Do Not Stand At My Grave And Weep
It's been months since the sleep demon had wandered so effortlessly through their dreams, manipulating their minds. Praying on their fears, shame, and desires. Zelda won't let the others know she fears closing her eyes at night. The dream had been so vivid, so real. And the image of Hilda lying dead, never to return again, has forever been burnt into her mind.
Ever since Sabrina entered their life, things had begun to change. All right, Zelda had begun to change. That was not to say that she'd suddenly decided to be kind to man and advocate for mortal rights. But being responsible for her deceased brother's only child was something that Zelda intended to take seriously. It was for the coven. She had made a promise, along with Edward, to have Sabrina sign her name in the Book of the Beast on the girl's sixteenth birthday. It should have been fine, there shouldn't have been any problems. Somehow, Zelda always forgets how soft her sister is, how much she didn't want to sign her own name all those years ago. Hilda had cried and cried when Zelda had had to forcibly pack her trunk for her first year at the academy. And Zelda had been embarrassed beyond anything when they had arrived and realised that her little sister had snuck her spiders in with her. Of course Zelda had laughed at her, what else was she supposed to do? Only babies and ninnies took their familiars to school.
These days, she gets a feeling in her stomach when she realises how hard she'd been on Hilda in their school days. It feels like there is a tide pulling in her stomach, and it's not until Sabrina calls, begging to be saved from the harrowing of the Weird Sisters that Zelda realises what it is: guilt. It's a feeling she does not know well. It makes her feel sick.
There is the tick of the clock from the bedside table and Zelda breathes out, it's a deep shuddering breath and her hands are gripping at the sheets. The room feels empty, too big and too quiet. The house is still. There is a small snuffling sound from the baby in the cot, and then silence again. Zelda contemplates getting out of bed and waking the sleeping child, just to have something to do - to have someone to hold. But even alone, she doesn't want to appear weak. She'll just lie in the bed, staring at the ceiling in the darkness and try to count back from a hundred. It was something their mother had taught Hilda to do whenever she had night terrors.
Eventually the arms of Morpheus will come for her, and she'll fall asleep. The fragments of the past few weeks jumble together to pull at her senses. In her dream she walks alone in the Spellman grounds and everything there is quiet too. She sees a murder of crows sitting along the broken down fence but they don't make a sound. Their beady eyes just watch her as she passes towards the Cain Pit.
The mounds of fresh earth are heaped high but she can see a single lock of blonde hair protruding from the dirt. She stares at it, unseeing, for what feels like hours until the earth shifts and finally the body underneath comes out.
But it isn't Hilda, it's Sabrina. Her niece coughs and splutters before wiping the soil from her face.
"Where is Hilda?" asks Zelda.
Her niece just stares at her blankly, pausing in her task of ridding the dirt from her clothing.
"You killed her, Aunt Zee," says the girl. "Remember? She's gone now."
Sabrina raises her hand and points towards the graves littering the Spellman grounds. And there is one in particular that catches her eye, the headstone shiny and new. The name of her sister is cut into the stone in large sweeping curves. A few bunches of asphodel lay on the fresh grave, there blooms eerily bright.
When Zelda wakes, her face is wet. And she's appalled at her lack of emotional control. With quick movements, she'll throw the duvet back and quickly throw on a dress and a coat before hurrying down the stairs, a pair of shoes in one hand so Hilda doesn't hear her when she passes her bedroom. But she needn't have bothered because Hilda isn't even home and that just makes Zelda rush even faster down the stairs and out of the house before quickly slipping into her heels.
It's nearly one o'clock in the morning but that's no matter. She walks quickly through the Academy of Unseen Arts. The sharp click of her heels rings loud through the rooms until she makes her way to the door of the headmaster's office. She can see light spilling out underneath the door and she knocks twice.
When the door opens, Faustus Blackwood's face is of surprise, he had not expected to see Zelda Spellman arriving at his door. And certainly not looking so deliciously off balance. There's no makeup on that face and the few buttons that he can see underneath her coat are uneven. She's clearly dressed in a rush and he carefully contorts his face into that of great concern.
"Sister Zelda?" he says, stepping back and letting her enter the office. He smiles when she moves rapidly to take a seat on the small leather couch by the fire. Her fingers twisting in her lap. Something must have happened. It's a rare sight to see Zelda looking like a flighty doe. It suits him fine though, he's tired from having a newborn (not that he's been looking after the child - he gave that job to one of the witches under his staff). And a distraction in the shape of the eldest Spellman sister is always a treat.
"I would ask if you were all right," he begins, walking towards her and taking a seat next to her - enough distance to appear perfectly innocent yet close enough that his knee brushes against her thigh. "But that would be superfluous, I think. So, tell me what is it I can do for you on this night."
Pulling herself together, Zelda makes a show of smoothing the skirt of her dress before she speaks. What seemed like a good idea at home seems pathetic now. But she's damn well not going to leave - it would be even more humiliating.
"I'm afraid I am still struggling to feel like I am on the right path, Your Excellency," she says, letting her voice savour the use of his title. It's thrilling knowing that man who has the closest connection to the Dark Lord has been inside her, that she is the one that has broken that smooth composure. Besides, Zelda knows that he likes it when she says it. She'll happily be the perfect follower to this man, the fact that she his child secreted away in her own bedroom is immaterial. This isn't about that, this is about her.
He takes her hand then and presses one kiss to it, and then to the inside of her wrist. She doesn't make a sound, she needs to hold onto whatever shred of control she has here. It will be over too quickly if she gives him the satisfaction of conquering her easily. While she may have practically ran to him, she isn't going to play the desperate maiden. She needs him to try and win her over, to play the age old game. It'll make her ego feel better, if not her heart.
"Sister Zelda," he says, "While I am sorry to hear you are still feeling this way, I'm sure this conversation could wait until tomorrow?"
Faustus knows this game well, and if she's going to play it then he'll gladly join in. Besides it's not fun when the prey gives up so easily. A flicker of displeasure crosses her face, the rejection clear in those eyes of hers and he takes a sip of that pain. She's always been so much fun. If he can get her angry, he'd be even happier.
"I would have thought that as High Priest you'd be open to listening to the witches in your congregation," says Zelda, letting a tinge of derision in her voice as she takes her hand out of his grip and stands, her back straight. "I would have thought the Dark Lord would want you to be assuring our coven of his wishes?" She sniffs, her chin sticking out. "I see I was wrong."
A placating raise of the hands and a smile from Faustus before he moves to follow her and places a hand at the small of her back to guide her back to the seat.
"Oh, Sister Zelda, I assure you that I do want what is best for the Dark Lord and our coven," comes the smooth tone as he manoeuvres her back down. "But I won't lie that having a new child of night is wearing me down and I'm not as young as I once was - we can't all stay up all hours of the night."
With swift movements, he's at her feet and she can't help the surprise in her face as his hands curl around the back of her calves. The anguished pain on his face is fairly believable, Zelda will give him that, but she's no fool. It's a beautiful scene, she thinks, with him at her feet for a change. She's barely listening to him as he talks of his new struggles with his child, the deception of his late wife. It's when he begins to talk of her and how she raised Sabrina that she tunes in.
"And how on earth you managed to raise a child with Hilda around-"
She cuts him off, not wanting to hear her sister's name. No, that isn't why she came here. She came here to forget about all of that. All she needs is for him to shut up, or at least put his mouth to better use. So she'll concede this time and play the damsel.
"Faustus," she says, in a soft voice that sounds so tender and vulnerable that she's rather quite pleased with herself. A hand gingerly reaches for his face, her thumb resting so close to the crook of his mouth. She feels his hands slowly moving up her legs and she lets her teeth bite down on her lower lip. When one hand slips under her dress and crawls to a stop on the inside of her thigh, she sighs.
"What is it that you need from your High Priest, Sister Zelda?" he asks, his thumb making idle motions against her skin. There the flick of his nail against the seam of her knickers and she nearly falters as her breath catches in her throat.
"Absolution."
Later, she returns home. Her hair is a wild mess and she doesn't care that her knickers are probably still lying somewhere in that office. A hiss of air escapes her as she takes a seat at the breakfast table, the sting of whip marks on her backside shuddering up her spine. Zelda smiles to herself as she grabs a glass of brandy and swallows it on large gulp before pouring another glass.
She can still feel Faustus, feel the cool wood of his desk underneath her as he drives into her hard. And she's certain her nails had bitten into that wood and left marks, just like her teeth had on his skin. Hopefully he'll see those marks on his desk in the morning and picture her splayed out like some virginal sacrifice, writhing beneath him as they both sink further into depraved ecstasy.
It's eased the tension and her body is humming and aching in glorious symphony; yet a voice from the darkness in her head tells her it won't matter how many times she asks for absolution, when he finds out what she has done he won't care to give it to her. But that's a problem for a different day. For now, she can enjoy the thrill of wrapping her legs around the High Priest of the Church of Night. Revel in the the way he hisses out her name as she sinks to her knees before him.
"Zelda? Where have you been?"
Zelda snaps her head up, her afterglow fading into the night and the crashing guilt returning in one heavy slap. Hilda is standing there, a pink fluffy gown wrapped around her and a concerned expression on her face.
"None of your business, Hilda."
"You weren't here when I came home," she says, taking a seat. She frowns as she gets a better look at her sister. "You look a mess, what did you do? I haven't seen you look like that since-" Hilda has clearly noticed the bite marks on Zelda's neck and the clear rope burns on her wrist, and gives an awkward little giggle. "Ah, I see. Naughty, Zelda!" There's a snort here before she continues, "I hope you were careful, we don't need another baby-"
"Shut up, Hilda."
"So, who is the lucky man?" Hilda asks, trying to stop the ridiculous smile on her face from spreading.
Standing quickly, Zelda says, "None of your business, Hilda. Anyway, I thought you moved out so why are you here? The ignoramus from the bookstore not up to scratch?"
"I didn't move out," says Hilda in small voice, "I just moved into the next room. You know that, Zelds."
"You are hardly here at any rate, so you may as well just move out."
It's said in that blasé tone that Zelda always uses when she's on the verge of breaking down. Hilda knows it well, so she doesn't follow Zelda when she downs the glass of brandy before she strides up the stairs. After a few minutes, Hilda will brew tea before making her way to her room. And then she'll go to her old room and knock on the door before letting herself in. Zelda will look perfect once again in her satin sleepwear, her hair neatly combed with a book in her hands. The older witch won't make eye contact, she'll just raise a brow and ask what the hell her sister wants and why isn't at the heels of the vampiric bookstore owner before raising the book in front of her face.
"I am not there, Zelda," says Hilda softly. "I did not die. I am here." She places a cup of tea by her sisters bed. "I just moved down the hall."
A scoff from behind the book. "Whatever you say, sister, I do not care what you do."
With a nod, Hilda gives the baby in the cot a small kiss before she leaves Zelda again, shutting the door carefully behind her. It's silly, Hilda knows, that's she finally moved out of the room she shared with her sister. Any other person would laugh at her if they knew she'd shared a room with her older sister practically all her life. She won't move out though, she knows that she can't. Not because Zelda would make her stay, but because she wouldn't make her stay. It's pathetic, how much Hilda cares about her cruel sister. She dreams often of leaving Zelda alone, and how satisfying it would be not to live in the shadow of an older sibling who treats her like dirt. But when she sees Zelda, broken and clearly hanging onto whatever force it is that keeps her going, Hilda knows she won't leave. Because when it comes to it, Zelda is nothing more than a child, who plays with people like they are toys. And is always constantly surprised when she comes back to play with them and finds they are gone.
A/N Title is taken from the poem of the same name by Mary Elizabeth Frye. It's a common poem used during funerals.
originally posted on ao3 11/11/2018