#more like raelle's thing to push her up against walls

[privateraelle]

#it’s a raylla thing

[blackindiaink]

Headconnon: Raelle not being able to sleep without Scylla. Maybe you can write a one shot about it.

Like the nightmares are so bad that everyone is surprised Raelle has been sleeping. Maybe one night Scylla gets up to get a water or something and immediately Raelle has a nightmare. I kinda imagine them like some magic related nightmares where energy comes out of her like the whole house gets effected by it and only Scylla can calm her. I dont know. You properly know what to do with all of this.

Ps. I love LOVE your writing and thank you!

The walls shook with the force greater than what should come from someone so small. The kinetic waves of white pulsing energy undulated from Raelle's body, striking everything around her and lifting her up from the bed.

She screamed, a blood curdling animalistic cry that could raise the dead. The sound and the vibrations woke everyone. A few moments later, the door flew open and Abigail, Adil, and Tally pushed into the room. The rest of the group wasn't far behind.

They stared for a moment, unsure of what to do, but Abigail made a swift decision. She jumped onto the bed and grabbed Raelle's arm, tugging at her.

"Wake up!" She yelled.

Tally went around the other side and did the same, getting close to Raelle's face and speaking softly into her ear. When that didn't work they both tried to put all their weight on Raelle's body, finally able to at least pull her back down.

When she hit the bed, Raelle's eyes shot open and she moaned. Faces swarmed around her, blurry in her weak vision. Still, she looked, trying to find the one that could help.

"Scylla," she rasped.

"She's not here," Tally said.

"She'll be back soon, remember?" Abigail asked.

Raelle coughed and shook her head. She was starting to come out of her stupor but the dream had sucked her whole soul into this world of darkness where Alban was punishing her with ever increasing painful forms of torture. The worst being him taking pleasure in cutting Scylla repeatedly right in front of her. Not enough to make her bleed out fast since he wanted it to take a while.

When Scylla died, Raelle had woken up, desperate for the dream not to be true. Thank goddess, it wasn't but she needed to touch Scylla and talk to her for the feelings to subside. As far as her nervous system was concerned, Scylla could still be in danger.

"Do you want anything? Water?" Tally asked, she scooted closer to Raelle on the bed and touched her shoulder. "I can stay with you if you want."

Raelle shook her head, swallowing against the rough feeling in her throat. She didn't want them hovering. It wouldn't do any good. There was only one person who could make her feel better at this point.

"I'm fine," she said.

Tally looked unconvinced but Abigail ushered her out of the room and made sure everyone else went back to bed. She knew more than most that sometimes you just needed to be alone.

When everything was quiet again, Raelle closed her eyes but all she saw was the horrible imagines that her mind had produced while she'd been asleep. Every time she would feel herself drifting, it would happen, some memory of the horror jerking her awake. It was impossible.

She spent an hour and a half like that before getting up and pacing the room, her eyes drooping now and again, but she never slept. It had been like this since the day they left Fort Salem. She often couldn't sleep unless Scylla was present and touching her. That was the only thing that worked.

There had been a few times she dozed off on the bus and Scylla had got up and moved around. Every time Raelle's mind devolved into a mess of twisted darkness and she woke up terrified. They tried different things to mitigate the issue but nothing had worked.

That's why she had known she shouldn't fall asleep until Scylla was back. It happened anyway but it had never been this bad. The other instances were nothing compared to her shaking a whole house and radiating mycelium particles all over the place.

She groaned and folded herself into a tiny ball on the window seat next to the bed. It was no use. She stared out into the night, thinking of everything that they'd been through. It was another hour before she heard the front door open

Quinn had taken Scylla to visit some dodger friends of hers that might help them out but they concluded it was best if just the two of them went so everyone else stayed behind, including Raelle.

The bedroom door opened and Scylla came in, walking straight to the window seat to sit down beside her. She reached for Raelle, bidding her to uncurl her body and come closer.

"I felt it," Scylla said.

"It was so bad," Raelle whispered.

"I know," Scylla replied.

She leaned in and kissed Raelle's forehead, pulling her into a hug.

"As soon as I realized, I told Quinn we had to come back. I was scared something had happened," Scylla said.

"I'm sorry you had to leave early," Raelle apologized.

"Shh, no. Don't say that. You're more important," Scylla said.

Tears slipped from Raelle's eyes, rolling down to drop on Scylla's shirt, soaking in to leave a mark.

"Come to bed," Scylla said.

Instead of waiting for Raelle to move, she stood and leaned over, picking her up and walking her to the bed. When she placed her down, Scylla toed off her shoes and climbed in with her. They moved in tandem, wrapping themselves up in one another in a familiar and practiced way. It was how they always slept, face to face and clinging to one another.

Scylla began to rub Raelle's back, her movements making a rhythmic woosh as her hand stroked the fabric of Raelle's t-shirt.

"It's sad that you're gone five hours and I can't manage," Raelle complained.

"No," Scylla said, making sure Raelle was listening. "You've been through so much and this isn't you being weak. This is your mind and body trying to process trauma, Don't ever think that you're at fault. You're the strongest person I know and I love you so much," Scylla asserted.

"I love you too," Raelle replied.

The tears had dried but she still felt spent and raw. It was a testament to how much of a toll this short life had taken on her. She sniffed and rubbed her nose against Scylla's chest before placing her ear against it.

"Will you?" Raelle said.

Raelle didn't even have to finish the question. They rarely even needed words these days to understand one another. Scylla started to quietly sing. It was an old song of the goddess. One that all young witches would know from an early age.

After a few minutes, Scylla felt Raelle relax against her body and she stopped singing, listening for the even pace of breaths that signaled sleep. She gently kissed the top of Raelle's head and closed her eyes, always ready to stand guard and keep the nightmares at bay.

[hottallandginger]

Kerosene - Raelle/Scylla (Motherland: Fort Salem)

IT’S HAPPENING.

Post Ep. 5, spoilers for Ep. 5. T for torture. And in light of tonight’s episode I’d just like to say I WAS RIGHT. Well, half right. Remember that time I predicted like half a season of Orphan Black? LOOKS LIKE I’M AT IT AGAIN.

The Unit goes after Scylla.

Whether or not to go after Scylla is never a question. She doesn’t care if she ends up getting court marshaled because of it either. The chaotic aftermath of the attack gives her the perfect cover to slip away, although apparently not unnoticed.

“Where the hell do you think you’re going?” she hears Abigail say behind her. Her and Tally are there, Abigail’s face still covered in blood and Tally’s still streaked with tears.

“If the Spree have her, I have to find her,” Raelle snaps back, shrugging off her dress jacket and carelessly discarding it. She pins Scylla’s corsage to her shirt and picks up a discarded Scourge. “And don’t bother trying to stop me, because I’ll go through you if I have to.”

“Like hell you are,” Abigail replies. She has one sleeve of her jacket off and is carefully pulling off the other. Her shirt beneath is dark with blood. “Not without us.”

Raelle distracts herself from her surprise by looking pointedly at the knife wound in Abigail’s shoulder and starting to ask, “Do you want me to-“

Abigail holds up a hand to silence her then rubs dried blood off her nose. “No. Now, what’s the plan?”

“Find her. Get her. Kill anyone who gets in the way.”

“That’s not a plan, that’s a suicide mission,” Abigail says.

“You got any better ideas, Bellweather?”

“Maybe we figure out where the hell she is first?”

Tally steps between them, sniffling. “Uh, maybe we should tell-“

“No,” Raelle and Abigail say. Abigail pinches the bridge of her nose, winces, then sighs. “We can’t just run off into the wild unknown and hope we get lucky. We need to track her, but that would need her hair, or her blood or-“

“This,” Raelle says. She holds up her hand and traces her fingertip over the remains of the spell cast there. “She said she always wanted to be able to say hi to me. Maybe we can use this to find her.”

Abigail stares down at the faint line. “It’s worth a go,” she says. Raelle sets the back of her hand in Abigail’s palm. It doesn’t hurt, just like how it hadn’t really hurt when Scylla cast the spell in the first place. It tingles, and burns a little, like holding her hand too close to a candle flame. Abigail mouths words under her breath, her breath faint on Raelle’s skin. And then it stops. Abigail staggers a little, leaning too hard into Tally. The shape on Raelle’s palm looks as fresh as when Scylla made it.

“Let’s go,” Abigail says. “Tally you should stay. You have en-“

“You two are not leaving me here alone,” Tally replies in a shaky but resolute voice. She rubs at her eyes with her knuckles and sets her shoulders, chin high as she, too, removes her jacket. It’s not ideal. There’s only three of them, inexperienced and largely unarmed, but everyone knows what happens to those who fall into the Spree’s hands, and Raelle refuses to let Scylla stay their hostage a moment longer.

-

The tracking spell isn’t the most accurate thing, and largely relies on Raelle’s sense of direction and intuition, but it’s hard to ignore what started as a faint itch on her palm steadily growing into a hot burn, like she put her hand on a lit stove or sat out in the sun too long. It takes them continuously deeper into a thick forest, until they’re tripping over raised roots and being pricked at by thorns and snagging on branches. Then, just when Raelle thinks she can’t take the pain in her hand it stops, completely, like a fire suddenly and violently quenched. She stops so short that both the other girls, who had been following close behind, run right into her back.

“What?” Abigail asks. “What is it? What happened?”

“It stopped working!” Raelle says. She shakes her hand like somehow that will kick the spell back into gear, then spins in a circle, hand up, trying to see if they took a wrong turn. When that fails, she whirls around to Abigail and all but shoves her hand in her face. “Cast it again,” she demands.

“Uh, guys,” Tally says in a meek voice.

“What?” They both turn their heads to look at her. Tally is looking at her feet. She’d brushed off a layer of dirt and leaves with her boots and beneath her, instead of more earth, is a sturdy metal door. Raelle rushes to Tally, nearly knocking her over as she falls on her knees and finishes clearing the door of forest debris. The handle is large and circular, like a ship’s door. Raelle hauls on it with all her strength, but it refuses to budge. She tries a second time, and then a third. Her grip slips on the fourth and she falls back, sprawling in the dirt. Abigail rolls her eyes.

“Use the Seed, idiot,” she says, and holds out her hands for Raelle and Tally to take. Raelle glares at her, but scrambles to her feet and grabs her hand. Tally hesitates, her arms wrapped around herself. Abigail gives her a pointed look and waves her free hand around.

“I think maybe we should tell someone we’re here,” Tally says. “We definitely can’t do this alone, there’s only three of us and we’re nowhere near ready for anything like this.”

“I’m not leaving here without Scylla,” Raelle says firmly. “You can either stay and help us or go back to the house, but I would really prefer it if you stayed.” Tally looks at her long and hard with an expression on her face that Raelle can’t read, then slowly reaches out and takes Abigail’s other hand.

-

The door crumples easily under their combined power with a horrible screech. The drop isn’t far, but it rattles Raelle’s teeth when she lands. Abigail drops down beside her with a curse, grabbing her shoulder. Tally stumbles but stays on her feet. The corridor ahead of them is lit with bright lights, ending with another solid door.

“Someone will have heard that,” Abigail says, stepping forward. “We need to move quickly. Can you feel where she is?”

Raelle clenches her hand tight. Shakes it. Nothing. “No. I can’t feel anything.”

“Guess we’re doing this the hard way, then.” Abigail says. She shoulders past Raelle, strides down the hallway, and slams her boot against the door until the lock gives and it swings open. A knife is in her hand, dried blood already on the blade. Raelle has a sinking suspicion it’s her own, but then there’s no more time for thinking.

There’s less resistance than Raelle would have thought, but its still enough. Her Scourge sings as it tears through flesh and bone. Blood splatters on her face. She can taste it on her tongue. She feels the tug and burn as she receives wounds of her own, but it doesn’t matter. Her, Abigail and Tally fight as a true unit, back to back, clearing the room and then branching into the offshoot hallways. Raelle’s blood races in her ears, and then she feels it, a pain so sharp she cries out and her vision goes dark, just for an instant. Her shout echoes and brings the other two running, sweating and panting, eyes bright with adrenaline. When they don’t notice any danger, they both drop to Raelle’s side.

Tally pushes her hair away from her face. “Are you okay? What is it?”

Raelle fights back the urge to vomit. “She’s here. She’s in here.” She raises her other arm, pointing a shaking hand to the door a few feet away, unassuming and almost blending into the wall around it.

“On your feet, soldier,” Abigail says, hauling Raelle up with a hand under her elbow. Raelle staggers into the wall but stays upright. She nudges Raelle behind her and Tally. The door doesn’t budge when she tries it, and no amount of kicking seems to help. Abigail and Tally link hands and shout. The door slams open, nearly falling off its hinges. The single person inside is thrown across the room by the force of the shout, knocking over a table and sending instruments Raelle doesn’t want to know the names to scattering across the floor with metallic clinks and clangs.

Raelle shoves past her unit hard enough to make Abigail hiss in pain and grab her shoulder. The room is dark. It takes a second for Raelle to see the body huddled in the corner, the black of her uniform blending in with the shadows.

“Scylla!” she shouts, sending tools skidding across the floor as she dashes over, all but falling to her knees. She reaches for Scylla’s face and her hands come away sticky and slick with blood. Her eyes adjust to the lower light and what she sees nearly makes her retch. She hardly recognizes Scylla for all the blood, for the burns and cuts on her skin. Her uniform is in tatters and where it’s not ripped it’s damp.

She throws a glance over her shoulder. “Help me!” she yells. “I need to her on the table! Now!” Abigail and Tally jolt into action. It takes the three of them to hoist Scylla’s dead weight onto the table. Raelle knows all the damage isn’t physical, but that she can do something about. She holds Scylla’s hand tightly in hers and mutters the words as quickly as she can under her breath, over and over. She won’t let Scylla die, even if it kills her.

It almost does.

-

When she wakes up she’s not in the Spree hideout. She’s… she’s not sure where she is. Not her room. Not the Bellweather house. She tries to sit up and pain lances through her body. Her vision darkens at the edges and dizziness threatens to make her sick.

“-ey, hey, you’re okay. Lie back down.” It passes. Raelle slowly turns her head. Tally is sitting next to her bed, holding Raelle’s hand in both of hers. She’s clean, and doesn’t look injured, but her eyes are red and there’s bags beneath them, and her mouth is pulled down at the corners.

“What happened? Where’s Scylla?” Raelle asks, although it comes out more as a jumble of words than anything coherent thanks to the giant cotton ball in her mouth. Tally offers her a cup of water. She drinks it greedily, then a second. Tally won’t look her in the eyes.

“Tally,” Raelle says slowly, “where is Scylla.”

“There’s something you need to know about her,” Tally says quietly. She looks down at their clasped hands then draws both of hers into her lap. She takes a very deep breath. “Scylla is Spree.”

Raelle chokes out a painful laugh. “If she’s Spree then why did we find her half dead?”

“Because-“

“She’s right, Raelle.” Raelle whips her head around so fast she nearly blacks out. Scylla lowers herself heavily into a chair next to Raelle’s bedside, looking pale and wan and trembling like a leaf. Tally glances between the two of them then silently takes her leave. There’s still half healed cuts and bruises on Scylla’s face, but judging from the pain in Raelle’s body she must have done something right.

“She’s right about what?” Raelle asks. She forces herself to sit upright. Scylla helps adjust her pillows then grips the arms of her chair with white knuckles. “About you being Spree? That’s not possible. If you’re Spree, then how come I had to save your ass from them?”

“Because I disobeyed them,” Scylla replies. Her eyes are so startlingly blue that Raelle can hardly stand to look at them. “About you.”

“Me? What do the Spree want with me?”

Scylla shrugs delicately. “I don’t know. They wouldn’t tell me. But I was supposed to take you to them at six the day of the wedding and…”

“And you didn’t,” Raelle finishes softly. “You didn’t. Why?”

“You know why,” Scylla says. She reaches for Raelle’s hand but Raelle flinches away. The kicked puppy look on Scylla’s face instantly floods her with guilt. She sighs and stretches her fingers out. Scylla takes them gratefully and clutches them tight. Raelle suppresses a wince. It feels like there isn’t an inch of her that doesn’t hurt somehow. When she sees the splint on two fingers of Scylla’s other hand, she remembers why.

She clenches her jaw. Fuck, even her teeth hurt. Her eyes hurt. Everything hurts. “I don’t understand,” she says, more to herself than Scylla. It sinks in slowly, like when she learned of her mother’s death.

The bed creaks gently as Scylla leans in. “Raelle, I am so sorry. I wanted to tell you, I just… I was trying to figure out a way to get out. I want to be a better person. You make me want to be a better person.”

“Better than what, a mass murderer? Do you know what the Spree have done?”

“Better than you do,” Scylla says, almost sharply but not quite. “And I thought their cause was just. I still think – It’s wrong, how they go about it. I see that now. You made me see that.”

“Well, I’m glad I’m a good influence on somebody,” Raelle grumbles under her breath.

Scylla chooses to ignore her. “You saved me, Raelle. I can never repay you for that. You don’t know what the Spree does to traitors.”

“Is that what you are now?” Raelle asks. She looks Scylla dead in the eye. “Don’t lie to me. I’ll know if you do.”

“Yes,” Scylla says without hesitation, her gaze not waving for a second.

Raelle closes her eyes and sighs. She focuses on the warmth of Scylla’s hand in hers. Her jaw relaxes first, and then her shoulders.

Her head lolls to the side then snaps back up as her body jerks. It’s dark in medical now, and at first Raelle thinks she’s alone, but then she notices the mop of dark hair near her hip. Her heart slows. The pain has lessened considerably, but her body is still battered from taking its own wounds on top of Scylla’s. Her fingertips tingle where they’ve started to fall asleep. She wriggles them gently, trying not to wake Scylla, but she inhales sharply and groans. She turns her head and blows her hair out of her eyes, looking groggy but awake.

“Hi.” Her voice is barely above a whisper.

“Hi,” Raelle says back.

“How are you feeling?”

“Like I got hit by a truck. Like, ten times.”

“You almost died,” Scylla says. Raelle gropes for the water next to her bed. “Healing me. Tally said – well she tried to say in-between Abigail reaming me – that you almost died Fixing me.”

“Yeah, it feels like it,” Raelle says with a short laugh. She drains her water in a few gulps. “But I’m a fast healer.”

Scylla chuckles softly at that, the hint of a smile on her lips. She sobers quickly. “Are you mad at me?”

“Yes,” Raelle answers. “No. I don’t know. I just know that the thought of the Spree having you, how it felt seeing you like that… I couldn’t stand it. I still can’t.”

“I meant what I said, you know,” Scylla says. She presses her thumb against the back of Raelle’s hand. “I wasn’t lying then. And I’m not lying now.” She glances towards the door, looking scared. “No matter what happens, I love you.”

Raelle follows her gaze, but there’s no one outside the door and no one else in the ward with them. “They won’t tell anyone,” she says. “Not even Abigail. We’re all in enough trouble as it is but at least we can justify it if we say we went after a fellow soldier.”

“I don’t know how you can justify disobeying direct orders,” Scylla replies. Raelle just shrugs.

“It doesn’t matter. I planned on dying my first time out anyway. At least this way I’ll have done something worth it.”

“Don’t say that,” Scylla says. “I can’t think about you dying.” Raelle apologizes with a sheepish face. Silence grows, only slightly uncomfortable. Raelle hates even the little bit of tension.

It’s up to Scylla to break it again. “I still want to take you to the beach. To the lighthouse. If you’ll let me.” Raelle meets her gaze and Scylla smiles, and raises Raelle’s hand to her mouth to kiss her knuckles and press them against her forehead. “I’m so sorry.”

“Yeah, well, you’ll have a lot more apologizing to do once they let me out of this bed,” Raelle replies. “And explaining.”

“I’ll tell you everything,” Scylla says, and it’s the second most honest Raelle’s ever heard her sound.

“I’ll hold you to that,” she says, and she lets herself relax back into the pillows as Scylla slips into the bed next to her without a word and buries her face in Raelle’s neck. Her breath tickles, but it’s the best feeling in the world. Raelle snuggles just that much closer. “I love you, too.”

[jaybear1701]

Chain Link Pt. 2

Summary: Scylla very reluctantly agrees to a plan to kill two birds with one stone: defeat the Camarilla while getting back on Raelle’s good side. Maybe. Also on AO3.

The sun was breaking over the horizon by the time Scylla made it back to Prosperity Road, hitching rides from civilians persuaded by a little bit of Work. She could picture Anacostia’s stern eye of disapproval, if she ever found out about Scylla’s extracurricular activities. But necessity knew no law, and the sooner she got back to the safe house, the better. There, she could at least take a shower and get a modicum of rest. Or at least she hoped. 

After everything Scylla had seen in the last 24 hours, she had no doubt that the massacre would besiege her dreams the minute she fell asleep. Even now, she couldn’t rid herself of the memory of her brother and sister witches with their vocal cord viciously ripped from their throats, their bodies perversely arranged in a mock pentagram. She clung to the anger that seared in her gut, a longstanding companion that perversely comforted her, in some ways.  

It kept her focused on the mission, and not other… distractions.

Distractions with blonde hair and sky blue eyes.

There were more important things, Scylla told herself. Like eliminating their enemies. And maybe, finally securing the freedom she and countless others had already sacrificed their souls for.

Red-eyed and exhausted, she stepped off a bus a block away from Willa Collar’s home base tucked away in a sleepy residential sidestreet bathed in morning light. Her burnt attire drew a few curious stares from the neighbors. But for the most part they minded their own business, too engrossed in their routines and absent-minded goodbyes. 

Scylla proceeded down the concrete sidewalk, past a wrought-iron fence, and up the path toward the unassuming bungalow with bright yellow siding. Swiping a finger along the front door’s knob, she drew a complicated sigil to unlock it and step inside. To her great relief, no one was in the living room. A debrief was the last thing she needed right now. 

But as soon as she grasped the banister of the staircase, a resident appeared at the top of the steps--the same young woman who had been guarding the safe house when Scylla first arrived months ago.

“She wants to see you,” Cassidy said, bleary-eyed, long brown hair tangled from sleep.

Scylla let out a frustrated sigh. “What, now?” 

Cassidy merely shrugged, like, tough shit. 

Closing her eyes briefly, she cursed under her breath, knowing she shouldn’t shoot the messenger, no matter how tempting. “Where is she then?”  

“Out back.” Yawning, Cassidy was already turning around to go back to her room. “Don’t keep her waiting.”

Scylla toyed with ignoring the order all together and going up anyway. But it was best to just get it over with. She made her way through the house and out the back entrance, past a small garden and a hammock, toward a studio that Willa would disappear inside, sometimes for hours at a time. 

She rapped her knuckles against the door, waiting until she heard, “Enter,” before pushing it open. Inside, Willa stood by a makeshift war table strewn with maps, books, and scrolls. She faced a wall covered in mirrors of all shapes and sizes, a few reflecting the silhouettes of other cell leaders. Scylla propped herself against a wall, hands tucked into her pockets, not wanting to call attention to herself.

“This atrocity cannot go unanswered,” one of them said, its deep voice distorted. “We must retaliate.”

A part of Scylla strongly agreed, with the slaughter still so fresh in her mind. Blood for blood. But she remained silent as she regarded Willa. 

“Our truce with Alder is… tenuous… at best,” Willa said in her southern drawl, arms crossed and head held high. “We must not jeopardize it with an attack on civilians.”

“Your truce,” a different Spree chimed in from an oval mirror. “Not ours.”

Willa’s jaw clenched. “It’d be beneficial for us all to avoid a two-front war with the Camarilla and the military. Our time for revenge will come, but not at the expense of our path to freedom.”

The glassy shadows shimmered in their frames, but none contradicted her. “We shall not be denied vengeance for long,” another said before they disappeared entirely, leaving Willa and Scylla alone. 

Turning and eyeing Scylla’s disheveled appearance, Willa waved her to one of the empty chairs around the table. “Took you long enough.”

“Why, I’m just peachy, thanks for asking,” Scylla said  as she sat down.

Willa looked far from amused. “I thought I told you to be careful.”

“I was careful.” Scylla smiled wryly. “I’d be dead otherwise. Not that any of you thought to check.”

“You know very well we couldn’t stay.” Willa leaned a hip against the table. “And the Camarilla?”

“Experimenting.” Scylla could still feel the distortion around the site, the resonance of death corrupted by whatever bastardized Seeds the humans had concocted. “Turning our bombs against us.” 

“Our intelligence indicates Fort Salem is researching a new weapon, as well.” 

“Good for them.”

“Involving my daughter.”

Scylla used whatever energy she had left to keep herself from reacting. Raelle was still very much a sore spot for them both, no matter how much Scylla tried to put Raelle behind her. It was a constant source of heartache that had flared up like a livewire when she saw Raelle again up close and felt her touch, however fleeting.

“I see.” Hesitating, she took a deep breath and added against her better judgment: “She was there. Yesterday.” 

Willa lowered herself into her own seat, brow wrinkling before it smoothed out in a neutral expression. “How was she?”

Beautiful, Scylla thought. Fierce. Still so full of good and light, despite everything. “As well as can be expected,” Scylla said.   

“Did she say anything?”

“She didn’t say anything at all.” It wasn’t a lie, exactly. 

Willa said nothing as she absently shuffled papers on the table, poorly hiding that Raelle’s rejection was still an open wound for her as it was for Scylla. “We need to bring that girl ‘round.”

Scylla shook her head. “How? She wants nothing to do with us.” And with good reason, her mind whispered.

“Go to her.”

A humorless laugh escaped from Scylla. “What, am I supposed to just waltz back into Fort Salem and convince her?”

“Yes,” Willa said simply.

Scylla stared at Willa for several long, unbelieving moments. “You can’t be serious.”

“Serious as a heart attack.” Willa held out her palm and whispered a few words until a piece of parchment appeared. “As part of our new Accord with Alder, we’ll teach them some of our Work.”

She placed the document on the table and slid it toward Scylla, who could barely read its text through the crimson haze that filled her vision. But she definitely could see the glow of Willa’s signature as well as Alder’s. Incensed, Scylla snatched it up and tore it in half, throwing it back at Willa.

“Have you lost your mind?” Heat skyrocketed in her chest, faster than mercury on a scorching day. “They killed my parents and Goddess knows how many others. Nearly killed you.” And Raelle. “Why would we give them our Work?” 

Willa only regarded her with the same, infuriatingly calm expression she always wore. “Are you finished?” The two pieces fused back into one, as if Scylla’s tantrum had never happened. “In exchange, the Army will stop hunting Dodgers. Pardon our cell. They’ll even let you finish your training.”

It sounded too good to be true. Because it probably was. “Don’t you think this is something I should have known about before you signed a deal with the devil?”  

“You know about it now.”

“Unbelievable.” Scylla shoved herself away from the table and stood. “You’ve already burned me with the military. And with Raelle.” Her nostrils flared as she stared Willa down, heart racing, breath harsh. “What makes you think I’d let you do that to me again?” 

“I’m doing what I think is best.”

“And that’s worked out so well for you, right?” Scylla spun around to leave, knowing full well she’d do something she’d regret if she stayed any longer. Made it halfway to the door when she felt Willa grasp her wrist in a tight grip. She was half a second away from throwing wind, burning one last bridge that would forever strand her into an existence of hiding.

But she stopped short when she saw the flash of pain in Willa’s blue eyes. “Please.” Willa’s voice was barely above a whisper. “I need my daughter back.” She scanned Scylla’s face, searching for something Scylla wasn’t even sure she could give. “You do too.”

“I don’t need anyone,” Scylla spat back, snapping her hand away. She almost believed the lie. 

Willa’s arms fell to her sides. “Then think about the good that’s still left to do. That we could all do. Together. As a family.” 

Her gaze was as piercing as Raelle’s, blinding like the sky on a cloudless day. 

Scylla, eyes stinging, had to look away. 

***

Holding onto the good wasn’t easy when the best part of you was gone.

The crowd inside the train station bustled around the double-sided bench where Scylla sat. The din of conversations and rolling luggage echoed inside the cavernous atrium and its arched glass ceilings. People came and went, with no clue about the war being waged; sheeple unaware of the bloodthirsty wolves in their flock. A small part of Scylla pitied them for their blissful ignorance and mundane lives. But that was eclipsed by a sadness so intense it left Scylla breathless. Because she would never have what they had. 

She clenched her fists in her lap, allowing herself a fleeting moment to daydream about what it would be like to leave all the death and destruction behind. Just blend into the crowd and disappear. She could do it and be free, for a while, before being hunted down by the Army or the Spree or the Camarilla. Go out in a foolish blaze of glory. Scylla chuckled to herself. That plan was hot garbage and she knew it. What was it she had said to Raelle their first night together? It’d be winning by losing. It felt like so many years ago.

Scylla was so lost in her dark thoughts that she didn’t even notice when someone sat behind her on the opposite side of the bench. A voice, gruff and familiar, interrupted Scylla’s downward spiral.

“You better not be doing what I think you’re doing,” Anacostia Quartermaine said, as if she was mundanely reciting the weather forecast printed in the newspaper she unfolded.

Anacostia always seemed to show up when Scylla least expected it. At first, it was unsettling, despite their pact to work together and keep each other’s secrets. Sometimes she wondered if Anacostia somehow placed a tracker on her. But over the past few weeks, Scylla found the surprise appearances to be comforting. Anacostia, whether she intended it or not, often popped up when Scylla needed her most. 

“Depends on what you think I’m doing,” Scylla said.

“Running.” Anacostia opened the paper. It crinkled as she spread it out wide between both hands.

Anacostia also had an uncanny ability to read Scylla’s moods, not that she would give Anacostia the pleasure of her admitting it outloud.

“Strange,” Scylla deflected, looking down at her lap in surprise, “Pretty sure I’m sitting.” She didn’t have to see Anacostia to know she was rolling her eyes.

“Don’t bullshit me, Ramshorn.” Anacostia turned a page. “I need to know if you’re still in.”

The way over is under. The way out is in.

“I gave you my word,” Scylla said.

“The word of a Dodger.”

Scylla turned her head slightly. “The word of someone who hates our enemies as much as you.” She could just make out the side of Anacostia’s stern profile. “I won’t stop until the Camarilla pay for what they’ve done.” She wouldn’t stop until she avenged Raelle.

“Good.” Anacostia stood abruptly, re-folding the paper back up and leaving it on her seat. “Interesting article about the Cession. Might be of interest.”

With that, Anacostia disappeared as quickly as she had appeared, leaving Scylla mildly bewildered. She waited a few beats before she got up to leave, walking to the other side of the bench to pick up the discarded periodical. She flipped through it, scanning the black-and-white type until she found a page with a headline about the Cession. A lone sigil adroned a corner.

She traced it with her pinky, gasping as her mind flashed to… Fort Salem. Or, more specifically, its infirmary. From Anacostia’s perspective, she moved through the medical ward, nodding to Colonel Wick, toward two beds near the back. In one was High and Mighty herself, Abigail Bellweather, scowling at the Fixers surrounding her. Scylla sucked in a sharp breath. Sitting upright in another was the one person Scylla thought she’d lost forever, a sheepish grin on her tired, but beautiful face. 

Scylla’s heart stopped and she dropped the paper. She stared at it on the ground, cheeks wet as she let out a laugh that came out as a garbled sob. 

Raelle was alive.

***

This would all end badly.

Icy tendrils of dread spread through Scylla as Willa drove a beat-up blue minivan through Fort Salem’s back roads, bringing them closer and closer to what she was sure was potential doom. The military base’s grounds were kept as meticulously pristine as ever. Grass neatly cut. Trees pruned. Flowers tended. A beautiful disguise that concealed a dark underbelly of slavery, oppression, and death. Scylla despised it.

“And you’re sure they won’t arrest us on the spot?” Cassidy asked from the back seat, knee fidgeting. The tension in the cabin was heavy among the five women in the van. Scylla kept her gaze firmly trained outside the passenger-side window, not wanting to spark yet another argument with Willa, especially in front of the others. She could just make out the outline of her old barracks in the distance.

Willa glanced at Cassidy through the rear-view mirror. “We’ve been over this, girl.” She pulled the steering wheel to the right, turning the van down a road that would take them to the officers’ quarters. “There are consequences for breaking an Accord. Even for someone like Alder.”

They fell silent once again, each of them lost in their own anxieties. After a short eternity, they pulled up to the side entrance of a multi-story brick building where a number of officers waited at ease, hands interlocked behind their backs: Alder and her Biddies, Petra Bellweather, Nessa Clary, and Anacostia.

No one moved a muscle when Willa finally parked and turned off the van, the old engine ticking faintly. 

“I hope you know what you’re doing,” Scylla broke the silence. 

Willa pulled the keys from the ignition. “Let’s go, ladies,” Willa said, as if she hadn’t heard Scylla at all. 

Shaking her head, Scylla stepped outside and was immediately hit with the energy that permeated throughout the fort. She had forgotten what it was like to be surrounded by the power of a Witch’s Place. It thrummed deep inside her bones; one of the few good things about Fort Salem that Scylla hadn’t even realized she missed. She knew the others felt it too, judging by the way their mouths fell open in awe.

Taking the lead, Willa approached Alder, who stood tall and imposing, full arrogance on display, as always. 

 “Generals.” Willa nodded once at Alder, Clary, and Bellweather, who tracked Willa’s every move. 

Alder inclined her head forward slightly. “Specialist.” Neither woman moved to shake the other’s hands. 

“With all due respect, General, I’m no soldier,” Willa said. “Collar’s just fine. Or, Willa, if you prefer.”

The Biddies chittered in displeasure, tongues clicking in a way that sent a shiver down Scylla’s spine. 

“Once a soldier, always a soldier, Specialist,” Alder spat out, blue eyes hard as she circled the other women, not bothering to hide her judgment as she wordlessly dressed them down. “That goes for all of you.” She paused in front of Scylla, who stared straight back at Alder. Scylla refused to cower before her, even as sensory memory brought back the searing pain she once endured at Alder’s hands. 

Alder returned to her original position in front of Willa, who wore a serene smile on her face despite Alder’s clear disrespect. “While you are our… guests… I expect you to conduct yourself in a manner befitting a soldier.”

A sarcastic remark threatened to fly out of Scylla’s mouth, but she managed to hold back thanks to the look Anacostia threw her way. Don’t, her subtle eyebrow twitch warned. Squeezing her tongue between her teeth, Scylla bit back the retort that would no doubt have gotten her liquefied. It wasn’t worth it.

“Sergeant Quartermaine will escort you to your assignments,” Alder continued. “Except you, Specialist. The generals and I have much to discuss with you.”

“Understood.” Willa turned to look at her team, attempting to project an aura of calm that failed to stop the panic that spiked in Scylla’s chest, before she trailed behind Alder, Bellweather, and Clary. No matter how angry she was at Willa, and despite their complicated history, a part of Scylla still worried about her safety. If not for herself, then for Raelle.

“Ramshorn, Freeman, Jackson, Beatrix ” Anacostia barked out suddenly. “Follow me.”

“H-How do you know our names?” Cassidy asked, unnerved.

“We know everything, Freeman,” Anacostia said. “And see everything. Best keep that in mind at all times.” She executed a sharp about-face, not even bothering to check that they were following.

Scylla couldn’t stop herself. “And yet, against all odds, the Spree still managed to infiltrate the base,” she said as she caught up to the retreating sergeant. 

Anacostia threw daggers at Scylla with her eyes. “And the reason you’re here is to ensure that never happens again. Otherwise, there’d be a prison cell just waiting to welcome you back, Ramshorn.”

Scylla only smirked back as they entered the barracks, following Anacostia through empty hallways and into an unoccupied locker room. 

“You’ll need to get changed.” Anacostia pointed to four open lockers. Fresh uniforms hung inside.

“Didn’t you hear Willa?” Scylla eyed the military garb with disdain. “We’re not soldiers.”

“No,” Anacostia conceded. “But while you’re here, you have to be as discreet as possible. Hide in plain sight. Isn’t that what the Spree do best?” She at least had the decency to give them some privacy, leaving to stand guard at the door.

Cassidy let out a sigh. “Let’s just get this over with.”

Despite tremors in her hands, Scylla managed to dress quickly and efficiently, removing her clothes, slipping on a black t-shirt, tucking it into a pair of black trousers, and fastening her belt. After lacing up her boots and zipping up the gray uniform jacket, Scylla paused, catching her reflection in a nearby mirror. It was surreal, to say the least; a myriad of what-ifs swirling in Scylla’s mind, heady and potent.

It didn’t take long for the others to finish and, before long, they were once again out in the hall, transformed into fresh-faced cadets ready to throw their lives away. Anacostia was no longer alone. Three other officers had joined her side.

“Ramshorn, you’re with me,” Anacostia said.

“Wait.” Cassidy grabbed Scylla’s hand, panic evident in her shaky voice. “You’re separating us?”

“From this point forward, you four don’t know each other,” Anacostia explained, almost kindly. “It’s safer that way.”

Squeezing Cassidy’s hand, Scylla gave her what she hoped was a comforting smile, even as fear gripped at her own chest. She silently followed Anacostia, trepidation growing with each step. They left the building and began crossing across the grounds. The sun was too bright, the air too hot, the flora too sweet. A wave of nausea swept through Scylla as her eyes watered, blurring her vision. 

“It’ll be okay,” Anacostia said once they were alone, her voice low.

“I thought we both agreed not to lie to each other,” Scylla said with a sad smile, wiping the back of her hand across her cheeks. “But, thank you.”

Walking side-by-side, they passed cadets, enlisted soldiers, and officers. No one paid them any mind. For all they knew, Scylla was just another private on a walk with her drill sergeant.

Anacostia gave her a sidelong glance. “Only a handful of people know about what happened to you. They’ve taken a vow of silence, as have those who’ll work with you.”

“All of them?”

Anacostia nodded.

Scylla let that revelation, and its implications, sink in. “And the rest?”

“The Necros were told you’ve been on an extended furlough.” Anacostia led them toward the War College campus. “A dispensation for personal issues is more common than you might think.” 

So the cover was set. It gave Scylla some peace of mind, but not much as she broached the next question. “And who am I training?”

“One or two of our top units, under my supervision and another officer.” They entered the building that included the War College rough room. They bypassed the main training hall, and proceeded toward a smaller training room. It was a basic room, with a few black mats laid out on the vinyl floor. Anacostia whispered a few words that turned its few windows opaque. 

“They’ll be here soon,” Anacostia said, a strange expression passing along her features. If Scylla didn’t know any better, she would have called it pity.

“What aren’t you telling me?” Scylla asked, every instinct telling her to run as far as she possibly could. But there was no turning back now. The door opened behind her, bootsteps shuffling inside.

And Scylla felt her before she even saw her. 

“Welcome, ladies,” Anacostia greeted, pointedly ignoring Scylla’s death glare. 

Time seemed to stop. As if moving in slow motion, Scylla turned and watched as three units filed into the room with Izadora at the head, all eyes watching her with a mixture of curiosity, disdain, and suspicion. 

But all Scylla could see was Raelle. 

Whose lips parted in surprise, blue eyes widening in shock that mirrored Scylla’s own. 

Heart firmly pulsing in her throat, Scylla knew this wasn’t just going to end badly. It would be a complete disaster. 

[tallycraven]

prompt: raelle & scylla having a very heartfelt reunion.... because despite everything they’re still in love

THIS ISN’T AT ALL WHAT YOU TWO ASKED FOR BUT IT’S CLOSE ENOUGH OOPS. TALLY’S NOT A BIDDY EVERYBODY MADE IT HOME SAFE BUT RAELLE’S JUST REALLY BANGED UP OKAY. 

“Raelle?”

The voice makes her head snap around instinctively, chasing the melodic source of the sound and landing smack dab on the figure standing in the door way.

She’s in pain, a proper sort of pain that wraps around her entire torso and sinks deep into her bones, but it all fades just a little at the sight of the bright-eyed girl standing across the room from her.

Her first instinct is to get up, to push off the cot she’s sitting on and past a worrying Abigail and Tally to fall directly into Scylla’s arms, but then the memories of everything that happened come crashing down on her.

“How are you here?” Raelle whispers, mostly to herself, because she’s sure this is some latent response to whatever magic mushroom bullshit is coursing through her veins.

But Abigail and Tally are frozen too, rooted in their spots. Tally even drops the towel she was using to wipe the dirt off of Raelle’s face.

Scylla’s approaching them like she’s walking through a minefield, slowly and carefully, her hands doing that thing they always do when she’s nervous—wringing together and one splaying out while the other rubs at her palm lines.

“I don’t have much time, Anacostia’s keeping watch.”

Raelle opens her mouth to reply, but Abigail’s suddenly standing tall and proud with a ferocious look on her face, “Anacostia? Our Anacostia? She would never free a prisoner like you—how did you escape? I’m going to get someone right now—”

Tally puts a hand on Abigail’s shoulder and shakes her head, “she’s telling the truth.”

A moment of silence drags on and Raelle can’t stop the clenching of her heart, the mashing of confusion and joy in her chest as she just takes in the complete sight of Scylla. She’s cleaner than the last time they saw each other, and dressed in civilian clothing.

Scylla takes another few steps closer, hands looking like they’re ready to touch… something but Abigail meets her stride for stride, standing tall and protective like a lioness until Tally pulls her back with a small whisper, “let’s go stand watch with Anacostia. Give them some time.”

Part of Raelle wants to stop them, reach out and grab Tally’s hand and ask them to stay. The other part’s the one that wins out in the end as she watches Abigail hesitantly chance a glance back at her before following Tally out of the room, just barely shoulder-checking Scylla on the way out.

She fears the silence dragging on, so she just licks her lips and pats the empty spot on the bed next to her.

She hates how slowly Scylla approaches her, carefully setting down with just too much space in between themselves.

“How—”

“I’m—”

They start and stop at the same time and can only smile awkwardly.

“You first,” Raelle relents, the soreness in her body refusing to allow the fire in her to flare up.

Scylla’s looking at her with those same worried eyes from after she’d been released from the infirmary for trying to save Porter. For a passing moment, Raelle wonders if something about the two of them is attracted to this place. This place of healing and death. Of injuries and illnesses. Raelle has to look down at her own hands to avoid the feeling of tears building up in her throat.

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry for lying, for leading you on, for everything. But I’m not sorry for falling in love with you. And I’m not sorry for choosing you.”

She can’t help but look up at that, and Scylla’s eyes are just so blue. Blue enough to drill a hole straight through her shoddily built walls just this one time. She opens her arms wordlessly and Scylla just collapses into them, arms wrapping around her so tightly that it hurts every muscle in her body but also soothes the aching in her heart so beautifully that all she can do is attempt to hug back even half as hard.

“I love you too, Scyl. So fucking much.”

The racking sob that shakes Scylla’s body only serves to hurt her as well, but Raelle only closes her eyes and takes in the warmth of the other girl in her arms.

The moment is gone too soon, as Scylla pulls away and is wiping the tears away from her eyes, “I just—I wanted to say bye before I had to go again.”

Everything in Raelle wants to beg her to stay, to promise to hide her, to ask for an explanation, to ask for everything to be laid plain on the table. But Raelle Collar isn’t the optimist of the Bellweather Unit. She’s the realist.

“So you’re on the run again?”

Scylla nods her head, slowly, sadly. “Yeah. But I’ll be close by. You’ll see me again. I’ll explain everything someday.”

The promise of someday tastes like a mixture of sugar and ash in her mouth and as she opens it to say something, Scylla’s taking her hand and pressing it firmly between her own.

“Hey. I know that look. I swear to you I’m not going to let you give up on us. I’m not giving up on us either. I’ll find you.”

Her eyes are blue enough to drown in and Raelle finds herself nodding before leaning in for the slowest, softest of kisses. It’s like coming home after the longest day. Like all the pain in her heart and muscles have seeped into her bones and dissipated with each gentle press of Scylla’s lips against her own. But it’s over to soon and she’s back to looking into the saddest blue she’s ever seen.

Scylla flips Raelle’s hand over and gently traces a familiar pattern, a small ‘S’ right at the center of her palm, and presses her hand closed to kiss her knuckles.

“I’ll see you soon, Raelle.”

And then she’s gone, much faster than she arrived and leaving nothing but the hint of lavender and sandalwood behind her.

[afy2018]

Rooftop Vodka

Walking through the first year’s barracks, Scylla laughed to herself at the drunken antics of the young cadets who had gotten into their peers’ liquor. She found the source of the party in a small room unsurprisingly belonging to the Bellweather unit with a few additions. The bright auburn sprite, Craven, sat between another cadet’s leg, chuckling to herself and engorging on some crackers while Raelle wiped her cheeks and nose with a wet paper towel. Having come upon what must have been the tail end of their night, Scylla took in the other recruits' conversations, catching the leader of this unit in a playful argument with another cadet. She smiled at their innocent escapades, distracted by her own memories until the others noticed her presence.

“Look!” Tally exclaimed, leaning next to Raelle’s ear to whisper something that made her friend blush scarlet red.

“Yep, yup, thank you, Tally,” she bashfully giggled.

“So, this happened,” Scylla smiled, not trying to hide her amusement at all.

“Yeah,” Raelle, sighed, going back to wiping the lipstick from her friend’s lips.

“She’s alright, right?”

“Yup, she’s lucid, just drunk, look,” Raelle began, “Where are we?”

“Our dorm,” Tally responded through another mouth full of crackers.

“What are we eating?”

“Goldfish!” she brightly exclaimed, popping one in Raelle’s mouth.

“What are we drinking?”

“Water,” she chuckled.

“Because we drank?”

“Vodka!” she laughed.

Raelle guffawed with her and turned back to her girlfriend, “See, she passed the test. What’s up?”

“Well, I was going to invite you over-”

“Oooh,” Abigail teased.

“Abigail,” Collar warned.

“But, I can wait until tomorrow,” Scylla continued.

“Did we scare her away?” Tally whispered.

“You know what, I would love to join you tonight.” She stood up and threw the paper towel at Abigail. “Your turn, Bellweather.” Raelle placed her hand on her partner’s back and wheeled them around to escape the barracks.

“You look like you had fun?”

“Yeah, we did,” she chuckled, pecking her temple but instantly interrupted by other cadets who passed them by. Scylla rolled her eyes and intertwined their fingers and kissed the back of her hand. Raelle blushed and clung to her arm. “So, did you go to the Pageant when you were in basic?”

“Yeah, it wasn’t as eventful as this one, but it was fun.”

“Who was in your unit?”

“Oh, two other girls, a fixer and a knower,” she noted, avoiding colliding with another unit.

“Hey,” Raelle changed course, “Come on, I know a better place than this.”

“Okay,” she chuckled.

They slipped past the other units until they found their way to the staircase. Raelle led the way up to three more flights of stairs, breathless giggles that echoed against the cement walls. She momentarily checked behind her as if to assure herself that this macabre siren was still at her heels. Scylla couldn’t help but let a joyous smile stay plastered across her face while they ascended to the roof, tripping up the steps until they found the door. Raelle swept her hair from her eyes and opened the door.

‘Entrez-vous, s'il vous plait.” she politely requested.

Scylla blushed, turning her head away to study the loose gravel roof. She meandered to the edge of the building, peering over to the six-story drop. She scuffed her boot against the rocks, staggering backward when she felt Raelle tug her back with her arms wrapped tightly around her waist in a vice embrace. They let out a loud laugh that echoed across Fort Salem while Scylla tried to regain her balance. She turned around and gripped her surprisingly strong biceps, leaning over to kiss her. With the burning taste of vodka on her lips and tongue, Scylla pulled away.

Raelle covered her mouth after reading her expression, “So, what did you have in mind?”

The young necro played with the hem of her girlfriend’s black shirt, “I mean, I just wanted to spend some alone time with you, but not in this state.”

“It’s the vodka breath isn’t it?”

“And you’re drunk,” she added.

“Okay,” Raelle nodded, brushing her thumb across her back. “Um, so do you guys still party after Pageant?”

“Like, second-years and up?” she inquired and earned a nod. “Well, yeah, but I just like to walk around campus when everyone else is too busy getting drunk. For instance, the big party going on with the Bellweather Unit.”

“Ah, so you decided to crash it?” she joked, instantly regretting her words as she saw Scylla cringe. Raelle placed a few meaningful pecks against her lips and cheek. “Wait here, I’ll be back.”

Scylla watched her disappear behind the door, curious as she waited on the roof, listening to the playful yelps and screams that echoed across Salem as all of Massachusetts partook in the Pageant’s festivities. She found it ironic that humans celebrated this day seeing that not only did they still enslave witches, but they looked down on her people with fear. Scylla glanced back to the door when it flung open, Raelle standing proudly with a bottle of liquor.

“Come on,” she beckoned, closing the door behind herself and locking it. When Scylla stood her ground, she held out her hand. “I don’t bite but Cadwells does.”

Ramshorn chuckled at the poor joke and joined her, backs pressed against the locked door. She glanced at the half-finished bottle, watching as Raelle rubbed off the lip before handing it over to her girlfriend.

“How many did you get your hands on?” Scylla asked.

“I know I snagged two, Abigail got one and I’m pretty sure the beer came from Moffet, Barbette I know followed us with tequila, and I think Amigaunt got their hands on some harder liquor. Yeah, it’s been an interesting night, to say the least,” Raelle chuckled. She twiddled her thumbs, watching Scylla sip from the bottle. “I know you had some other fun in mind, but do you want to talk or other things?”

“Sure,” she shrugged, taking a long swig as she tried to figure out what she wanted to ask. “What did you think of the Pageant?”

“Boring. The actors hammed it up. But I had fun when you showed up,” Raelle ended with a genuine, but leery, smile. “How were you able to go?”

“Well, I was given a bit of extra free time after class, so when I heard that the Bellweather unit found their way on the trip, I thought I’d pay you a little visit,” she smiled, finishing with a peck on her cheek.

Raelle blushed at the gesture, but thought again, “Are second years allowed to just leave the fort?”

“No,” she responded with slight annoyance to her inquisitorial remarks. “But Doctor Izadora permitted me. You know, I have to say, compared to the other girls, you can hold your own.”

“You’re not a real Cession-Girl unless you’ve made your homebrew,” she joked. “But my constitution isn’t the only thing I learned back there.”

“What else did they teach you?” Scylla cheeky asked, glad to have fully pivoted away from their previous conversation.

“I know what you’re thinking, but it’s not that sexy. My dad taught me how to do celestial navigation, it’s something humans do to, you know, navigate at night.”

Scylla leaned into her and gazed up at the stars, watching as they twinkled against the nearly black sky. Raelle pointed to Polaris and Acrux as the north and south stars, using the constellations for reference. Her partner tried to follow her gaze, lazily taking in the information. Something about her knowledge about those stars made her feel surprisingly safer with her. Every time she watched her train or mess around with her unit, she was reminded just how much power she harnessed, yet she had no idea. Just having her hand wrapped across her back she could feel the sheer force of energy exude from her. Scylla continued to nip from the bottle for a few minutes before it was taken from her.

“What?”

“Do they sell snacks somewhere on the fort?”

“Nothing that isn’t in the mess hall. Why, feeling a bit homesick?”

“Yeah, I’m mostly just tired of the bland food here,” she smirked. “Luckily I got a package from my dad.”

“Did you smuggle food on base, Private Collar?” Scylla demanded by poorly mimicking Quartermaine.

“Yeah, I did,” she taunted with a brief kiss. Raelle pulled away laughing. “I was going to say something, but decided against it.”

“Dish,” she pleaded, wrapping her arms around her torso while slyly reaching for the bottle of vodka.

“I can’t, it’ll sound so ridiculous.”

“Come on, you can’t just leave me hanging?”

“Anyway,” she segued, sliding the bottle out of reach, “my dad got me some potato chips in a care package with… some other stuff.” Raelle produced two bags of Mister Bee chips. “I got the salt-n-vinegar and original. Pick your poison.”

“Wow, so, is this your vice?”

“Yes, ma’am,” she joked, opening up a bag for herself. “I was rationing them, but this seemed like a good occasion to indulge in a bit of sin. What’s your vice?”

“Other than pretty girls from the Cession?” she successfully flirted. “Um… well, I loved these things called pinky skulls and skogsbar when I was little. They sold them everywhere on- where I grew up.”

“When was the last time you had it?” Raelle asked, offering one of her salt and vinegar chips.

“No thank you. I think the last time was… oh wow, when I was ten. Yeah, that was the last time I had it,” Scylla recalled, closing her eyes and snuggling into her abdomen, feeling her girlfriend’s stomach pulse and shift as it digested the booze and chips.

She could feel her heart push blood through her veins quicken when Raelle threaded her slim fingers through her hair, gathering her brown locks in her palm and gently dragging her short nails back down her scalp. Scylla closed her eyes and clung onto her partner, tighter than she normally would have.

Sliding her hand down to her back, Raelle whispered, “Hey, let’s go back to your place.”

“Mmhm,” she nodded, leaning up to kiss her.

Collar chuckled and kissed her back, tasting that same burning spirit on her lips that first made her girlfriend cringe. She stood up and unlocked the door, helping her lightweight partner to back down to the ground level, taking a quick moment to leave the booze in her dorm before going to walk Scylla back to her dorm. The older cadet closed her eyes to fend off the buzz that lingered in her head from the vodka. She knew she would feel at least slightly hungover from tonight, but nothing as horrible as her first year at the Pageant. Scylla took Raelle’s hand once she returned, leaning into her for warmth while they braved the harsh chilly night. Trekking through the lamps, the young couple found their way to the Shipton Dorms, taking their time up to the fourth floor, Raelle opening the door for her partner.

“Stay,” Scylla suggested as the door closed.

“I’d love to, but I can’t,” she smiled, helping her unbutton her jacket.

“Only to sleep, I always have trouble sleeping when you aren’t here,” she pouted. Raelle chewed the inside of her lip and chuckled, only considering her request after Scylla said, “Craven and Bellweather will be fine.”

Collar tipped her head back and sighed, “Fine, you got me!”

[blackindiaink]

Scylla watching Raelle sleeping after their first night being back together. Not even believing it's real. The woman she loves more than anything is in her arms, their naked bodies pressed together, her. And Raelle wakes up and see Scylla crying

Raelle had drifted to sleep long ago but I stayed awake. She was at peace, resting beside me, her arm stretched out to wrap around my waist. I lay on my side, head propped on my elbow so I could watch her and remember all the little reasons I was so enchanted with her.

It had been so long since we were together like this and I wanted to remember everything from the perfection of her face to the way the sheet failed to cover the swell of her breasts. The sun would be coming up soon and I kept rerunning flashes from our night on repeat. Looking at her lips, I could think of how it felt when I bit the bottom one and she pushed me into the wall, moaning in response.

A smile ghosted on my face. Raelle was so passionate and present when we were together. I'd never experienced anything like that connection in the one relationship I'd had. I'd had sex with other people, never anything serious and it was always a means to an end. I'd never wanted to commit anyone to memory.

Raelle made everything in me awaken like a straight supply of ecstasy to the bloodstream. She didn't just touch my skin, she penetrated to my soul. Once you feel that, you can't let go and that's why I realized that I was doing things all wrong.

I reached down and pushed a strand of blonde hair away from her cheek, watching it fall to lay with the rest on the pillow. How was this real? Had I really wasted so much time worrying about a mission when I could have been with her truly?

If we hadn't met, I'd still be lost, thinking killing was the only way to change the world. Maybe our love could do that instead. Every time she looked at me, I believed a little more in the power of it. She was the only thing that ever stopped the pain.

None of what Anacostia or Alder had done to me was effective until they gave me Raelle back and then took her away. After that, I was finally broken so when I saw that photo of my parents, I was back there hearing them being murdered like animals. Smelling the blood in the air and feeling the anger in my chest, hot and liquid like lava.

I hadn't cried then but I felt it coming now. A combination of happiness and a release of the sorrow. Everything I'd never processed because there was no time. Something always happened, there was always a mission to carry out. I finally felt safe to deconstruct because Raelle would catch me when all the pieces fell.

She shifted moving toward me and her arm tightened around my middle, pulling her naked body fully against mine. I smiled, tears spilling over and sliding down my cheeks at forty-five degree angles, hitting the pillow and sheets. There were so many feelings, too many to narrow down.

The strongest was love but there was sadness, lust, fear of loss, but happiness kept overtaking the others because I could scarlessly believe that she'd taken me back. Like I told Willa, I didn't expect her to forgive me but we were getting there. That would have been enough but she wanted me, loved me, tried for me. That meant everything.

Those thoughts just made me cry more. I let the tears go, sniffing so my nose wouldn't run. That seemed to make her stir and I stopped, trying not to wake her up, but it was too late.

Her eyes blinked open and she rolled back a little, squinting at me in the low light from the window.

"Scyl? What's wrong?" She asked.

Before I could answer she was raising herself up so she could get closer and touch my face, wiping away tears and pushing my hair back so it wouldn't get wet.

"Tell me," she said.

"Nothing. I'm just happy. Finally," I said, laughing.

She looked at me, her brow knit until I smiled at her and then she let out her own stilted laugh.

"I've only seen you cry once and it was definitely not from happiness so I was a little concerned," she said.

"I know but it's just everything. It's a lot and I was looking at you while you slept. You were so beautiful and peaceful. I couldn't believe you were mine," I explained.

"Well, believe it because I am. You're stuck with me," Raelle replied.

"Promise?" I asked.

"I swear on the goddess. I am yours for as long as you want me," Raelle said.

"So, forever," I replied, quirking an eyebrow.

"Exactly," she said.

That was the moment I kissed her and knew it was true. We were unbreakable together and no Camarilla or government could change that. Even if they tore us apart somehow, we'd find a way back.

[jaybear1701]

Chapter Summary: Scylla begins her new role as an “instructor” at Fort Salem. It goes about as well as you might expect.

“This is some shit.”

Raelle hadn’t voiced the massive understatement. Beth Treefine did. And, for once, Raelle agreed with the haughty High Atlantic. Beth’s Unit stood shoulder-to-shoulder to the left of Abigail, Tally, and Raelle in the small gym that would serve as their training ground for whatever forbidden Work they’d be learning. The walls felt like they were closing in. And Raelle couldn’t even begin to parse out the jumbling emotions that made her head spin as she watched Scylla, back in uniform, trading hushed, tense words with Anacostia and Izadora. 

“Isn’t Scylla, like, your ex?” Glory Moffett whispered out of the corner of her mouth to the Bellweather Unit’s right, brown eyes wide and round.

Heat prickled up Raelle’s neck.

Both Abigail and Tally shifted uncomfortably from one foot to the other.

Beth’s head snapped toward Raelle. “Seriously, you dated a terrorist?” Her lips curled in disgust. “Why am I not surprised? You Cessions do love trash after all.”

Abigail grabbed Raelle’s wrist before she could launch herself at Beth and earn a month’s worth of demerits. “Shut your dirty, fetid mouth, Treefine, before I shut it for you,” Abigail threatened with a dangerous glare.

“Come on, Bellweather,” Beth scoffed. “Even you have to admit this is bullshit!”

“And what exactly is bullshit, Treefine?” Anacostia’s question boomed out into the confined  space. “Is following orders bullshit?” She stalked toward Beth, who stood at attention. “Or maybe it’s doing whatever it takes to crush our enemies once and for all.” Standing toe-to-toe with Beth, Anacostia stared her down. “Is that bullshit to you, Private?”

“No, ma'am.” Beth kept her eyes trained forward, fear of the Goddess in them.

“Good.” Anacostia walked down the line, glowering at each War College freshman. “The enemy of my enemy is my friend.” She paused briefly in front of Raelle before she continued on. “You’d do well to remember it.”

When she got to the last member of Glory’s unit, Anacostia returned to a position in front of the soldiers.

“For those of you who don’t already know, this is Scylla Ramshorn.” She beckoned Scylla forward. “Outside, she’s just another soldier. But here, she’ll be your instructor for the next few weeks. Treat her with anything but respect, and you’ll answer to me.” She moved to the side to stand next to Izadora.

The air thickened in Raelle’s lungs as Scylla stepped forward, fingers casually tucked in her pockets, a small smirk on her stupidly beautiful face. Except the smug smile seemed almost too stiff, a brittle mask tenuously held in place. 

Scylla cleared her throat. “I know this isn’t ideal for you,” she began, making eye contact with everyone but Raelle. “It’s not exactly a picnic for me, either. But the sooner we get through this, the sooner we can defeat the Camarilla.”

“How?” Abigail asked.

Raelle bit the inside of her cheek, while Tally stifled a groan. 

“Bellweather,” Anacostia growled.

“Ma’am, I mean no disrespect,” Abigail explained, even as she eyed Scylla with caution. “A ceasefire is one thing. I genuinely want to know how the Spree can possibly help us.”

“The same old military tactics won’t work against the Camarilla for the same reason you’ve never eradicated the Spree in two decades,” Scylla explained. Off several blank looks, she added, “You can’t kill what you can’t catch.”

“And you’ll catch them with what?” Abigail crossed her arms. “Your winning personality?”

Scylla grinned. “There’s always that.” She slid a hand into her right pocket and fished out a zippo.  “And this.” She flicked it open and lit it. Raelle’s lips parted as Scylla brought the flame to the edge of her jaw until it caught fire.

“Holy shit,” Glory gasped. 

The blaze consumed Scylla’s entire face for several seconds before it petered out, leaving a second version of Abigail, embers slowly fading from her hair. “Boo.”

Frowning, the real Bellweather stiffened. “What the hell?!”  

Dark memories of “Helen Graves” clawed at Raelle’s stomach, sharp and deep. “So, the key to defeating the Camarilla is, what, deception?” She couldn’t stop herself. It was infinitely easier to drop her filter when Scylla didn’t look like Scylla. “You’re definitely a pro at that,” she muttered, earning a jab in the ribs from Tally.

Scylla-as-Abigail blinked once, slowly. Still, she didn’t look at Raelle. Clicking the lighter once again, she burned off Abigail’s visage and returned to her own, blue eyes glowing as flames licked around her face. “If you can’t tell friend from foe, then you’re vulnerable.”

“You mean infiltrate them,” Tally said. “And expose them.”

Scylla smiled, genuinely this time. “Craven, I knew you were the brightest in your Unit.”

Abigail’s scowl intensified. “How are we supposed to infiltrate them if we can’t find them?”

“Who says we haven’t?” Scylla said in a way that unsettled Raelle, who thought back to the latest Camarilla massacre. Scylla had said she was sent to investigate, but had it been more than that? 

“So, does no one care that this Work is clearly outside Canon?” Beth unhelpfully pointed out.

Scylla regarded Beth with a look that could only be described as pity. “Canon is nothing more than a cage. Meant to keep you in check so you never realize the full extent of your power.”

Anacostia coughed into her fist and raised one brow at Scylla. 

“But I digress,” Scylla conceded. “Who wants to go first?”

No one volunteered. 

“Wow.” Scylla held up her hands, lips quirking sarcastically. “Don’t everyone answer the call at once, now.” 

“Collar, you’re up.” Anacostia’s bark was unusually loud in the awkward silence of the room.

Raelle schooled her features, even though she wanted nothing more than to glower at her former drill sergeant. Tally and Abigail watched her with thinly veiled apprehension. She followed Anacostia’s command and approached Scylla, who still refused to meet her eyes. 

“What Seeds do I use?” Raelle asked, affecting a bored drawl.

Scylla finally looked at her, and all the air squeezed out of Raelle’s lungs. “No Seeds.” She took in a breath that seemed to shake imperceptibly. “Mother Tongue.” 

Raelle’s eyebrows arched. “You’re joking.”

“Do I look like I’m doing standup?”

Scylla recited a short phrase, then repeated its serpentine staccato beats. Despite its brevity, it was difficult for Raelle to follow even as she subconsciously stared at the precise movements of Scylla’s lips. 

“Eventually you won’t have to say the words,” Scylla finished. 

“What do they mean?” Glory asked, her question startling Raelle. 

“In light shall I be cloaked ,” Scylla answered. “In darkness shall I be revealed.” Wetting her lips, she tore her gaze from Raelle to address Glory. “Our ancestors created this Work during the Burning Times. Fought fire with fire to escape from their oppressors.” Her attention returned to Raelle. “Like the Spree do now.”

“And how many die from it?” Raelle’s jaw tightened as she clenched her fists. 

Scylla’s stoic expression wavered, a crack in the facade, but she didn’t look away. “How many die from inaction?”

They started at each other for several beats, a game of chicken to see who would blink first.

“Um, hello?” An impatient Abigail interrupted, snapping them both out of their near-trance. “The Work?”

Scylla glanced at Anacostia before offering her lighter to Raelle, who made it a point to take it without brushing against Scylla’s hand. For self-preservation.

Raelle stared at golden zippo, recalling how she had seen it on the small locker Scylla had used as a makeshift nightstand; how Scylla never seemed to be without it. Now she knew why. She pushed open its cap. It took several sparks before it came to life. 

“Now, think about someone,” Scylla ordered.

“Who?”

“Anyone. Picture them in your mind.”

Raelle closed her eyes, but the only person she saw was Scylla. As if it could be anyone else. “Okay,” she said, hating herself for her weakness. 

“Good, now repeat after me,” Scylla said, once again slipping back into Mother Tongue. In light shall I be cloaked. In darkness shall I be revealed.

Raelle attempted to repeat the Work. Horribly. She tried again. And again. Tried to give shape to the words with her tongue and lips, to get used to how they felt in her mouth. 

“Now raise the flame,” Scylla said.

Opening her eyes, Raelle brought the lighter near her face. Its heat stung her jaw. 

“Don’t be afraid,” Scylla whispered.

Heart pounding, Raelle lifted her chin. “I’m not afraid.”

The challenge was clear in Scylla’s blue eyes.

Raelle drew her hand closer to her chin, but the flame was too much. It seared her skin, and she dropped the lighter with a yelp. It clattered against the floor as she cupped the burn. She wasn’t sure what mortified her more: the failure or the disappointment that flashed across Scylla’s face. 

***

In the breath between life and death, memories flooded Raelle’s vision, hazy and random like hundreds of fireflies on a summer night. Of her mom and dad. Warm smiles, tight hugs, joyous laughter. Of Tally and Abigail. Infectious optimism and steady leadership. Tough love from Anacostia. They blended and bled into her link with Abigail, whose own recollections centered on Petra, her five fathers, her Unit, Adil, and Charvel.

But in the center of the maelstrom was Scylla.

Raelle no longer felt pain from where the Camarilla’s arrow pierced her body. Instead, her chest filled with love and anguish, longing and regret. 

“Scyl.” She stretched out her arm, trying to grasp Scylla’s hand and coming up empty, a millimeter out of reach. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

Scylla only smiled, a melancholy twist of her lips, sapphire eyes luminescent.

A burst of white engulfed Raelle, blinding and brilliant. Shutting her eyes tight, she felt fingers tightening around her left hand. She squeezed back. She’d never let go. 

***

Raelle absentmindedly pushed peas around on her tray, the tines of her fork scraping metal as she separated them from the sliced mushrooms. She wasn’t hungry, despite eating only half a bagel hours ago, her stomach still wound tight after that less than stellar training session with Scylla. Of all the Spree. It had to be her. The absurd coincidence reminded her of that old black-and-white movie her dad loved. How did that one line go? Of all the gin joints in all the towns in all the world, she walks into mine. That was it. 

Someone nudged Raelle’s shoulder and waved a hand in front of her face, dispelling her line of thought.

“Hey.” Tally said, sympathy apparent in her warm brown eyes. “You still with us?”

“Yeah, of course.” Raelle nodded, putting her fork down. 

The crowd in the War College mess hall had grown since they arrived for lunch, as had the volume of chatter from the hungry soldiers, most if not all of them absolutely clueless about the extracurricular activities happening on campus.

“You’re thinking about her,” Abigail observed next to Tally on the other side of the table. 

“I’m not thinking about anyone,” Raelle lied even as her traitorous heart wondered where Scylla had gone with Anacostia and Izadora.

“You’re such a liar.” Abigail shook her head as she raised a glass of water to her lips. 

“Well, I’m thinking about her,” Tally chimed in. “She’s actually a decent instructor.” She shrunk underneath Raelle’s stare. “You know, all things considered.”

Abigail rolled her eyes. “You’re only saying that because you’re the only one who was actually working that Work.”   

“One of the perks of linking with a 327-year-old?” Tally leaned forward as if she was sharing a deep secret. “Instant Mother Tongue.”

“Of all the people to impersonate, though.” Abigail speared a piece of pineapple and popped it into her mouth. “Hilary? Really? I thought you were over her and Gerit.”

Tally shrugged up a shoulder and deflected, “Who did you pick?”

“My mom,” Abigail answered. “Could you imagine her face?” She shared a chuckle with Tally while Raelle continued to sulk. “How about you, Rae?”

“What does it matter?” Raelle asked, knowing full well they knew she only had one person in mind. 

“It doesn’t.” Tally reached out and gently covered Raelle’s right hand where it rested on the table. “But, you know we’re here for you. You can talk about her, if you want.” 

“Why would I?” Raelle resisted the urge to pull away, not wanting to hurt Tally’s feelings.

“Because you still need to get your shit together,” Abigail said, tone creeping into overbearing Bellweather territory that still managed to set Raelle’s teeth on edge.

“My shit’s just fine.” Raelle clung to her obstinance. Had a knack for it. It was the one thing she could still control.

“Your shit’s a mess.” Abigail’s gaze flicked over Raelle’s shoulder and she did a double take. “And it’s about to get worse.” 

Raelle swiveled in her seat, stomach dropping. As if the day couldn’t get any worse. Her mother was now approaching their table. In uniform, no less, a hesitant smile on her face. 

“Raelle,” Willa greeted softly. 

Raelle gritted her teeth so hard her jaw ached. 

“This must be your Unit,” Will said when Raelle didn’t respond, offering her hand to Abigail. “You’re Petra’s daughter. Abigail, right?”

Hesitating only briefly, Abigail stood and firmly took Willa’s hand and gave it a firm shake, once up and down. “Yes, ma’am.”

“She’s told me so much about you. I feel like I already know you.” Willa stretched a hand to Tally, who also rose to her feet to clasp it. “And you must be Tally. I knew one of your aunts. Mae? One of the finest soldiers I’ve known. She told me once that the Cravens received a dispensation from conscription.”

“Oh!” Tally’s brows shot up. “Yes, ma’am. But I… I volunteered.”

Willa blinked once. “You decided to serve even though you didn’t need to. Admirable. If only we all could have that same choice.” 

An awkward hush wrapped around them, a tense bubble amid the white noise of the mess hall.

“Well, it was nice to meet you officially, ma’am,” Abigail picked up her tray, awkwardly canting her head to encourage Tally to join her. “But we best be going.”

They reluctantly left the table, both eyeing Raelle with concern.

“I should go with them,” Raelle said, standing to collect her own things.

”Actually, I was hoping we could talk,” Willa said.

“Have you talked to dad yet?”

A hint of pain glinted in near identical blue. “No.”

“Then we have nothing to talk about.” Raelle got up and quickly deposited her tray in a receptacle. She made a beeline for the exit, hoping to catch up with Tally and Abigail. 

“Raelle, please.” Willa followed her outside into the afternoon heat. “I know you’re angry. And you have every right to be. But if you would just let me explain, you’d understand.”

“Understand what?” Raelle whirled around. “Why you abandoned us? Made us think you were dead? Sent Scylla to…” She stopped short. The last thing she wanted was to talk about Scylla. Didn’t want to even think of the possibility that Willa had deliberately assigned Scylla to train her Unit.

“Yes,” Willa said simply. “You owe me at least that much, girl.”

Temper flaring, Raelle stepped into her mom’s space. “I don’t owe you anything,” she snarled.

Raelle stalked away, emotions ablaze, a ball of pent up fury as she trekked across the grounds. She let the anger consume her, ignoring the sliver of disappointment that wrapped around her heart when her mom didn’t follow. Contrary to popular belief, she wasn’t dense. She had thought about Willa’s reasons nearly everyday. And logically, she understood.

Alder’s military system was slavery. There was no doubt about that. So many women had been forced to early deaths they didn’t choose, and the same fate awaited their daughters, and their daughters’ daughters. Her mom didn’t want Raelle to become war meat. Hell, Raelle didn’t want to become war meat. Perhaps in some twisted way, Willa thought she was also protecting Edwin, breaking his heart to keep him safe from the war. The Spree sought freedom to live their lives without fear of being hunted down and killed, like Scylla’s parents. But they were also murderers, just like the Army–both entities so mired in darkness that Raelle wasn’t sure they’d ever see the light.

She knew all this. But her heart still couldn’t get past the betrayal of it all, and the fear of everything she still didn’t know about the terrible lengths Willa had gone to in furtherance of her cause. It was easier to cling to pain and resentment, than to wade into brackish water and attempt to separate brine from the fresh. 

Her eyes began to sting and she stopped to suck in several deep breaths. She had wandered the grounds, unseeing, and somehow found herself at the base of her favorite grand oak tree. It stood massive and towering, limbs curving and snaking toward the sun, the silent keeper of memories and secret moments. Raelle braced a hand against its rough bark, pushing until it dug into her skin. She had to collect herself, or at least fake it as best she could, before her next set of classes, which included even more testing with Izadora. Or else she’d never hear the end of it from Abigail and Tally.

When her anger had cooled from a boil to a simmer, Raelle rounded the tree, intending to settle between it’s exposed roots, only to receive an unexpected jolt when she found her spot already occupied.

By Scylla.

Because, of course, it had to be Scylla. Sitting under Raelle’s favorite tree. Their tree. Where they had stolen kisses from each other and made plans for the future. Where Scylla had once lifted Raelle and spun her in her arms, carefree and in love.

Raelle’s chest constricted at the realization.

“S-sorry,” Raelle stuttered out. “I didn’t realize anyone was here.”

Startled, Scylla dropped the pen she had been holding. It rolled into the gutter of the journal she had been writing in. “Raelle…” 

Crystal blue eyes widening behind a pair of black, wire-framed reading glasses. They reminded Raele of the ones Scylla used to wear late at night in her dorm room, studying thick tomes on mycology and necromancy while Raelle dozed on her bed after a long day in the rough room. 

“I didn’t mean to interrupt,” Raelle started to back away. 

“You don’t have to leave,” Scylla regained her composure and picked up her pen. “I can go.”

“No, you were here first.” Raelle turned to leave. “I’ll just….” Her heel caught one of the tree’s gnarled roots. She stumbled slightly, but managed to maintain her balance, if not her dignity, face red with embarrassment.

Scylla chewed at her bottom lip. “You know, it’s a big tree. And we’re big girls. We can both stay without bothering each other.”

Raelle almost laughed. They both knew that would be impossible. And yet, the way Scylla regarded her with no expectations, an open invitation with no pressure, it made Raelle want to believe they could do it. Co-exist. If not exactly peacefully, then at least politely. 

For the mission.

At least, that’s what Raelle told herself as she ignored all her survival instincts and sat on the ground, back against the crags of the trunk a few meters away from Scylla.

Silence blanketed them, not quite comfortable but not unbearable either, as a gentle breeze ruffled the branches overhead. Scylla’s pen scratched softly against paper, and Raelle stole a glimpse of Scylla out of the corner of her eye. The sun’s rays rippled down through the leaves, light and shadow flickering over Scylla’s gorgeous profile, head bent and dark hair swaying in the wind as she resumed writing.

Unlike Willa, Scylla made no efforts to address the unspoken tension between them–more massive than any proverbial elephant. Didn’t try to explain, or apologize, beyond what had already transpired between them in that prison cell so many moons ago. Raelle wasn’t sure if that was good or bad, or if it would even change anything, regardless. 

Her stomach sank anyway. 

Because unlike with Willa, Raelle felt remorse regarding Scylla, who had been captured and tortured because she had chosen Raelle over the Spree. Regret had burrowed inside Raelle’s heart the moment Scylla had pleaded with her in that horrible dungeon. Had transformed into a gnawing guilt that continued to fester long after Raelle callously dismissed Scylla anyway, wanting to break Scylla heart the way Scylla had broken hers. Raelle had no idea how to fix it, or if she even could.

“How’s your chin?” Scylla broke the stillness.

Raelle gingerly touched the healed skin. She’d almost forgotten it had been burned in the first place. “All fixed up. Which is more than I can say about Treefine’s hair.” She had no idea the High Atlantic could screech that loudly.

Scylla let out a soft chuckle. “It’ll grow back.”

“Not at the rate we’re going.” Raelle ran her fingers through the grass, tips tickling her palm.

“It’s only the first day,” Scylla said. “It gets easier.”

“Oh yeah? How long did it take you?” Raelle asked and then instantly wished she could take it back. Scylla’s parents had probably taught her, and here she was bringing up those painful memories. “Sorry, I…”

“It’s okay.” Scylla shook her head. “A while. I didn’t want to get burned. But, eventually, you get used to it. Learn not to fear it. Until you feel nothing at all.”

I’ve been burned before, Scylla had told Raelle that one time, deep in the cemetery in the woods. Both literally and figuratively. And Raelle had contributed to it. They’d both hurt each other, intentionally and unintentionally. Raelle’s heart throbbed against her ribs. She wanted to reach out, but knew she couldn’t. Not any more.

Before she could respond, someone called out Scylla’s name. A young woman with long, brown hair beckoned from a distance. Raelle frowned.

“I have to go,” Scylla removed her glasses, voice soft. Closing her journal, she pushed herself onto her feet and dusted off her pants. “See you around, Raelle.”

“Scyl, wait,” Raelle blurted out, scrambling to her feet. She didn’t know what possessed her, but she had to get this out. 

Scylla paused, head tilting slightly. 

“What I said back then.” Raelle licked her suddenly dry lips. “About being sorry we ever met.” Hot shame spread across Raelle’s cheeks. “I didn’t mean it.” 

Scylla’s expression shifted through a myriad of emotions–surprise, pain, and sadness conveyed in each subtle twitch of her mouth and crease of her brow–until the sea of her eyes calmed. Softened. 

“Thank you,” Scylla whispered before she quickly turned around and walked away.