Fiona crossed her arms as she paced, drawlingly, gratingly, around the bed, nodding her head or bringing her fingers to the bridge of her nose every now and again, as Cordelia told me what had taken place during the last 3 days. It all began on the day I'd never forget; the day I was condemned to death by fire. It was after we had tried to convince the Council of my innocence, and after Cordelia had opened a bottle of scotch. She and I had sat silently, attempting to understand the panic and fear I was drowning in, but Fiona had left us, claiming the stench of my approaching death was 'intoxicating'. I believed she meant the stench of my pity, but either way the bitterness had done its job and I remained, hurt and too in shock to even open my mouth at her; to even whisper my contention. 'We both believed that Fiona had slinked off into the night, as she does when things get a little hairy,' Cordelia spoke softly, her eyes flitted up to her mother with a heavy darkness of judgement encircling them. Fiona scoffed and reached for her cigarettes, running her hands through her hair as she paced. 'But we were wrong.' The spoon hit against the bowl tinging and causing a melodic whir to ring out around the room. 'She'd gone to find Marie; she'd gone to the Voodoo side of town.'

I swallowed down another mouthful of lukewarm stew, allowing it to ease the eternal stinging as it coated my throat. 'I just wanted to know what the hell was going on,' Fiona puffed, emitting a silky cloud of smoke as she did so. 'So I could try and fix it.'

'And?' I muttered, chewing apathetically on a strip of soft chicken.

'And she was there, sitting on her throne like a goddamn queen,' she scoffed, throwing a shady glance to the bright-eyed woman. Marie flicked her long braided hair over her shoulder and crossed her legs, pursing her lips, antagonisingly.

'I am the queen, witch,' she offered, raising her eyebrow.

'Oh, hush up, will you?' the Supreme spat back at her, boredom settling on her eyes. 'I asked her for the truth,' Fiona continued, looking down at me. 'But she laughed at me- very mature. So I threatened her. That got her talking,' she smirked sadistically and her eyes twinkled. Cordelia fed me another spoonful of stew, but at this point I was so lost in the story, I didn't realise I was still eating. 'I brought her the bound beast she'd fallen in love with and promised to cut off his head if she didn't tell me exactly what was going on. Even in her territory, with her people and her magic, she knew that there'd be nothing she could do to fix it, if I flicked my wrist quickly enough.' The blonde was now gloating, and as a general rule, it isn't an attractive feature. But when Fiona Goode did it, it felt as though everything around her was shaking, smudging, just to accentuate her glorious, glowing power, her tenacity. Her lips curled into a delighted grin as she slimily faced the Voodoo Queen, knocking her off her throne, one angry syllable at a time. Marie glared back, her smugness dripping from her chin to be replaced with a wounded anger.

'It had been Marie's idea, not Myrtle's, so there's that at least,' Cordelia said, softly, relieved at her loved one's innocence. 'It was idiotic of Myrtle to trust someone like Marie- no offence,' she whispered over her shoulder, back to the table that housed the witches' enemy. Marie shrugged and turned her attention back to the glass in front of her. 'But at least she didn't concoct the plan herself. It wasn't done out of malice. If anything, it was done out of dedication and loyalty to the Coven. Out of love for her sister witches.' Her voice was becoming thick with uncertainty, but she made sure every word still sliced through, meaningfully, even over the top of my dissatisfied glares.

'The woman's a goddamn weirdo,' Fiona grated, putting out her cigarette in the ashtray beside the bed. 'She's got a screw loose. And that is why I'm demanding that she's stripped of her duties to this coven.' Fiona wagged a painted black-nailed finger across me towards Delia's furrowed countenance. She opened her mouth to protest, but Fiona beat her to it. 'And she should be thankful, as should you be, that I'm not insisting she burns for her crimes. And her demented ways.' Cordelia's shoulders fell slightly as she breathed into her mother's words. I, however, scoffed, trying to convey my protests with as little energy as possible. Fiona glanced down at me. 'What?' she mumbled, annoyance coating her drawl.

'So, she did this… and she still gets to… to be here… with us?' I spluttered, taking the glass of water that Fiona offered as she rolled her eyes.

'She isn't evil, kid. You were just the unfortunate victim of a century long feud. I know that doesn't take anything away from it, but she admitted to manipulating the vision she'd shown Myrtle. The minute she did so, it was illegal for the burning to continue.' She sighed, shrugging slightly, with unsure eyes. 'I don't know. I've done worse to her people,' she muttered, regretfully. I sat open mouthed at the atrocity taking place in front of me. The Supreme was supposed to protect her coven at all costs; to guide them and ensure their reign. Fiona was particularly feisty. How was it that she had bowed under with such little pressure?

'We made a new pact,' Delia plodded along with the story, offering another spoonful of stew. I shook my head, modestly and she folded, dropping the spoon in the bowl with another rapturous clang. 'To work together to help defeat a common evil.'

'What happened to the last pact?' I forced, sarcastically. 'How can you… trust her now?' My breaths were becoming more and more difficult to control the more I thought about how stupid they were all being.

'The last pact worked well enough, for long enough,' Delia spoke calmly, lifting from the bed and taking the leftover plate of cold stew with her. I sipped my water.

'But this one will have to stay in place, with neither party shrinking from it, if we're going to survive,' Fiona continued, more as a reaffirmation than a sentence. Both women looked up at Marie and I followed their eyes. She pursed her lips again.

'What are y'all looking at me for? I signed the goddamn paper,' she sassed.

'You also signed the last one,' Fiona growled as her heels clicked softly on the floor, paced and rhythmic, like a pendulum. 'And then sent one of my witches to the stake.' Fiona lazily folded her arms and rolled her head over in my direction. 'She does well not to trust you, Marie. You're going to have to earn it.' I smiled back up at the champagne haired goddess in front of me, weak and overcome with longing. I sighed at the inevitability of it all and then gently gripped my legs over the covers. The searing pain had weakened with every distracted minute, and now they ached dully but bearably. I fleetingly wondered if I'd ever walk again, but shut it out immediately, knowing that Fiona would do everything in her power to heal me as best as she knew how. Even if that meant calling in a swamp witch to rub alligator waste over me.

'Is the pain easing?' the familiar southern-tainted voice trilled to me, as the messy, nestled blonde hairs swung around to face me. The swamp witch was beautiful, with rippling, rose-kissed lips and wild blue eyes that seemed to be constantly evaluating everything in the room. I felt myself blushing as she sashayed towards me, and then shook it off, trying to get a hold of myself. Fiona must have seen the brief recognition of something in my eyes and she pouted, absent-mindedly shaking her head as she walked away. 'I know how it burns- they got me too- but you wouldn't know it. And when I'm done with you, no one will be able to tell.' She smiled, lightly, and flung back the covers, exposing the grey, wet mounds covering both legs. 'The mud's doing its job, working hard. All you have to do is let it.' Her brow furrowed as she inspected my thighs, smearing the grey slop to show pieces of pinky-white skin beneath. 'Not sure about some of these other scars though. They weren't so fresh. I don't know if the mud can do anything about healed skin.' She prodded, keeping her eyes on the flesh she was slowly uncovering. I shifted delicately and flashed a glance in Fiona's direction.

'I- I'm not bothered by them,' I rasped, shrugging as though Fiona's gaze was a heavy, palpable thing that rested on my shoulders, heating me up and weighing me down. Her lips tightened, but she looked away, and I didn't detect judgement in her eyes. Perhaps only sorrow. The swamp witch slopped about in the mud, checking various places and smiling, pleased with herself, before wiping her hands on the towel that hung over her shoulder. The clay set, dry and crisp, in the cracks of her fingers.

'You'll be back to normal in no time,' she sung happily.

'And I made you this,' Cordelia spoke softly, handing me a glass of dark emerald gunk.

'You, you want me to drink that?' I asked, screwing up my face.

'It's got healing properties, enhanced by a hex. Burdock and cloves to heal, chamomile to relax, fennel seed for strength, and comfrey and eucalyptus leaves for protection during your weakened state. It'll help ease your throat and chest, clear out the smoke in your lungs. Might even act as a vitamin booster, seeing as you're not eating a lot.'

'Ah, Delia. We already have one swamp witch playing with mud. We don't need another one digging around, looking for roots. Use your magic, for Christ's sake,' Fiona chided, sucking on a cigarette and seeming disinterested. It appeared that she just didn't really have anything else to complain about. Cordelia didn't even look back at her.

'Ignore her. It's full of magic,' she whispered, gently smiling. 'Very good, very strong magic.' I brought the glass to my upturned lip, inhaling the pungent smell of broken daisy stalks and earth.

'Are you sure I should be ingesting this?' I looked up at her worriedly.

'Trust me,' she blinked angelically, and I did. It tasted bitter but cooled and numbed as it slid down my throat, more like a scoop of melting ice cream than a liquid. I swallowed the decidedly leafy aftertaste, trying to hide my repulsion, as it had seemed to do as Cordelia said. I could feel my nasal passages opening up, finally allowing air to glide through without pain, my chest's wheezing ceased and I inhaled, testing the strength and bounds of my lungs. They opened but still restricted the capacity. I spluttered a little, but drank again from the green sludge, feeling as though my chest had been alleviated from a great weight. Cordelia smiled, subtle pride playing on her grin. 'It's helped?' she asked, eagerly, taking the empty, but still coated glass from my hand. I nodded, wiping my tinged mouth with the back of my hand and rewarding her with a thankful smile. She stood, beaming, and sauntered past her mother, who rolled her eyes bitterly.

'I'm sorry, are we gonna finish this story or what?' Marie suddenly exclaimed, standing from the table and resting a hand upon her hip.

'Ah, keep quiet, you old hag,' Fiona spat back, instinctively as she poured scotch into a crystal tumbler. I wondered where she'd even found such an item, but then got distracted again by Marie's bellowing voice.

'I thought we agreed to tell her? Assuming, that is, that she is unaware of her situation, and she's not just stringing us all along on some god forsaken ride.' Her eyes burned into me, cruelly. Cordelia put a hand to her forehead, sighing lightly and looking at the ground, as though lost in deep thought.

'Of course she doesn't know,' Fiona hissed, lowering her voice and turning her back to me. 'Do you really think she'd put herself through all of this if she had the choice?'

'What's she talking about?' I spoke clearly, feeling Cordelia's herb atrocity working its magic. The women seemed to slither around the room, uncomfortably and avoiding my eyes. Only Marie's gaze kept its hold, unafraid. I looked back at her, ignoring Fiona throwing back the last of her alcohol and running her hands through her curled hair, ignoring the swamp witch who seemed to cower and shrink at the bottom of the bed, ignoring Cordelia, who loitered at the sink, hand on hip, eyes fixed at a point on the wall. I raised my eyebrows, inviting an explanation.

'You,' the Voodoo Queen finally said, slowly, as she took a step forward and raised a finger up at me. 'What I saw in my vision.' She suddenly seemed to lose her breath, face contorting into confusion or disbelief.

'I- I told you, I didn't do what you said I did,' I spat as strongly as I could, bringing the blankets back over my legs as a form of meagre protection. 'I had nothing to do with that fire.'

'No, but what I saw lead me to your Witch's Council. What I saw was so horrifying it lead me to break the pact.' Her eyes were wide and cloudy as she spoke, almost entranced.

'That's enough,' Fiona interjected, breaking the Voodoo Queen's gaze. 'I'll show you how little she knows,' she said grittily, lowering her hand and pouring and downing another scotch. She brought her bottom lip over the top one, gently suckling away at any remaining trace of alcohol and then turned to me, resting one hand against the table. 'Acantha Starling?' she questioned to my worried expression.

'Yes,' I stuttered.

'Starling?' she repeated, her eyebrows high with expectation.

'What?' I ran through the words in my head, but couldn't make sense of their expressions or tone. Was I being accused of something?

'Did you come up with it or your mother?' Fiona rasped, dryly.

'My mother? Wha- what on earth are you talking about?' I blinked, becoming increasingly panicked at the obvious shift in the air. The swamp witch turned at the bottom of the bed to face me.

'Don't get all worked up, now,' she warned, protectively.

'Misty, stay out of it,' Fiona snapped. She sighed, pouring another drink and then made her way over to the bed, dismissing the swamp witch with one careless flick of her wrist. Misty obeyed, raking her eyes over me with concern, one last time, before joining Marie at the table. Fiona sunk onto the mattress, crossing one leg over the other. 'Your name, kid. Where did it come from?'

'Er, I'm, I'm not sure. My parents came up with it, I guess. I've never met another Acantha. Probably found it online, maybe. Or, or a book?' I panicked and it was obvious with every syllable. I tried to smile, but was too confused to do it any justice.

'Not that one,' Fiona said softly, before taking another sip. 'Starling. Very clever; the bringer of new beginnings, the symbol of the end of an old path and the start of a new one. The perfect cover-up name, and not dissimilar to your original, family name.' Her eyes were accusing me of something, her tone wrapped in betrayal or stinging pain. All I could do was look back at her, begging with glassy eyes for an explanation.

'What are you talking about?' I croaked, trying to hide my breaking voice.

'Fiona, she doesn't know, okay? Let's just, let's just explain it to her,' Cordelia chimed in, folding her arms and relaxing. I nodded mildly.

'Please, please explain. What- what have I done?' Fiona smirked and covered my hand with her own.

'It's not what you've done, kid. It's what you could do,' she whispered, intensely, as her eyes burned from brown to orange.

'Does the name Scathach mean anything to you?' Fiona spoke as she exhaled a familiar pool of smoke and stopped to find an escaped strand of tobacco that rested on her tongue. She peeled it off before glancing back down to me, expectantly. I shook my head mildly, feeling as though I was disappointing her again.

'I, I don't know it.'

'Well you should. Particularly given your,' she pointed a finger in a messy circle in my general direction, 'situation.'

'Wh-what situation?' Fiona rolled her eyes and Cordelia jumped in before she could say anything too nasty.

'Scathach is the name of the Original Supreme,' the young blonde explained. 'Hundreds of years ago, she, a mortal, made a generous sacrifice to the Old Gods. They rewarded her dedication with gifts.' My eyes stayed on hers, waiting for the part that involved me. 'These gifts were plentiful; including The Seven Wonders, and of course, eternal life. She is thought to be one of the most powerful beings that has ever existed. But there has been no trace of her for years. She went into hiding, taking only what she needed, because people wanted her dead. All kinds of people; magical and mortal, good and evil.'

'Why?' I whispered.

'Because she's too dangerous to have around. She could end humanity as we know it. Change the world, and not necessarily for the better. She's what is now referred to as 'agathocacological' meaning of both good and evil and whatever's in between. Legend says she has her own undead tribe somewhere out there, and they tend to her needs out of fear or devotion. But people still go after her, hundreds of people disappear every year on their voyage of finding Scathach, and risk their lives trying to find a way to end hers.' I blinked at the sudden intensity.

'Well, er, that's very interesting. But what does it have to do with me? I've, I've never even heard of this witch.' I shrugged, nervously in the bed. Fiona drank and turned to me.

'There hasn't been a blood relative of Scathach's found in centuries, if there ever was one at all,' she said before Cordelia could finish her story. 'It was believed that, while the witch was a seductress and a powerful siren, luring men, women and whatever other god-awful thing she fancied into her bed, she was unable to reproduce. People said it was because she was an accident; that the Old Gods had given her mortal body too much power, and they had to ensure she couldn't pass it on.' Fiona's voice grew deeper and deeper with every sentence, her eyes more intense and fearful. She swallowed it away, noticing I had seen her uncertainty. 'It was believed a direct descendant of the Original Supreme would have collected strength and power and the ability to shapeshift into plain sight over time. It would be able to pass as a mere witch instead of the grotesque, half-dead thing Scathach is legened to be. But no one ever feared it, because they were told it wasn't true. For centuries there had been no evidence to suggest anything other than what we'd been told; that Scathach is alone out there; a creature all of her own.' She stopped talking but her piercing eyes told me she wasn't done.

'So?' I managed.

'So, Acantha Starling; thorn in our side; blood descendant of Scathach- where the hell did you come from?'