AN do you here this sound it is the sound of me being trash and giving into my current guilty pleasure and i give absolutely no bothers NOBODY FIGHT ME ON THIS ABRAHAM/KATRINA IS MY UNHEALTHY PASSION AND I WILL EXPOUND ON IT IN EVERY WAY POSSIBLE.
shout out to twisted psychology and heavy handed overarching metaphors they are my life
Warnings: general abusive relationship throughout a la psychological manipulation, borderline physical abuse, a gross invitation to indulgence that mocks the power of the invisible hand to foster true quality fics forgive me I am a wreck.
He will scorch the earth.
When Katrina had said that to Ichabod she had not thought it might be used quite so literally. She also thought she had a chance at being able to contain it. How dreadfully wrong she turned out to be.
Katrina breathed through her mouth, trying not to be sick at the smell of burning flesh and hair and human. The Horseman stood before the burning corpses, big and angry and with death wrapped around his limbs.
She closed her eyes, trying not to think about her own experiences with fire. Katrina swallowed, and made herself take a breath to calm down. She nearly vomited.
"Did they hurt you?" he asked, voice low and terrible. Katrina pulled her hand away from her mouth, shocked to hear Abraham's voice. It had not been Abraham who had wielded that axe and thrown screaming men into a pyre, it had been Death and Death alone. She touched the necklace still at her throat and pursed her lips.
She shook her head in response, then realized that he still had his back to her. She swallowed, and then said, "I'm alright."
Men had heard talk of the witch held by Death. They had then thought to deal with her, as all witches ought to be. Katrina had been bound and facing the pyre when Abraham had come for her. She had never been so thankful to see him. Perhaps later, when the hysteria kicked in and the abject disgust in her stomach wore off, she might even find it funny, being saved from death by Death. Then again, he had already proven that she was his to claim.
"Good," he said, turning back to her. Katrina's eyes were caught by the axe still in his hand. Only one of her kidnappers had been slain with it. All of the others had been struck and then cast into the flames. The screams had not lasted long.
He walked toward her and took her arm. Katrina resigned herself to be dragged back to his mount, but he seemed to be simply examining her, holding tight to make sure that she was truly fine. Katrina stared into his face, and then he nodded.
She walked back to his horse, wondering if it was concern or possessiveness that made him hold her so tight.
Katrina expected Abraham to rant about what had happened. She expected a tirade, an explosion, him to loose all of his rage and wreak havoc. But instead he was silent, his anger snarling up in his teeth and making her skin crawl.
She didn't want him to lose control, but she also didn't want to be stuck with the image of him lethal and wicked, skin tearing the air apart as he moved forward and cut men down with a glowing axe. She didn't want to think about how the smell of burning people was on his clothes and the scent of death was probably going to stain both his and her skin for the rest of their days.
His hands were rough as he helped her down from his horse once they had returned to the coach house. Then he was gone, riding off toward the stables. Katrina glanced at the woods. She could run. She could run until the bright, garish impression of flames and ropes over her mouth and terrified men were torn off, ripped away by the dark and the cold and the wind.
Katrina walked inside, feeling numb. She stumbled over area rugs and bumped into furniture, but she didn't pay attention to the dull ache of future bruises. It was almost too dark for her to see, but she managed her way into one of the interior rooms. Katrina sat down heavily, skirts pooling out around her.
The smell of burning hair and skin hit her in the face, making her wretch. Katrina stared down at herself, then tore her dress off, kicking it away so that she was only in her shift. She braced her hands against the side of her head, fingers twisted up in her hair.
Some men had kidnapped her because they thought she was serving the Horseman Death. They had looked at her and thought witch and decided to burn her.
Again.
Katrina froze when she realized that the smell was in her hair. She pulled some strands before her face, horror and disgust mixing inside of her until she was on her feet, staggering blindly toward the door. She scrambled back through the house, not even pausing when she saw Abraham entering through the doorway. She shoved past him, thoughts only on getting the smell off of her.
He grabbed for her, clearly thinking she was trying to escape again. Katrina yanked her hand out of his grip, lurching along the side of the house, desperate to reach the small spigot at the end. Abraham caught hold of her again, trying to bodily pull her back.
"Let go of me!" Katrina practically shrieked, possessed with the idea of getting clean, knowing that she would never be able to rest if she kept that wretched reminder on her skin. "Let me go, let me go, I need the water, I need to get clean!"
She clawed her way out of his arms again, almost falling to the ground when free. She frantically pumped the spigot, barely able to keep hold of it, but then there was water, there was water flowing and she dropped to her knees, not caring about the mud that was caking itself into her shift. She bent her head underneath the spigot, scrubbing her hands through her hair in a hopeless attempt to become clean.
She didn't know when she had started crying but sobs were making her whole body shake. Katrina felt like she was choking but she kept working her hands, even though the water had stopped. Katrina hunched over, mouth pressed into her knees, hands clenched around her hair and the fabric of her shift.
Abraham's boots stopped beside her. She paid them no mind as she fell apart. After a moment, he leaned over and put a hand on her back. Abraham didn't say a word, but he helped her to her feet and guided her back inside.
His clothes smelled of smoke and pain, but she still held on and sobbed into his chest because there really wasn't any one else for her to hold.
"I have something for you," Abraham said one day, making her turn around. She had been examining one of the cases in the loft, trying to figure out just what the purpose of some of the modern adornments were for.
She waited, wary of whatever he might give her. It might be some cruel trick, but it also might be some misplaced attempt at affection. Either way, she wanted absolutely no part of it.
He smiled at her misgiving expression, and pulled something out of his pocket. Katrina stared at his hand for a long moment, then dragged in a breath.
"A witch's glass," he confirmed, holding it out to her. Katrina found her hands moving toward it without thought, because she hadn't done magic in so long, but then she pulled herself back, unsure what strings came attached.
This seemed to be one of the good days, though, where Abraham was content to try to charm her out of her sulk rather than box her into submission. He held the small glass ball out to her, tempting her closer. Katrina considered, then moved to take the glass from him. Abraham pulled his hand back, saying, "Not quite yet."
She pursed her lips, knowing there had been a catch, and yet irked that she had not waited for it. Katrina followed him down to the main level, trying to guess what he wanted from her. They stopped before the table, and Katrina cast a black look to the chair. She was tired of being tied up.
"You can sit," he told her, voice almost teasing. She looked at him, because she had known this Abraham, the proud, kind man that had strangely possessed some sort of affection toward her, even though their future had been determined by society and convenience only.
She sat down gingerly, eyes on the glass. Abraham held it out again, but before she could reach for it he produced a knife. Katrina hissed in a breath, eyes flying to his face, but he still had that mild,you'll see sort of smile on. As she watched he turned the tip to his own hand and pricked one of the fingers holding the glass. He set down the knife and then switched hands, so that the injured one was above the glass. A drop of thick, black blood fell onto the glass, making the surface turn cloudy for a moment before the blood was absorbed.
"Here," he whispered, finally proffering it to her. Katrina took it tentatively, already feeling the magic hum beneath her palms. She had been wondering how the magic would work. The wards binding her powers would hardly allow for the use of a witch's glass. Apparently, the wards had been cast so that his blood alone could activate magic. Katrina suspected Jeremy was to blame, but she honestly couldn't see her son doing anyone such a flippant favor. Much as it broke her heart, Jeremy was a man of trades and deals.
"Scry anything you want."
"Even if it is Ichabod?" she asked, a slight smile of her own on her lips, because she wanted to know just how honest he was being with her.
Abraham's expression turned a little darker at that, his eyes narrowing and his smile turning thin, but he nodded and said, "Whatever you want."
Katrina held his gaze for a long moment, aching to perform magic, even if it was so slight as to gaze around at the outside world. She looked back at the glass. She considered a moment, and quickly discarded the idea of scrying her husband just to spite Abraham. She was not there to antagonize him, she was there to learn his secrets and make him trust her. And…she was not sure if she would be able to handle looking at Ichabod, free and healthy and so full of life, when she…well, she just was not sure.
Katrina concentrated, closing her eyes until she felt the magic pull itself out of her blood and swirl around inside of the witch's glass. She looked at it and felt a large, gratified smile spread across her features.
Trees. Big, beautiful, tall pines that were broad and so green that she could cry. And underneath them was a warm, dense underbrush, probably filled with animals and flowers and all sorts of beautiful living things, not any of the dead, frozen stuff she was used to seeing here.
Abraham leaned across the table to see the image she had conjured in the glass, expression of bland surprise.
"A forest?" he asked, clearly having expected Ichabod to appear.
"I went there as a little girl," she told him, remembering a warm summer afternoon spent with her family. The memory felt small and strange in the darkness of the coach house.
Abraham leaned back, considering her. "The memory gives you joy."
"It was a good time. I should like to see something like it again."
Abraham met her gaze then, feeling the silent accusation. They both knew that the coming of Moloch would destroy all that was lovely left in the world. He took back the witch's glass, and Katrina felt emptier, the small stream of magic humming through her breaking off and leaving her all alone.
"You just have to ask if you want to use it again," he said. Katrina scowled at him, because she despised the way he said it; casual, like he had the right to contain her nature. But then she made her expression smooth, because she had learned something important. As long as she had Abraham's blood, she could work magic. It was just getting it that would pose a problem.
"Whenever I want?" she asked Abraham, letting her eyes wander back to the glass. Let him think her so incredibly desperate for magic. Granted, she was, but Katrina had learned long ago how to refine that desperation into something wicked and sharp and patient.
"Whenever you want," he promised, and Katrina let herself break into a smile.
Much as Katrina hated to request anything of Abraham, she found herself asking him for a bed. He had offered her one at first, but Katrina had made the pointed and rather austere decision to sleep on a pallet on the floor. But, she was finally admitting to herself, it was incredibly uncomfortable and she no longer wanted to give the blatant air of defiance.
(And, she admitted to herself and herself only, she was not quite as afraid of what might happen to her on a bed, as Abraham would hardly wait for such a petty qualifier to take what he wanted.)
Abraham considered her for a long moment after the request, then gave a slow nod.
"As you wish. But there is something you must do in return."
Katrina felt her stomach go cold at the words, but her expression stayed the same, an almost haughty resignation as she asked, "What is it?"
"Magic. You need to cast a spell."
"To do what?" she asked, suspicion lacing her voice. "I agreed to stay with you, Abraham, not help bring about end of days."
His smile was like a knife blade, thin and sharp. "Of course. You won't be opening the gate for Moloch, Katrina. There is just a spell that the Horseman War cannot do by himself."
"Like what? Jeremy is a powerful warlock, I'm not sure there is much I can do."
Abraham considered her, probably noticing the way her expression turned from hostile to genuinely curious.
"You will be breaking a seal. The strength of a blood tie is needed to cast the spell," he said, tone a little milder.
Katrina considered, knowing that whether she was flinging open the doors for Moloch himself or just making things easier for his servants, she was still advancing his wicked cause. She felt a little piece of herself be compromised when she nodded in agreement.
Abraham had looked pleased as he showed her the room, a small thing with a large, beautiful window that stared out at the forest. She had thanked him a little less stiffly than she would have liked and sat down on the bed. It was almost sinful how nice it felt underneath her.
Katrina glared out at the moonlight. She made herself not think about what else she would have to give up to ultimately triumph.
Though she hated the fact, her very bones hummed in anticipation of the magic. The scrying had only pricked her attention, pointing out just how much she needed to do more, like eating a morsel of bread after a long fast. But the thought of big magic, powerful magic, magic that needed her power and her son's power and would draw on the energy in their blood and make things happen, it was almost horrid in how much she craved it. Katrina knew that whatever the spell was, it would be terrible, and it would only hurt Ichabod and Abigail Mills' cause, but she had a part to play. That was perhaps why she hated herself so much over it. That and the fact that her magic was being held hostage, and her good intent locked away for other purposes.
She almost hated how well she slept that night. The words getting comfortable chased themselves around her head when she woke up, condemning her more than anyone else had.
AN ahahaha i am committing myself to something terrible and i don't know how to stop