forum Witch Trials // Closed

Started December 22, 2018 by Deleted user

tune

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The cemetery.
Haunted by ghosts, phantoms, memories. The resting place of her mother. Marla didn't know whether to be afraid that she had ended up at the front gates of a cemetery directly after drawing Death from her deck, or trust in fate and the moon. Maybe this was destiny. Maybe she was meant to come here, to visit her mother. Or to die… She shook the thought off and entered.

It had been easy for Fara to slip a longer, warmer, dark orange dress over her nightgown, but not she was beginning to regret her lack of layering. At least she had her shawl… The bitter night air settled on her skin like a curse, a warning, telling her to turn back, but they both knew she wouldn't. Murmuring a prayer to Sol under her breath, she let her feet lead her to the place she knew best in the whole town.
The cemetery.

"Of course I did, Smith. I've been doing this longer than you," Cyrus answered, though her tone hinted at teasing, which would most likely turn this entire conversation into bantering. She grabbed the jar of salt from her satchel and the small, leather spell book as well, glancing around the cemetery. It almost felt as if…someone else were here. "You came here alone, right?" She asked, her brows drawing together in concern. The last thing she needed was to get excommunicated again.

"Yes. It's only you and me," Smith answered with a small sigh, attempting to appear carefree though his nerves stood on edge. "Let's just…put the protection circle up and search for a familiar."

Cyrus nodded and opened the jar of salt, glancing over a page in her book quickly before stuffing it back into her leather satchel. They only needed three things for this spell; salt, the moon, and concentration. She began to walk around the perimeter of the graves, pouring light layers of salt in a path as she started to recite a few words.

"Pure salt protect this circle and all who reside here. Keep out those who seek harm, protect us from negativity, anger and fear," Cyrus started, continuing to pour the salt as Smith glanced around the cemetery, keeping watch.

Marla felt like a ghost herself, drifting among the gravestones where the unrestful dead lay buried. What with her pale skin, once sickly, now a healthy shade of cream, and almost platinum hair, tumbling down around her neck and shoulders, she actually had been mistaken for a phantom once or twice. Though, both times had been by her insane great-uncle back when she still held traces of disease.

The wind whispered secrets in the shifting tree branches above, lifting the almost gauzy skirt of her dress blue like a fallen fragment of the sky. She hurried to push it back down, mortified despite the fact that she was the only person in Corbin Springs insane enough to be out on a night like this. But she'd always been one for the cold… it was what she was used to, anyways.

Marla couldn't help but jump at every single noise that reached her ears, whirling around as if Death himself was bearing down on her with his scythe. But she was alone. You're just being paranoid.. she told herself, easily locating and crouching down in front of her mother's grave. There's no one else here.

It wasn't long before Fara reached the gates. There she stood, stock still, almost afraid to move and cross over to the resting place of the dead, as if the moon itself was going to punish her, the cursed woman, for mourning her siblings in the dead of night. Witching hour… Or at least, for most. Not her, a witch of the day. Witching hour was more like noon, when Sol had pulled the sun up to the apex of the sky.

She cut off any thoughts of the sun god, shivering visibly in her shawl and jacket. Right. Might as well enter, you crossed the town for this…

"Someone's here," Smith murmured as he began to walk around, a hurried tone evident in his voice which in turn made Cyrus nervous. Small whispers picked up along the wind, and faint footsteps here and there. He couldn't tell if they were spirits…or maybe other people. "Finish it quickly," he whispered harshly, tapping his fingers against his leg nervously.

"Pure salt protect this circle and all who reside here. Keep out those who seek harm, protect us from negativity, anger and fear," Cyrus repeated quickly, over and over again as she hurried around the perimeter of the cemetery, trying to connect the circle of salt she left behind in her wake.

A voice drifted to her, carried by the wind… Marla's head snapped up, shoulders tensing. Like a rabbit ready to bolt, she froze, waiting for the slightest sound. That's when she realized that she was still hidden from view, crouched in the shadows of the gravestones surrounding her. No one can see you, you idiot. Carefully, slowly, she shifted onto her knees, visions of Death flashing in front of her mind's eye. Marla turned her head. No one behind her. No one to either side of her, either. She bit her lip and leaned forward to peer around her Mother's gravestone.

When she entered, Fara was admittedly scared of the silence. It's a graveyard, of course it's quiet, she told herself, but remained unconvinced. Even in the daytime, when the cemetery was empty, birds could still be heard in the trees, conversations could be heard from the nearby town square. But not now.

What shocked her most was the sight of other people, on the far side of the place. Two of them, barely visible in the dark from this distance, but definitely there. She froze. If they saw her here…. they would not hesitate to label her a witch and punish her for it, as the townspeople had done once before, driven by racial prejudice and the sight of the old grimoire, barely readable or proof of magic, that she kept in her bedroom.

Cyrus continued to chant the incantation, over and over again, the word's dying once the wind brushed past them. The whole situation appeared quite grim, and the moonlight cast an eerie glow on the woman, her honey brown locks turning into a grey tone. Her eyes were closed in concentration as she finished the salt circle, barely noticing until the jar felt empty, devoid of any trace of her even using it. "Here this pure salt shall stay, circling these souls. Keep out those who seek harm, and the keep these beings at bay." She finished, opening her wide, tawny eyes as she glanced around the graveyard fervently for any figures. As the minutes slipped by, this idea sounded worse and worse, most likely earning her a punishment from the entire witch coven.

"It's done. I hope you have your runes ready," Cyrus sighed, appearing a bit tired as she glanced over towards her cousin and rose a testing brow. The taller boy nodded, holding up the crumpled slip of paper before he stepped forward into the ring of salt. "Remember, familiars are difficult. They're hard to tame," she added, making sure that a cautious tone was evident in her voice. She usually wasn't this responsible, though the last thing she wanted was for Smith to get hurt in the process.

Smith nodded and closed his eyes, murmuring a few things under his breath. Most witches chose their familiars, though like herself, Smith had decided to ask the forest for one. Hopefully, a spirit would answer. After all, this worked the best under a full moon.

"I asked the Horned God to heed my call, come from below, come from above~" The boy began, speaking in a loud, clear voice.

The loud voice rang through the graveyard, ripping through Fara's last shred of calm. The Horned God– Satan– Paralyzed by fear, she stared, wide-eyed, at the two figures up ahead, half-hidden by shadows and tombstones. She wasn't exactly holy herself, nor Christian in the first place and a witch, but this was different. Outright practitioners of his law? Of chaos? Bloodshed? Evil? All that he stood for, real or not? This shook her to the core.

Finally snapping out of her stupor, Fara whirled around and bolted.

Marla's eyes widened as the loud call reached her ears, seeming to still the very wind. Satanists? Or witches? She should have been much more afraid of the shadowy silhouettes ahead. But she had just practically sentenced her own fate with a deadly card pulled from a deck. If anything, she was drawn closer. Standing, she began to approach, but a noise behind her turned her head. It was… another woman? Running away? Before she knew what she was doing, Marla had taken five steps in chase and grabbed hold of the end of her shawl.

Cyrus continued to watch Smith, occasionally looking around the cemetery for others, though she paused on the word 'Horned God.' She had never enjoyed that saying, or connecting the coven's teachings to Hell, though she could only follow along…especially since she used to be an excommunicate. Though, she had always found it interesting how the High Priest taught about this 'god's' belief's, that people would be free under his benevolent will. Cyrus at least believed that part, since none of the people were malevolent in this coven, and had been willing to take her in.

"Entities loving, who wish me well, come to this circle when I s-" Smith continued, though abruptly stopped, eyes snapping open when he heard a loud figure in the woods. Cyrus flinched as well, brows drawing together as she turned, peering into the dark of the graveyard.

"Who's there?" The woman called out, tawny eyes wide in concern as she watched the trees…and the graves. Was it a spirit or a ghost? She had read about it once, though Smith knew more about it then she ever would.

“Who’s there?” Fara froze at the voice, pulled back by a hand gripping her shawl. She whirled around, her heart in her throat, and her eyes clashed with the faded blue ones of a petite girl. Jerking away, she frantically searched for the source of the voice, whimpering prayers to the sun as the moonlight began to burn her arms and face. What will they do to me if I run?? What will they do to me if I call out?? Fara’s hands trembled, her eyes flickering from the young woman before her to the two figures on the other side of the cemetery. In the end, she steeled her nerves, cleared her throat, and called back. “Hello? Is anyone there?”

"Oh gods," Cyrus murmured, rubbing her temple when she heard a voice call back. It sounded like a woman as well, which cleared up part of her thought of it being a spirit, though this opened up an entirely new list of threats. If it was a human…they must have heard the incantations. They would know that she was a witch now. She messed up. Again. Instead of panicking, Cyrus forced a leveled breathe out, trying to keep herself calm before she spoke again.

"We're in the graveyard. We don't– we don't pose a threat. We've simply lost our way," she called out, hoping that the woman would believe their story as she glanced towards Smith, reading the worry in his eyes. When his mother and aunt heard about this…they would be screwed.

Marla didn’t believe a word of what the woman— at least, it sounded like a woman— was saying, but she played along. Beside her, the stranger was practically trembling, as if in pain, but as recognition dawned she realized why. This was the eldest Smithers daughter, the one involved in the horrific events that had occurred a few years ago. Rumour had it that she never ventured out into the night, for fear of the ghost of her past tormentor— but those were just rumours, not to be believe.

Marla glanced back at the two figures. She was admittedly drawn by the idea that they could be witches and not just Satanists, one of the reasons being their magic. Yes, it was supposed to be ‘black magic’, but weren’t her powers (however weak) considered black magic as well? Wouldn’t her mother be considered absolute evil under that belief? She was curious, and immensely so. Giving the other woman— Faith? Fara? Something like that— a reassuring smile, she began to approach the figures.

The Smithers daughter caught her sleeve, whispering a hurried, fearful warning, but after seeing that Marla wouldn’t be swayed, bit her lip and hurried after.

Cyrus' brows drew together in concern as the two figures began to walk towards the cemetery, and she stood her ground for a few moments until she took a few steps forward as well. Just act like you're mortal. It'll be alright, she continued to tell herself, continuously glancing over towards her cousin. What would she do if they questioned her? Would she lie…make them forget? They didn't look like that much of a threat; one figure quite petite and the other tall, though no taller than Smith, though she knew not to judge by appearance. Cyrus had made that mistake one too many times.

Smith on the other hand drifted not too far from Cyrus, though he still resided in the back of the graveyard, not too keen on meeting people at this hour. He thought that this entire "summoning" would run smoothly, with no problems, no people, though clearly it wasn't going to work that way. At the thought, an unhappy frown had crossed his features, most of it a facade to hide the nerves that were currently racing through him.

"Who are they?" Smith asked, though once the words actually left his mouth, he realized how stupid they were. Cyrus could see no better than he in the dark, much less when they surrounded by trees and gravestones.

"Two girls, I believe. Just…play along, alright? I don't want you getting in any trouble," the woman murmured back, careful to keep her voice low as the harsh wind swept by them. She brushed a few strands of wavy, honey coloured hair behind her ears, trying to keep herself looking a little more poised and confident than she might have appeared at the moment.

Every single one of Fara’s instincts went against what she was doing, but she ignored them and followed the platinum-haired girl. Even in the heat of the moment, she was pleasantly surprised that the stranger— though not a complete one, she vaguely recognized her— held no qualms about touching her, a black woman. But there were bigger things to worry about now, she was headed straight for a few Satanists— or witches who could pinpoint her actual identity as one of them. She wasn’t sure which was worse.

They approached, stopping when they were only a few feet away.

Cyrus released a breathe she didn't realize that she was holding as the two figures came into a view, the moonlight hinting at enough of their features. One of the girls was an African American, with shorter cut, black curls and a taller frame, though her warm, sepia toned caught her the most. They stood out against her dark skin, which most likely made them so interesting. The girl beside her almost appeared the complete opposite, with pale skin and faded eyes. What an interesting pair… Cyrus thought to herself before racking her mind for something to say.

"I'm sorry that we startled you," Smith began before any words could leave Cyrus' mouth. She watched him carefully, tightening the coat around herself as the wind picked up, chasing the grey clouds above them. "We just arrived from the neighboring city, Vale," he continued, attempting to fuel the fake story in order to make it sound believable.

Both Marla and the woman beside her instantly pinned down the bullshit. And though soft-spoken, Marla was not going to let it go. “But I’ve seen you around town before! Corbin Springs isn’t exactly large, you’re the….. Adders? Addlers? Ashtons?” She frowned at them, confused as to where this sudden burst of bravery had come from.

"Well, my cousin here is from Corbin Springs. I live in the neighboring town, and he was simply escorting me," Cyrus explained, quick to clear it up as she motioned towards Smith. The story was quite believable since she was rarely out, grounded by her aunts and the coven…for participating in a certain ritual and other events. There were only a few gaps, and would only be noticed if the other two payed attention.

"Exactly. It got dark quickly and we stumbled into this cemetery," Smith added on with a small shrug, as if the whole situation wasn't that big of a deal. He had always been carefree anyway, so it went along perfectly.

Marla frowned, but nodded. Something about the moonlight.. it seemed to have brought her back to like from the shy, quiet being she normally was. The silvery glow was admittedly intoxicating, rich with unasked questions and untold futures. The moon was the beginning too all Seers… Her mother’s words came back to her.

But as much as the moonlight had energized her, it was clearly doing the opposite to the Smithers girl, who appeared to be more and more in pain by the minute. Knowing that she wouldn’t appreciate attention, Marla trained her gaze on the supposed cousins. “Oh. I see.”

Marla frowned, but nodded. Something about the moonlight.. it seemed to have brought her back to like from the shy, quiet being she normally was. The silvery glow was admittedly intoxicating, rich with unasked questions and untold futures. The moon was the beginning too all Seers… Her mother’s words came back to her.

But as much as the moonlight had energized her, it was clearly doing the opposite to the Smithers girl, who appeared to be more and more in pain by the minute. Knowing that she wouldn’t appreciate attention, Marla trained her gaze on the supposed cousins. “Oh. I see.”

Cyrus nodded, brushing a few strands of wavy hair behind her ear as she watched the petite girl. She didn't seem like too much of a threat, though something about her wasn't completely…human. "Are you two out to see the moon tonight? It's the first full moon of November after all," she added, intent on filling up the silence as she studied the two girls. The darker skinned woman seemed as if she was in some sort of pain, and Cyrus' brows drew in thought at that, trying to pin point what the cause was.

Fara finally dared to speak, despite the consequences that she knew would come. “If you stumbled in here by accident, why is there a perfectly placed circle of salt on the ground?” She gestured to the fine white powder, which seemed to shimmer slightly in the moonlight, her voice slightly hoarse with pain. It was not as visible to the regular eye, but she was a witch, protective salt circles were easily recognizable to her. Which meant that the two Satanists were.. not Satanists?

Cyrus' expression became a bit grim at the mention, knowing that the girl in front of her was onto something. Sooner or later, these two women would find out about what was happening. It was nearly inevitable. All Cyrus could do was pray that they wouldn't tell the rest of the town.

"Oh, the salt? We were told by our great aunt that it could protect us in the case of a graveyard. We always thought that it was a superstition, though it couldn't hurt to try," Simon explained, trying to fuel some sort of fake story to the taller woman. Maybe they would pass it off as some sort of church belief or tradition in the Adler family…unless they decided to link it to witchcraft as well. It almost seemed as if the two continued to dig their own grave as they spoke.