#with Abigail she’s honestly kind of evil but I can’t help but babygirlify her in situations like these

[devil-doll13]

Wax & Wane

(Part 4)

Tw: References to past injuries/scars, kinda angsty, Abigail is thinking about murder but Ellie calms her down basically lol, also Abby is very awkward, Blood, Swearing, I think that’s it?

Ellie belongs to @rottent33th! Also thanks to her for ideas <3

Percy who is mentioned here belongs to @the-pinstriped-hood, and I also mention Ava who belongs to @slaasherslut!

To be honest I was bumbling about for most of this but I think the newfound friendship between Ellie and Abigail is really sweet. Anyway, enjoy, sorry it took so long!

Summary: Abigail is left to clean herself up after the two Sinclair brothers had attacked her, and receives an unexpected visitor who changes her mind on returning the favour.

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3

Dividers by firefly-graphics

Hot, steaming water cascaded over her injured body and stung her freshly-stitched wounds, scorching her skin as she painfully winced in response. Ugly purple welts and thinner, more methodical slits that were permanently carved into her flesh seemed to have become angrily inflamed under the boiling spray. Her cracked ribs - the less visible of her impairments - were achingly sore and left her wheezing for every gasp of air. All in all, she was left hurt and dazed after her scuffle with the two Sinclair brothers. Wringing a hand through her stringy locks, Abigail watched glumly as rusty reddish-brown residue dribbled down her cut calves and feet where it disappeared into the steel drain.

The woman that had argued for her release - Whose name she’d garnered was Percy, short for Persephone Jones, the best-selling fucking author - had very subtly and politely hinted that she needed to clean herself, and she found herself in full agreement. Had it not been for the fact that she’d just walked right into a ghost town, fixing her hygiene would’ve been a high priority; except for the fact that evading mortal peril was.

Abigail wrenched the knob back and the steady stream of hot water ceased. She huffed and pulled the faded floral-patterned shower curtain open to step dripping onto a scratchy, worn out towel, then wound another tightly in her wet hair. The first thought of rendering herself naked and vulnerable in such hostile territory had not been an appealing one, but she admitted with some relief that her newfound cleanliness was worth it. No longer did the odorous sweat, filth and grime irritate her; replaced instead by the pleasant scent of rose-scented shampoo she’d sneakily nicked off the bathroom shelf.

After she’d groggily redressed in the furtive, shuttered shade of the house’s old bedroom - for she still did not dare to fall asleep in these conditions - Abigail padded quietly down the scratchily carpeted stairs and into the ancient yellowed kitchen. She pulled open a nearby cupboard, liberating a choice mug and teaspoon from the lower drawer. Then, she switched on the old kettle and sat down on a rickety wooden chair, rather smug. See, the other thing she’d pinched on the sly was a coffee container, which she thought might serve to keep her upright and conscious for the time being. It was here she allowed her nerves to relent slightly, lazily slumping back in her chosen seat and ignoring the pinch in her side as she did so. She pondered for a moment, closely observing the peeling wallpaper and behind it; the gradual buildup of mould festering there. Still, she had roomed in significantly filthier and sleazier boarding houses and motels. How sad was it that this place was actually rather inviting in comparison?

This once empty, abandoned home - which despite sitting dusty and neglected, mysteriously still had working electricity and plumbing - Percy had offered to Abigail as a sort of consolation gift. She narrowed her eyes sharply in thought. It seemed to her a strange act of charity, considering how dangerously close she was to holding the bespectacled writer hostage and using her as a bullet sponge; against her own devil of a lover no less.

…Which was exactly why she suspected she had ulterior motives. She knew this was a kind of soft imprisonment; Abigail was under house arrest until further notice deemed her fit to leave again. Or perhaps she would never leave at all; perhaps they all wanted her dull and drowsy so the moment she let her guard down, Bo would finish the job. A cold, spiteful resentment churning in her gut urged her to take advantage of this lull in their little murder operation to set up a counterattack of her own. It would be remiss to not acknowledge she was as prolific a killer as the Sinclairs were, after all, and they had severely injured a witch’s pride.

Abigail scowled. She would absolutely love to cruelly slaughter them all once she recovered in false docility; that seemed only fair and proper after that leering mechanic Bo had forced her into such an awkward arrangement… But despite her raw indignation at the fact, she had no way to get ahold of her invaluable grimoire, seeing as he so jealously guarded her car. Evidently he hoped to keep her within arms’ reach should his beloved decide she was no longer off limits for him to kill.

("Go’on, git’, before I try an' make Percy change her mind..." A sharp warning flashed in his icy blue eyes, though he carelessly snorted)

But more than that, it truly horrified her that she still couldn’t help but feel comforted by Percy’s gentle care and maternal aura. She radiated a sort of familial affection that Abigail had long wished for but never been truly allowed. That, and the fact that, despite Abigail’s behaviour, she had still been offered nothing but kindness from Percy. This elicited within her something akin to guilt; a foreign sensation that felt hard and rotten in her heart. Guilt, perhaps, that she had acted hastily against an unknown, that just moments ago she’d had thoughts of murdering her. It would normally be so easy to wash her blood off her hands and move on, but this time things were… different. It would actually be more terrifying if Percy was being genuine, that would mean she could cut right through her protective shell. She wasn’t ready to become that helpless and vulnerable again, but it was such a tempting warmth that Percy offered…

Abigail shook her head to dispel the notion. She’d sworn off emotional weakness of any sort since her resurrection; yet she still had those stupid yearnings inside of her that she desperately needed to be rid of. That would be the only way she would find peace and acceptance in who she was; what she was.

She’s using manipulation tactics and you’ve fallen right into her trap… You know better than that by now, Abigail, surely?

Better to be distant and detached than have those unrealistic hopes crushed again.

The rattling kettle puffed to a halt, and Abigail stood up wearily to pour heated water into her mug and stir. For a moment she focused solely on the satisfying clink of the teaspoon against ceramic as the aromatic brew began to turn a dark, swarthy brown. It would’ve been perfect if she had a tin of cinnamon on hand, but beggars couldn’t exactly be choosers, now could they?

Abruptly, she picked up the sound of the door being opened in the entrance hallway and bristled like a disturbed feline.

Is it Bo, come to rub salt in the wound? Vincent, so he can stand there silently, waiting for rebellion? Percy, so I’ll have to confront myself far too soon?

Instead the visitor was decidedly more unknown; a young woman who had appeared by the kitchen threshold with a swish of lavender tulle.

“Oh,” she wrinkled her nose delicately. “It’s kind of dusty in here…”

She had a soft, almost cherubic face, heart-shaped lips and uniquely multi-coloured eyes in which Abigail could detect no underlying malice or deceit; though she had instinctively been searching for it. She was certain they had never met before, but at once the woman seemed strangely familiar.

The light of realisation dawned on her then. She looks exactly like the beautiful woman I saw in Vincent’s portrait earlier…

“Hi!” The girl chirped amiably. “You’re the new arrival here, right? I’m Ellie!”

New arrival…?

Ellie beamed at her with a smile bright enough to rival the sun. Abigail almost squinted at this radiance, finding her almost as difficult to look at.

“…Oh.” She faltered for a moment, placing her teaspoon down gently. Abigail wasn’t quite sure how to react to this. Hadn’t she just moments earlier been fighting for her life? Well, perhaps it was just that she’d never had such a jovial welcome before.

Ellie was kind enough to ignore her slow response, and not discouraged in the slightest, extended a slightly paint-stained hand for her to shake.

“I’m…” Abigail eyed the violet-tangerine splotched palm, half expecting it to produce a knife to stab her with. She tried to settle on a reply.

“…The new arrival. Yes.”

“Well, welcome to Ambrose! It’s been so long since we had a proper visitor and all.” Ellie’s hand felt slightly damp, but it was warm and soft and did not cause her pain.

I had a rather funny welcome, Ellie…

Ellie might’ve been only a smidge taller than Abigail, so it was easy for them to see each other eye-to-eye. For a moment she felt an uncomfortable silence begin to kick in as she allowed her hand to be held limply. Her focus fell onto the colourful splashes on Ellie’s wrist, unwillingly.

“Would you like some…?” Abigail gestured vaguely with her teaspoon back at her coffee. No real point hiding it now. She wanted to stop this touching.

Ellie’s expression brightened further, if that was in any way possible.

“Yes please, if that’s alright!”

Well technically I stole it from you, so…

She quickly turned away and took out another mug from the kitchen drawers - as clean as one she could find - and got to work pouring Ellie a cup of coffee as well. But the woman stopped her gently, insisting that she could do it herself, so Abigail backed off.

“I’m sorry about, um…” Ellie scrunched up her face in an apologetic grimace. “How nasty it kind of is in here, but we’ll find you somewhere nicer soon!”

Abigail concealed a small sigh. It wasn’t exactly in her plans to stay in a place where she was wanted dead; she’d been through that enough already.

Does she not know what the situation is…?

“…Most of these houses are abandoned, then?” She decided to investigate a little, evading these clear attempts to soften up her guard.

The girl’s face lit up in memory. “Yes, they are… Have been for decades, really. It’s mostly just a ghost town here now. Except for us, anyway.”

Us, as in you, Percy and the two brothers…

Abigail was mildly surprised at how honest she was being. Certainly she knew this already, but it was in great contrast to Bo, who had lied to her. Perhaps it would be a good idea to interrogate this one.

“Where do you live, then?” She pressed.

“Just in a house by the outskirts of town. It’s best for my gardens, you see. And it’s wonderfully close to the forest too.” She gave her an enthusiastic little smile. “I’ll show it to you! It’s not far from here anyway, it’s basically me and Vinny’s little retreat.”

Vinny… Abigail just about mentally blanked as she recalled the man who’d just come inches away from cutting her throat an hour earlier.

So, those two both keep their lovers here…

She took a tentative sip as she contemplated this. That nasty, twisted part of her urged to take note of this for later, since it would be oh-so-easy to map out the town for her counterattack and use this girl as a bargaining chip, just as she tried to do with Percy. Ellie seemed overly optimistic and trusting, but Abigail was already expecting that point when she would recoil away from her; it was only a matter of time. This hospitality would not last, so she had to take advantage of it.

“Ok. I’ll take you up on that offer,” she said dully.

It was fine. She could simply spare Percy.

“That’s great. Like I said, not too many visitors lately, and I’m the kind of person who thrives on being able to share things, you know?”

Abigail stared rather intently at the brown-haired girl, still trying to dissect her for clues. Strangely enough, Ellie didn’t even seem unnerved by this, as she expected her to be. She smiled back, as if this was a completely normal occurrence for her. Even after she had figured out that she was the girl in the painting, Abigail still felt like there was something persistently familiar about Ellie. It was probably just that she’d known people like this before, but never really had their approval.

A silky black cat trotted in soon after the girl did and immediately made a beeline toward Abigail, winding in between her legs with a friendly purr.

“This is Salem,” the brunette said, beaming down at the kitten. “Well, he seems to like you!”

“Most cats do…” She murmured.

Abigail couldn’t help but feel charmed by this little fellow and reached down to scratch him between the ears. He chirped a sort of happy mewl in response.

I guess I can spare you as well…

“Actually.” She heard Ellie’s voice lower to a furtive, but slightly excited whisper as she stirred her coffee.

“I know there’s something different about you…”

Abigail felt her breath hitch at this. She was more or less waiting for the other pin to drop, but would it happen so fast?

“Different?” She watched the other girl warily.

“Oh!” Ellie exclaimed. It was as if she’d taken herself by surprise. She flushed slightly. “I don’t mean it in a bad way, I just…”

Ellie scooched closer. “I know you did something really, um… Magical. At least, I think Bo was saying something like that.”

Abigail leaned back against the counter, letting Salem rub his dark furry head against her boots. She knew she had reacted a little too fast, but… She eyed Ellie dubiously.

So you know I reanimated your boyfriend’s statue?

“And you believe in magic?” She probed. It came out as more condescending than she intended.

“Yes!” Ellie said eagerly. “I actually know a bit…”

It was then. She’d lifted her hand to rearrange her hair, and Abigail caught it. That spoon was moving on its own. The coffee was stirring itself.

That’s… Actual…

“…Do you normally do spells without realising it?” She couldn’t stop herself.

Abigail now realised that feeling of strange familiarity was because she’d detected the spark in another; but this one had a far gentler power than her own.

Ellie’s brows furrowed before a moment before an expression of surprise replaced it. She looked back down at her steaming mug. “Um… Yes, that does happen sometimes.” She admitted. “I guess you caught me.”

She took the teaspoon out and blew on her coffee. Abigail had little time to think on it before Ellie bursted out into an enthusiastic rant.

“Ok, ok, so I was honestly really excited, because this is the first time we’ve had another witch here in Ambrose, so I got up in the middle of painting…” She displayed her hands. “…Just to see you! You did cast a spell back there, didn’t you?”

“…In a manner of speaking, yes.”

Not a particularly nice one, though…

“See, I knew it. You definitely have a sort of… Aura, so I can tell. I’ve always been good with that.” Ellie pulled out a chair and sat down rather neatly, tucking her dress underneath herself. It was a rather grand gown she was wearing, Abigail realised. Again, she was struck by the feeling that this bright young woman felt out of place in this dingy town.

“I should’ve recognised it in you before, honestly.” Abigail bit her lip as she pulled up her own chair, and Salem hopped into her lap. “But you don’t have a nasty bone in your body, do you? I’ll admit, I haven’t as much experience with light magick spells.” She remarked, peering at Ellie’s rosy face.

Ellie blushed, as if she’d just complimented her.

“I mean, I don’t like the idea of hurting anyone with it… I mostly use it to help my garden along, grow some of the more difficult plants and use it to bake, that sort of thing.” She played with her fingers absentmindedly.

“…That’s amazing. I could never do that.” Abigail admitted, running a hand over Salem’s smooth fur. She genuinely meant it, too, despite herself.

Ellie’s face turned an even darker shade of pink.

“But I’m pretty sure those lightning bolts from earlier were yours, right? I’ve never seen someone conjure an entire storm before. Are you a powerful witch?”

Now it was Abigail’s turn to feel bashful.

“I… I can only do black magick, I’m not at all skilled in other kinds. Not like you.” She looked back to Ellie’s mug. That sort of quiet, peaceful spell was difficult for her, someone only used to harming others. But Ellie could do it effortlessly; without even thinking.

At the same time, she was astounded. This was almost an out of body experience; since when did anyone admire her disease and destruction? How was it that this girl seemed completely unperturbed by the monster sitting across from her?

Ellie reached over to clasp their hands together, and Abigail’s eyes shot open in surprise. To her own astonishment, she didn’t pull away. Salem jumped down from Abigail’s lap with a ‘mrrrp’ sound, padding out into the hallway where he disappeared.

“This is so nice. I’d love to show you everything I’ve collected over the years! I have this pretty crystal ball I’ve been trying to scry with, but I’ve taken well enough to divining tarot readings for everyone. Oh, you have to meet Ava too! Do you like art? I think I get a bit of a magic touch when painting sometimes.” It seemed Ellie was fit to burst, unable to contain her excitement, and she bounced up and down in her chair. For Abigail, it was infectious.

And who is Ava…?

“Yes, actually. What were you… Painting?” A thread of curiosity tugged at her brain and refused to stop. She thought back to her own artwork still imprisoned in her car. She imagined that Ellie’s were far less reflective of that inner wrongness; more uplifting.

“My new crocuses! See, that’s why I used a lot of purple. They really just liven up the flowerbeds, you know?” Ellie’s hands still clung to Abigail’s, still not recoiling in horror and the cold and pallor. “And purple’s kind of one of my favourite colours, so…”

“It’s one of mine, too…” She said softly.

Abigail could feel herself slipping again; in the same way she’d gotten carried away with Percy, even with Bo around. Her will to fight was slowly drained by a combination of fatigue and desperation to feel a smidge of affection. She realised the vibrant paint had rubbed off on herself, splotched on her own drab wrists. Then she realised she didn’t even mind.

I’ll have to spare Ellie, too. Or… Will I attack at all?

“Wait, I just realised. I’ve been so rude, I haven’t asked for your name!” Ellie leaned forward to fix her with an earnest gaze, and Abigail stiffened.

She was starting to doubt herself, which wasn’t good. How could she ever do that, when she alone made decisions regarding her fate? When she swore she would never relinquish that control again? She felt herself spiral as Ellie gave her a sisterly squeeze on her trembling hands. For a moment, Abigail studied Ellie’s features. No repulsion, no fear. A sort of acceptance and kinship she had never felt before.

“But don’t worry, it’s okay if you don’t want to tell me yet… Just do it in your own time.” Ellie’s voice was soothing and patient, as if she’d read her thoughts. It made her heart ache. How many times had she wished for this? Was it too good to be true?

Then, she made her decision.

(“Names have… Power. It’s not wise to give them away so freely.” Her own words echoed in her mind)

“Abigail.” She finally spoke, smiling shyly, and squeezed her warm hands back.

(Taglist: @rottent33th, @slaasherslut, @the-pinstriped-hood, @goldrose-star, @soupbabe, @bluecoolr, @flower-crowned-lady, @vincent-sinclair-deserved-better, @solmints-messyocdiary)