’ on those.”

“Sorry, ma’am,” Cora says, taking her bowl from the counter and heading to her usual spot at the window.

Tevin takes his own bowl from the counter and follows his sisters lead. He joins her to sit on the windowsill, despite having a spot at the table he’s expected to be placed at. “Happy birthday, Cora,” Tevin says, loud enough to pull the attention of their mother toward him. She frowns at her son before turning around to crack an egg in the pan in front of her. “What’re you now, eleven?”

“Thirteen,” she mumbles around a mouthful of oats, which makes Tevin smile.

Cora returns the smile before turning her focus back on her food. He looks just like their father, with the same strong jaw and dark hair, but Tevin smiles so much more that you’d hardly believe they were related.

“Have they said anything to you? About your birthday?” He asks, lowering his voice, although he already knows the answer. Their parents have never celebrated Cora’s birthday, but he keeps hoping one year things will change, for his sister’s sake. Cora glances at him briefly before shoveling another spoonful of oats into her mouth.

Cora doesn’t have to look up from her breakfast to know that Calder had entered the room. She can tell by the way his physical presence darkens the atmosphere of whatever room he walks into instantly, but her eyes fly up toward him nonetheless. He has his long, dark hair tucked into his cap, fully dressed for a day at sea, his emerald eyes flashing dangerously when he sees Tevin sitting next to Cora. He says nothing to anyone as he sits down, his back to his eldest children, his front toward Orla and his wife.

“Where d’you think you’re goin’?” Riona asks, raising a blond eyebrow at the man.

“Out on the boat,” he responds matter-of-factly, shifting his large body slightly to peak at the book his daughter is reading.

Riona frowns, setting down the plate of eggs in front of her husband. “What d’you mean you’re goin’ out today? Have you seen the storm rollin’ in?”

“Aye, I have. Which only means that there’ll be fewer boats out and more for us to catch. Tevin, Cora, get your things, we’re leavin’.” He shovels the eggs into his mouth in three bites before pushing himself back form the table, heading out the door before anyone can respond.

From his perch on the windowsill, Tevin frowns at the door his father just left through, before he and Cora turn to glance back out the window of their small house. The rising sun is completely obscured behind obsidian clouds, the only light coming from the frequent strikes of lightening on the horizon.

“He’s bloody mad, that man,” he murmurs under his breath, just loud enough for Cora to hear.

She smirks in response, lowering her head to hide her humor. “I could’ve told you that,” she whispers back. The siblings simultaneously hop down off the windowsill and place their bowls on the counter. Cora he follows her brother out of the kitchen and to their bedroom, waiting patiently as he pulls their fishing gear off the shelves and brings it over to her.

“Someone is gonna to die if we go out there,” he sighs, sitting down on the floor to pull his coveralls on over his flannels.

“Maybe that’s what he’s hopin’,” she sighs back, pulling her boots on. She hisses as Tevin smacks her arm with the back of his hand, and she hits him back on his thigh. “Don’t pretend he isn’t.”

He shakes his head, lacing up his own boots. “They don’t want you dead, Cora.”

“You’re just as mad as Pa if you think that’s true.”

Tevin sits up straight to look his sister in the eyes. “I don’t want you dead.”

Cora pauses for half a second before shrugging her heavy outerwear on. She adjusts her gloves, keeping her eyes turned toward the floor. “That I believe.”

Tevin gives her shoulder a squeeze as he stands up. “Come on. We don’t want to keep him waitin’.”

The docks are full of boats and void of people, which is exactly what Cora had expected. It’s started to rain by the time she and her brother climb aboard their father’s fishing boat, and they immediately set about their usual tasks to help the rest of the crew get the boat quickly out into sea.

“Oy, Tev! Cora!” A voice calls, and the siblings turn to find the first mate approaching them, fighting the wind to pull their long red hair back away from their face. “What in the name of the god’s is yer pa thinkin’?”

“I wish I could tell you,” Tevin responds with a shrug.

They shake their head, looking out to sea as Calder steers the ship out of the harbor. “He’s bloody mad.”

“That’s what I said,” Tevin says, pushing his already soaked hair out of his eyes. “How soon d’you reckon he realizes this won’t work?”

“Not soon enough,” they answer grimly, giving the siblings each a pat on the shoulder before heading toward the bow to help get the fishing nets ready.

Once out of the break wall, the storm is worse than Cora could have imagined. The wind is strong enough to knock the ship over on its own, but the waves are doing their part to help out, crashing onto the deck every few seconds, making it impossible to cast any nets. The storm is howling too loud to hear anything over the wind, and the relentless splashing of salt water is making it difficult for Cora to keep her eyes open.

We’re all going to die here, Cora finds herself thinking. Not just me.

“Cora! We’ve got to get below deck!” Tevin screams, his hand wrapping firmly around her wrist. “Come on!”

Cora does her best to open her eyes as her brother drags them across the deck, pausing every few feet to grab onto something sturdy as another wave floods the ship.

Suddenly, his hand is gone from her wrist, and she screams for him, panicked that the waves may have taken him overboard. She can hear every other word of her father’s booming yell as he approaches, and is relieved to hear Tevin screaming back in response.

With one arm wrapped as much as it can be around the mast, she opens her eyes against the wind, using her free hand to shield her eyes, trying unsuccessfully to make out either her brother or her father through the relentless downpour.

Without warning, a pair of large hands grab her by her upper arms, and she blinks furiously at them, thrashing in their hold. Her skin goes cold as she finds herself staring into her father’s green eyes. He says nothing, just holds her about a foot off the ground, seemingly oblivious to the storm raging around them.

“Pa!” She hears Tevin call out. “Pa!”

“I should have killed you when you were born,” Calder hisses, his deep voice ringing out clear over the wind.

“Pa!” Tevin shrieks, his voice panicked. “Let her go!”

Calder keeps his eyes on his daughter, on his burden, his curse, his greatest shame. Cora knows better than to say anything, so instead, she clenches her jaw and holds his gaze. And then she begins to silently pray, her tears mixing with the salt from the sea, asking the gods to have mercy on her.

As another wave crashes over top of the ship, Calder does just what Tevin asked. He takes two steps toward the side of the ship and throws her with ease over the side, allowing the force of the wave to carry her overboard.

Cora Crawford has thought about death more than any child ever should. She thought she deserved to die, that the world would be better off without her. She considered ways she could make death come for her sooner, but she never followed through. The idea of death was terrifying to her. If she was evil in this life, what would be waiting for her in the next?

As she hits the water, the air is forced from her lungs, immediately sending her into a panic. She struggles against the water, trying to kick up toward the surface, but the weight of her clothing and the movement of the sea keeps beating her down further and further, until she can’t tell which direction the surface is.

And the realization hits her; I’m going to die.

Knowing this, she stops fighting, allows her body to relax and lets the current take her where it may. Suddenly, all she feels is calm, protected even, cocooned by the silence and movement of the water. No one could hurt her here. She couldn’t hurt anyone. Even if the next life was worse than this one, she had this fleeting moment to finally feel safe, from herself and everyone else.

Exhaling the last bit of oxygen left in her chest, Cora lets the darkness she was born from reclaim her.

#cora crawford #the arcana #the arcana oc #hbd cora!#all angst all the time #im thinking thats just her tag now #abuse cw #drowning cw

18 notes · View notes