The young woman watches in silence as the instruments are prepared, her keen gaze piercing. She has already been stripped of her garments, and her body stands rigid with the effort to not tremble. After all, the room is cold. To feel a bit chilled is only natural.
The attendants move quickly, sending nervous glances toward her and then skittering away. Whether they're frightened of her or pretending to be frightened for her, she doesn't know. Either way, it's quite amusing.
Their movement ceases when one of the men who had been standing off to the side steps forward and into her direct line of sight. A priest; of course. He clears his throat. "You know, without a doubt, why you are here. You are aware of the crimes you have committed. I implore you, confess now; speak the truth and your life will be spared."
There is a few long seconds of silence while they wait for a response, but she is silent. Perhaps torture is soon to follow, but their questioning strategies leave much to be desired. The way things have gone thus far, her captors are more likely to be met with boredom than a tearful declaration of guilt.
One thing is certain: she will never bow to them. She has never yielded in her life, not truly, and she'd rather have the marrow sucked from her bones than let them wring a confession from her lips.
It goes on for quite a while. They inquire about certain incidents, raising their voices at times and at others speaking softly and kindly, but always promising that her life will be spared. Truly, she thinks sardonically, their methods of intimidation are obvious and heavy handed. I'd hoped, perhaps, that the interrogation would be more harrowing, less inelegant, but it appears not to be.
When at last, they deem that she requires persuasion, needs to be punished before she will talk, the attendants are called upon to tie her to the strappado. None of them appear happy to be there, but one in particular makes a show of her agitation. As the rope is thrown over the beam, she calls out in a pleading voice, "Oh, stop, please stop! Let me speak with her! Let us give her one more chance!"
The interrogators consent to untie her. Drawing her off to the side, the young woman who spoke up grabs ahold of her hands, clasping them with surprising strength. "Oh, Miss Lalonde!" she beseeches her. "Confess your sins, now, to me. You needn't say it to the men at first, if that's what so frightens you. Only confirm the charges against you and mercy will be shown!"
"What a dreadfully tedious tactic," Miss Lalonde speaks at last, mockingly. "I suppose you are meant to set me at ease and make me feel as though I have supporters in my corner."
The girl's eyes widen with comical shock. "That's not true at all!" Her voice shakes and betrays her.
Miss Lalonde is retied to the strappado.
The ground rushes toward her with alarming speed-
CRACK
-her arm dislocates, left shoulder popping out of its socket.
"Let's drop her again, now."
CRACK
CRACK
"Do you admit that you are a witch?"
Throbbing agony from her arms and her shoulders. She presses her lips together and shakes her head.
"We, the judge, etc., do assign to you, October the 25th for the continuation of the tortures, that from your own mouth the truth may be heard, and that the whole may be recorded by the notary."
She blinks and shakes her head slightly, dispelling dreamdust from the crevices of her wandering mind. "…were sometimes men, but often women were the victims of these witch hunts. If you'll turn to page 163, you will find an excerpt from Malleus Maleficarum, the leading book used at the time for the detection and punishment of these suspects. Its name translates to 'The Hammer of Witches,'" the teacher lectures as she tunes back in.
Rose Lalonde is not a bad student. In fact, she finds the subject material being discussed today in history class mildly interesting- or she would, if it were anything but regurgitated information they had already learned in previous years. Over all, she excels at her schoolwork, but it holds no challenge for her. She'd much rather study psychology or some other intriguing topic than be forced to sit captive in a classroom while the teacher talks down to her.
Just to appear to be doing something, Rose painstakingly transcribes the words Malleus Maleficarum in her notebook, embellishing the letters with little flourishes and taking great care to use proper cursive. Her mother would be so proud of her penmanship.
The time crawls slowly by, but just when she is starting to consider doodling a squiddle in the margins of the page, the bell rings, releasing them from the classroom into the swarming mess of the hallway. Rose sweeps her books up and steps outside, where Jade is waiting by the door.
"Hi, Rose!" she greets her cheerfully, flashing her buck-teeth in a big grin. "How's it going?"
"Oh, well," Rose says dryly. "My life is as exciting as always. And you?"
"I'm doing just fine!" Jade replies as they join the fray, shouldering their way into the crowd. "Soooo, are you excited for Halloween?"
Rose raises her eyebrows quizzically. "For Halloween? I suppose so- though I haven't quite decided on a costume yet."
Jade nudges her shoulder. "Aren't you and Kanaya going in pair costumes or something?" she asks, and Rose smiles at the mention of her girlfriend.
Still, she shakes her head. "No, Kanaya has gotten it into her head that she wants to go as a vampire. While I'm perfectly all right with that, I'm not quite certain I'd like to dress up as one myself. I was thinking something more along the lines of an old and powerful wizard." It would be the perfect leg up against her mother in their constant war of passive aggressive one-upmanship. That would teach her to constantly fill the house with those ridiculous wizard statues.
Her friend looks excited. "Do you want to get matching costumes with me, then? I could be a witch!"
"Oh, I'm sure you'll be extremely frightening," Rose teases with a smile. "Of course I'd like to. That sounds quite ni-"
Her head bobs, neck jerking upward from its languid wilting into sleep; the world of the waking has prevailed for the moment. Even so, she feels her weighted eyelids begin to droop once more. In another moment, her head will drop, careening between dreams and wakefulness until it firmly rests in one realm or another. That is, it would if it were allowed to do so. Instead, she feels a sharp kick make contact with her leg, jolting her to attention. Rose sends a grateful glance to her brother sitting next to her, but he's gazing straight ahead, looking chill and probably wishing for his shades.
If she'd fallen asleep, the nuns would have given her an earful after mass. Still, she hisses slightly as the injured area brushes up against the side of the pew. That will probably leave a bruise.
Thisdraws Dave's attention, even if her previous look had not. "Too hard?" he mouths with as little concern as he can manage to put into the expression. Without the sunglasses, his eyes give him away every time.
Rose shakes her head and smirks. "As if, Strider," she whispers back quietly, a friendly taunt. An almost unnoticeable tension bleeds out of him and he goes back to slouching, facing forward once more.
When the students rise to take communion, Dave goes with them. Rose stays seated, one of the few that do so, though several others cross their arms to receive a blessing instead of the host.
She'd talked to her brother about it after their first mass, asked him why he'd done it if he didn't believe in religion, let alone the Catholic one.
He'd insisted it was ironic. "I'm showing my contempt for it by actually participating when I'm not supposed to. And all those bitches are like 'Oh, shit, it's Dave Strider, breakin' all the rules.' It's like when your parents tell you not to eat those cookies, and you don't even like the damn cookies, but you eat them anyway just cuz they said not to and suddenly you are, like, the king of cookies cuz you ate so many. Just rulin' on your big ass throne and ordering them bitches around while they're like 'Oh, man, why are you so cool.'"
He always did let his metaphors get away from him. Still, the point, ridiculous though it may have been, got across.
After communion, the mass is quick to end. Rose absconds to the hallway before a nun can pull her aside and berate her for her lack of reverence, though it's hardly a retreat from the other students. She had applied to this school in accordance with her mother's wishes- because there could only be the best for her mother's dearest, darling daughter. Dave, who had grown up with their father in another state until recently, had merely gotten dragged along for the ride.
The people here didn't understand her. They couldn't fathom her sarcasm, her strange hobbies, her hand-knit scarves. They mocked her as an outcast so she shunned their company and turned the rejection into her own decision. Witch, they muttered under their breath, back when they really meant bitch, before things got worse. Witch, what a witch.
Dave had fit in a bit better, but not much. The other teenagers regarded him with a mixture of condescension and nervous avoidance. His sick beats and obscene language didn't have a place here, and he could be really awkward and offensive sometimes (most of the time). They might have understood him, but the outcome of rejection was still the same.
Even so, the two siblings managed to win one friend at least- John Egbert, dorky and kind. He'd befriended them and introduced them to his sister over the internet. Jade was studying abroad, but they soon became internet friends, nonetheless, and promised to all meet up when she returned.
Things had gotten better then. Rose had been happy.
Now that the three of them had their own little group, the whispers died down and faded away to silence. If anyone tried to mess with her, Rose could set them crying in the worst verbal takedown they'd ever had in their life.
Until one day in chemistry class, this situation had worked out perfectly fine. But then one of them looked at her and he'd said, "Watch what you're doing, witch," and when she retorted he'd said, "What are you going to do, cast a spell on me?"
Are you going to jinx us, witch?
Look at her, she wears so much black. You know she's not even Christian. I heard she was an atheist. No, maybe she worships the devil. All of those freaky tentacle monsters- I always knew she was weird. What a witch. Are you going to cast a spell?
Dave and John noticed the influx of murmurs, but Rose assured them she was not bothered. Let those wretched, vile people say whatever they pleased. Who cared if they messed with her things sometimes? Everything was fine.
So now here she is, trying to flee from the jeers without looking like she's running away. She finds John in the crowd and clenches her uniform skirt in a fist by her side and she certainly doesn't reach out to him or Dave because she is solitary and she is self-sufficient and she has no weaknesses.
After school, John invites them over to a movie, but she really has to get back to the house. Jaspers has been outside the past two days and he'll be pawing at the door, begging for entry. "I'll see you after," she reassures him, and begins to bike home, bag hanging over her shoulder. It's at times like this that refusing her mother's offer of a car seems less satisfying and more foolish.
When at last Rose is nearing her house, she hears noises down by the creek. Normally she would disregard it, but-
"Oh my god, Vris, I can't believe you did that."
-it's those two again. Eridan Ampora and Vriska Serket. They live nearby and seem to dislike her quite a bit. Of course, they don't appear to like each other much, either, but she's never felt the need to deeply examine their relationship. Whatever the case may be, it's never good news when the two of them pop up near her place.
"You're just jealous because you didn't have the guts to do it!" Vriska's crowing voice drifts up from the waterside as Rose abandons her bicycle by the road, venturing into the woods in the direction of the river.
"Well, well," she says scornfully as she breaks through the trees to stand on the riverbank. "What's going on here?" The two of them look up, faces frozen in unflattering masks of giddiness and surprise and guilt.
For a moment, Rose doesn't understand. Her eyes take in the box, the wet, limp form, but she doesn't comprehend the images until Vriska speaks.
"What do you think, witch-bitch?"
Eridan is proud, now that she's here to gloat at. "Your familiar is dead. We took the trouble of getting rid of it for you."
Rose's eyes are fixed unblinkingly on Jasper's dead body. She feels a frightful emptiness inside of her when she thinks that the little kitten who sat and played therapist with her, the cat who slinked around her ankles, is the same drowned corpse before her now. And they did it on purpose. And they did it on purpose.
"Whoa, Lalonde!" Vriska, in response to her glare that she levels at them now. The girl's teeth are bared in a shark-grin. "I mean, it's too bad your little pet got drowned, but how were we supposed to know the box wouldn't float? It was all a bit of harmless fun. In the end, it wasn't really strong enough to survive! That's evolution, natural selection!"
"It would have happened eventually," Eridan sneers.
Rose can hardly breathe. "I hate you," she snarls and the words are like a curse, almost, or at least the suggestion of one, sown into the charged air and aching to be brought to fruition.
Are you going to put a spell on us, witch?
She makes a halfhearted attempt to resist the urge to seek revenge.
Alas, one is not easily shaken from the throes of grief. Her hands plunge into her bag.
There is surprise on his face when as she darts forward, needles clenched and knuckles bone white-
Rose wakes with a slight start, muscles wound tight with tension from the dream (was it really a dream?) she'd been mired in. She feels as though she's been caught in mid-spring, and takes a moment to calm her body down, deliberately relaxing her limbs before sitting up. She scrubs the sleep from the corner of her eyes, fingers scrunching the bedsheets when they fall to the mattress once more.
Now that she's thinking about it, remembering last night and running the details of the dream over in her mind, the usual explanation seems unlikely. Rose slips out of bed, bare feet silent on the cold floor as she pads over to her computer and logs onto the instant messenger.
Terezi isn't online, but it seems Feferi is.
cuttlefishCuller: Hi Rose!
tentacleTherapist: Feferi.
tentacleTherapist: I had another one of those dreams.
cuttlefishCuller: You did? How EXCITING! Tell me about it.
tentacleTherapist: I think I tried to kill someone.
cuttlefishCuller: Wow.
cuttlefishCuller: Have you told Rezi?
tentacleTherapist: No, I just woke up.
tentacleTherapist: It didn't seem like a future dream, though. More like the past-so it would seem to fall outside of her jurisdiction.
cuttlefishCuller: I still can't believe this is happening to us. W-E'R-E GOING TO CHANGE THE WORLD- FOR TH-E B-ETT-ER!
tentacleTherapist: Feferi, you're doing the thing with your "E"s again.
cuttlefishCuller: Hehe, sorry. It happens when I get excited. Maybe a habit from a past life? :D
cuttlefishCuller: Speaking of which… about your dream.
cuttlefishCuler: Do you think it could be connected to that one from a while back?
cuttlefishCuller: The one about
tentacleTherapist: There's no connection between the dreams and they don't necessarily come true. We've already established that. Yours is the only power to come through consistently so far.
cuttlefishCuller: True :D
cuttlefishCuller: I always did want to go out and help people. I'm going to change the way things are… No more unaffordable health care when Feferi's on the job! Free healings for everyone! We could be like superheroes.
tentacleTherapist: With you in the medical field and Terezi on the legal side of things, I'll be rendered quite obsolete.
cuttlefishCuller: Aww Rose, you know that's not true! You'll be the one documenting our journey through obscure, metaphorical wizard fiction.
tentacleTherapist: You know me so well.
A slight smile pulls at the corner of Rose's lips as she exits the conversation. Maybe she should try to work on her manuscript. The conversation with Feferi helped, but she always did feel more settled once she'd penned a few flowery sentences laden with symbolism.
It was silly of her to be apprehensive. Terezi is the one who sees the future- which only sometimes comes true, in any case. Rose's dreams seem to offer a glimpse into more alternative realities.
The death penalty isn't even legal in half the states, let alone burning people at the-
Rose opens her eyes and breathes as deeply as she can. The fire is lit, the sentence is passed; she can feel the flames creep excruciatingly and inexorably upwards, her skin charring and sizzling as the black smoke chokes her lungs.
There is no dream to be lost in.
She does not wake up.