Parfume
(A/N: Spoiler though to the end. Don't read if you want the ending to be a surprise.)
She wore strong perfume, though why, she didn't know. That's how Gemma knew it was her. Hester's smile was warm somehow, like Virginia Doyle's, Sarah's hair was dark, as Pippa Cross's, Circe's ambition was strong, like Felicity Worthington's. Of all the people Gemma knew, somehow, Sarah Rees-Toome, who was also Hester Asa Moore, who was also Circe, seemed the most original despite the countless similarities.
She wasn't afraid to sin.
Choices had been made, and Sarah had helped in the committing of murder with her friend and sister, Mary Dowd. Nearly having been sacrificed herself, it was then that Sarah had been changed. She had become one with a beast so fearful that it nearly lost Mary Dowd her wits.
Nell Hawkins was the sole survivor of the true Claire McCleethy's sacrifice to the great spirits of the Winterlands. She had gone mad trying to evade mental and emotional capture. Claire had crossed boundaries that no sane person could cross.
So why did Gemma love her?
Hester Asa Moore was a simple art and Latin teacher at Spence. She was a rebellious angel in her own right, saving Gemma Doyle the dullness of her social "destiny." She was a light in such a dark world for the young lady. The one who was so much like Virginia that it was ironic once it was revealed. Gemma had come to tell Hester of her mother's murder one night in Pippa Cross's room, and Sarah listened to what she had caused. If only she hadn't been betrayed, then perhaps she wouldn't have had to see Mary killed. Mary and Virginia were, though Sarah hated to admit it, different people. Mary was a scared child. Virginia was a changed woman. It was a transformation not unlike her own. Sarah was an ambitious girl looking for power. Hester was a woman seeking something just beyond her reach.
"You did not kill your mother," Hester had told the young Lady Doyle. No, Gemma Doyle, sweet Gemma Doyle, hadn't been the one at fault.
She could not atone for bringing a beast to the physical world. She could not repent for killing three young girls just beginning their seasons. Nor could she for being a party to the murder of her once best friend, her student's mother. Gemma's eyes were just like Mary's.
Gemma stood in the mist, the battle not yet over. Three fates stood before her with a choice in their palm. Then Lady Hope sensed something else. With a new voice was the scent of chimney soot and lilac powder. Light paint washed away by the aroma of what was once the nature of the realms and the water of the cursed well.
Circe smiled her warm smile, for that was the last time she would ever allow herself to be called Miss Moore.