[A/N: This fic will not be regularly updated on , due to my memory problems. If you want to see the latest chapters when they come out, click here.]
The sky was burning with souls ascending to heaven.
And fire, the witch's companion was quick to remind them, but the sourpuss's opinion was ignored. It was beautiful, the first glimpse of the outside world they'd had in nearly two centuries. It was too bad so many had to die because of it, but that wasn't entirely their fault.
The witch closed their eyes and focused on the burning ranch in the distance, searching for their target. Her aura was dim— badly injured, no doubt, but she would survive. They did not care about her, however. They were more interested in the two small auras radiating in her stomach. Twins! What a lucky gal, but they only had enough magic to work on one infant, unfortunately.
Their companion thought this was a silly idea, a waste of time. Maybe it was. But they wanted to have fun, and, by the gods, they would.
"Come on, lil' one," the witch crooned to themselves, focusing their power on the small aura. "Let's mix things up a little."
It wasn't that South was jealous of her brother North. They were twins, even looking as different as they did, North with four hooves and South standing on two regular human feet. North with his stupid horns starting grow in, Mama and Papa always parading him about and telling everyone how strong their calf was. She'd always catch whispers from the adults when she visited her family on the ranch- she was an absolute anomaly. Not only was it a one in a million chance for a pair of twins to be born as two completely species, the Dakota line had long ago been cursed to always be of taur blood- no one in their family was, or could be, human, until her.
South Dakota was not jealous of her twin brother in the slightest. He did nothing to deserve her ire, even if he was more than willing to let her vent to him. She had nothing to be jealous of.
South Dakota was angry.
She wasn't angry at her parents. Mama and Papa still loved her, no matter how human she was. No matter how much they despised her foster family for being human. No matter how often they assured her she would grow to be a wonderful cow someday, even if she walked on two hooves.
Neither was she angry at her foster parents, unsure of what to do with the thing they'd been saddled with. Papa Flowers said there was nothing wrong with her, that she was perfect as she was, taur or not. Papa Reggie just patted her head and said that only she could decide who she was.
South Dakota was angry at the universe for making her this way.
The twins were nine years old when the promise was made.
"I'm gonna break this curse," she said, brushing her brother's fur out as they sat under the shade of a great oak tree. "I'm gonna find the asshole-"
"Language," he muttered. She didn't listen to him, of course, but it was habit by now.
"- that did this to us, and I'm gonna kill him."
North sighed and turned towards her. "You know that's just a myth right? Killing a witch doesn't just suddenly break a curse. Especially one as old as ours. Who knows if the original witch is even still alive?"
South grit her teeth, the brush coming down rougher on his lower half than necessary. He mooed softly in pain, trying to wiggle away from her. "I know he's alive. I can feel it."
"And what if you do break the curse? Mama and Papa aren't gonna adjust easily to being humans."
"Papa's a pureblood, dumbass-"
"South, language!"
"- Mama's the only one who'd be affect- effec- changed back to human."
What North wanted to say is that Mama was never human in the first place, there was nothing to change her back to. To ask how she could accomplish something that hadn't been done in seven generations of Dakota's.
What he did say was, "Promise?"
It was worth seeing that toothy grin one last time, even if he didn't believe in her.
"Mr. Flowers, you are aware of the reason I called you in today, correct?" the principal asked slowly, as if the monster had trouble understanding him.
Butch gave the human his best smile, fangs and all. The shiver he received delighted the serthis far more than words could describe. "Well, Mr. Garcia, I can only it's about my little buttercup! She's such a sweetheart— I would do anything for her. Absolutely… anything."
From the seat next to him, an 11-year-old South groaned and rolled her good eye. "Cappy, stop being weird."
Mr. Garcia shifted uncomfortably and coughed into a claw. "Well, Mr. Flowers, I am very happy to see how much you… love Ms. Dakota, but her behavior has become a major problem. She's been getting into fights nearly every day, but it hasn't led to physical confrontation until now."
Flowers glanced at South and her swollen black eye, frowning. She refused to look at him.
"One of our other students, Avery Hargrove, has been known to bully Ms. Dakota for her lineage. We take no qualms with it, of course!" Garcia was quick to add. "We have a very strict no discrimination policy here, and are quick to action. Unfortunately, Mr. Hargrove's father is a… very powerful man. We've tried to discipline Avery in the past, but his father finds ways to excuse him completely.
"I'm unsure of what happened that caused Ms. Dakota's outburst, but I do know the outcome. Mr. Hargrove is…"
"A fucking piece of shit!" South cried suddenly, startling the principal. "He called Mama a cowfucker and said Cappy should be sent to a slaughterhouse! He said he couldn't wait to eat my brother!"
Butch's tail wrapped itself gently around South's middle, her tiny body shaking with repressed sobs. He'd heard plenty of comments like that towards himself- many believed serthi should be classified as taurs, to join taurs on their reservations. It happened so often for him that he'd completely forgotten that South didn't have his thick skin, figuratively, that is.
Mr. Garcia glanced between the two of them, waiting for permission to continue. Flowers placed the little human in his lap, who immediately clung to his middle, and gestured for him to continue.
"Mr. Hargrove is in the ER. Ms. Dakota shoved him through a window and a shard of glass pierced his eye. It's very likely he will never have vision in that eye for the rest of his eye. Best case scenario, he will only be able to see simple shapes. His father has said he will not press charges, so long as Ms. Dakota no longer attends this school."
"Oh no," Butch sighed, petting South's hair. "Little moo, why didn't you just tell me? Why didn't you let Cappy handle this?"
The girl only sobbed louder in response.
He would never get to know her answer.
Reginald Flowers nearly crashed into the ER doors, holding a screaming 11-and-a-half-year-old in his arms. She hadn't stopped screaming ever since she saw Cappy's body on the floor, clutching at his chest and gasping for breath. She wouldn't stop, no matter how much her Papa begged her to calm down, that screaming would only make things worse.
Soon enough, the screaming had become so unbearable that he finally allowed an orderly to give his daughter a small dose of an anesthetic and put her to sleep. Reggie held her tightly as her breathing evened and slowed, rocking slowly back and forth. Once she had quieted down, Reginald lay her on the couch and went to see his husband.
When she woke up, it would've been because of her father being dragged, kicking and screaming, out of the hospital room.
South was too groggy to understand what had happened at the time, and it would take years for Reggie to be sober enough to help her piece together the puzzle.
Captain Butch Flowers, age 42, had a heart attack. He was found by his husband and adoptive daughter in the living room shortly after collapsing. An ambulance had come and taken him away. As Butch's husband attempted to calm the daughter, a young, tired witch doctor had come in and given him aspirin.
Captain Butch Flowers was fatally allergic to aspirin. He died at 2200 hours. After the autopsy, the doctor confessed to her mistake. He was buried one week later. The witch doctor never found work in the city again.
Reginald Flowers, age 45, began drinking one week after the funeral. He died of liver failure on the anniversary of his husband's death 7 years later.
South Dakota had just turned 18-years-old when she was left completely alone in the world.
"I do not understand the point of this," the doll grunted, handing a small vial of blood to its master. "You've already siphoned enough magic from the girl's suffering to sustain yourself for the next half century."
The witch rolled their eyes, snatching the vial from the creature's hand. "Of course you don't understand. I'm doing this because it's fun , not like your porcelain little brain could ever process that," they added, flicking the other's temple for effect. If its frown deepened, the witch did not notice, or simply did not care. "I've been in hiding for over a hundred years- you would not believe how boring that is! Okay, maybe I should stop talking as though you can actually feel- force of habit, sorry! Anyways, I have… special interests. And this is one of them. I am a patient person; this will be more than enjoyable for me."
"And what will you do when the curse is unbound? You cannot draw it out forever," the doll stated matter-of-factly. "The girl will return to her true form, and you will be left without a plaything."
"Oh, you poor, stupid thing," the witch crooned, smiling wickedly. They popped open the vial, taking a long, satisfied sniff before pouring the contents onto the floor, where a sigil had been drawn in chalk. "That's only the first part of my plan."