"SHE'LL DIE FOR THIS," Michael announced, shooting up from the edge of the bed where he had been originally seated. Furious was an understatement, he was positively seething with rage. The dark magic flooding through his veins practically begged to be released, and to be released onto one individual in particular.
When Michael found out that the Supreme had tried to imprison Molly upon discovery of their bond, it was like something had snapped within him. Seeing her broken and shaking on his bedroom floor would be an image permanently engraved on his mind. One he would now perpetually associate with Cordelia.
The couple were still in fairly early stages of a relationship - if one would even call it that. But his protectiveness over the young Second Coming developed long before they had shared a kiss, and was only increasing with every moment they spent together. He had promised her previously no harm would come to the witches - and despite his abhorrence of them, had agreed to it without reservations out of respect for Molly's love of them.
But surely this was enough to break any and all vows.
"Stop, please," she begged, head snapping up to stare at him with round, watering eyes that only infuriated him further. Molly was one of the strongest people he knew, and this betrayal had cut her deep - reducing her to a crying, shaking shadow of herself. Her eyes, which were his favourite thing about her purely for their inability to hide her innermost feelings, were troubled and lined with a slick layer of unshed tears.
Crouching down in front of her and resting on one knee, Michael cupped his hands around her cheeks, forcing her to meet his gaze head on. The Antichrist slipped his hands back, sliding his fingers into curly hair and gripping her head with a passionate ferocity.
"They tried to keep you from me, Molly," Michael tried to reason, eyes trailing across her angelic features. "She tried to imprison you - betrayed your trust as if you weren't one of her own."
"I'll never be one of them," she confessed in a meek voice, lower lip quivering ever so slightly. "As much as I try, I'll always be different."
"Listen to me-" Michael began, a sharp rapture of knocks on his door interrupting what he was about to say. His eyes lifting in an eye roll, he didn't dare tear his gaze away from her as he called out in a hard voice, "fuck off!"
Amused by his vulgarity, she gently cupped a hand over her mouth to quiet the lowest of giggles she couldn't help but give. Thankful to see her spirits lift, even a fraction, the corners of his lips quirked proudly.
"You don't need them, Molly," he lowered his voice to a murmur, conscious of potentially listening ears. "You never have. Just as I don't need the warlocks. All we need is each other."
"But what about-" she broke off, gesturing between the two with her hands and pointing out the obvious elephant in the room, "what about... everything?"
"It doesn't matter any more," he refuted, leaning in until their foreheads touched and their breathing mingled. "We're all that matters. Say the word, and we'll leave this place."
A little of the light she usually emanated seemed to return to her expression at his words, her troubles seemingly soothed somewhat by the prospects Michael was offering. An escape from the witches, an escape from the warlocks. They could leave everything behind and just simply be Michael and Molly. Or at least, that's what she took from his words.
"I want that," she breathed out, her own hands reaching up to clutch onto his shirt as ferociously as he held onto her. "I really want that. But not tonight, I just want to sleep tonight."
"Whatever you want is yours, Molly," he whispered, pressing his lips against her forehead in a tender kiss that greatly contrasted the possessive way in which he held her. Slipping his hands from her hair, he followed her as she slid backward onto his bed with the intentions of going to sleep.
As soon as they were horizontal, Michael curled into Molly's spine - bodies moulding together like a perfect fit as he slid his hand around her waist to keep her in place. He buried his nose into her hair, deeply inhaling her intoxicating scent of vanilla. Molly relaxed against his back, revelling in the sense of protection she felt from his touch. Despite everything, she knew that he would keep her safe. And that was enough to lull her into a content and comfortable sleep.
But while she dozed off, Michael's eyes were fixed on the wall ahead. He wasn't prepared to sleep any time soon - his mind slowly submerging into dark thoughts that all ended in a single conclusion; he'd kill them all for her, if she asked.
Escaping the Warlocks would take more time than one thought, Molly had come to realise. As much as she abhorred the dark eeriness of Hawthorne Academy - she couldn't just up and leave it at any moment to move somewhere new with Michael. Technically, they could - although their methods would be entirely illegal and Molly wasn't prepared to allow Michael to steal money for a place for them both. She wanted to earn it, like most mundanes did.
Michael detested the idea, but she calmly reminded him that she was already royally pissing off her father by dating him - she couldn't add fuel to the fire and start abusing her powers for thieving.
Thus, he suggested they return to Mead's house for a short while. The Satanist would be more than happy to have him back in her life, so much so that she wouldn't dare touch a hair on Molly's head. At first, she had absolutely rejected the notion with an incredulous gaze. Miriam would chop her into tiny pieces and cook her in a stew any day, but she had little other choice at this point. It was either live with a murderous Satanist, or have to stay confined to Michael's room lest one of the Warlocks discover her residing there.
She didn't like it, not one bit. But Mead didn't seem to mind as long as she could have her 'beautiful, golden haired boy' back in her arms. It was rather strange returning to the neighbourhood, and Molly had intended to drop by and visit Violet as soon as she could. Between Michael and Violet, she didn't think there was any one else in the world she trusted more at that moment in time.
Her phone buzzed unrelentingly in her jacket pocket as she walked the streets, disrupting the reminiscing she was in the midst of. Admittedly, aside from Michael's near death experience - living at the Murder House held a lot of positive memories for her. But she didn't know whether to attribute that to her friendship with Michael and Violet, or her time there having been her first taste of independence from guardians.
Molly had been ignoring her phone all week, knowing well that there was only one person that had any need to call her. Growing tired of the incessant buzzing, she whipped it out of her pocket with enough force to nearly crack the screen.
Zoe was obviously the one assigned to call her without stopping that day, where the day before had been Queenie and the two days before that it was Cordelia herself. She wouldn't be surprised if even Madison decided to jump in and hit her up.
Flicking her phone onto airplane mode to stop any incoming calls, she shoved it back into her jacket and continued on her trek - newfound tenseness to her shoulders.
It wasn't long before the infamous Murder House loomed menacingly before her, leaving Molly somewhat nervous as she pushed open the creaking gate. She was fully aware Madison had probably told the Murder House occupants that Michael wasn't dead, and only hoped she wouldn't be cornered by someone like Constance out of fury.
Molly was pleasantly surprised, however, when the second she telepathically unlocked the door a smaller figure practically leaped on top of her, engulfing her in a welcoming hug. She didn't have to see the girl's face to know it was Violet - the warmth in her touch leaving her feeling whole. She had genuinely missed her friend from beyond the grave, and if Violet had felt the same, it was likely ten times worse for her. After all, Molly had the coven and Michael to distract her from their separation for all this time. The Harmon daughter had nothing.
"I saw you coming up the path, you have no idea how happy I am to see you!" Violet gushed in a single breath, squeezing the Second Coming tight enough for even her to wince.
"I'm back in the neighbourhood, I couldn't help but drop by and see Caspar the Friendly Ghost," she chuckled against the girl's shoulder, beaming when Violet excitedly let go of her to see her face again. The blonde's grin began to dim as a thought struck her, leaving her somewhat guilty in appearance.
"Those witches came by and spoke to everyone," she admitted, awkwardly grimacing and fiddling with her hands. "I didn't say anything to them, I swear. But I think Constance mentioned you. I wanted so badly to warn you but I don't have a charged cell phone any more seeing as the realtor cut off the power."
"It's alright," Molly reassured, her smile never wavering. She never suspected Violet to be the one who ratted her out, anyway.
"So what's going on in the real world?" Violet prompted, the duo moving to sit on the bottom step of the staircase. Molly smiled amusedly at the question, raising her eyebrows as she thought of the soap opera her life had truly become.
It was dark when Molly decided to leave for Mead's house - a setting that would give any girl pause. But Molly guessed that her defensive abilities were a little more powerful than a simple pepper spray or rape whistle. She pitied anyone who attempted to approach her with ill intentions, for he would be rather quickly cast aside and out of her path.
Lost in thought, Molly strolled down the path leisurely. She knew that it would probably break some sort of invisible rule imposed against her, but she began to ponder if there was any way at all she could resurrect Violet. Her body was surely far too decayed by now to even consider approaching, but she was the daughter of God himself.
A short cry caused her to pause mid-step, sounding out from the alleyway up ahead. Of course, she thought, it's always an alleyway.
Out of concern, she surged forward towards the entrance of the alley, immediately scanning the area ahead for any signs of distress. Sure enough as suspected a man had unlawfully propped a crying woman against the wall, a gun poised in his hand as he obviously attempted to take something from her. Whether it was money, or something far more sinister.
"Let go of her," Molly called out, voice frighteningly calm as she stepped toward the scuffle with a blank expression. "Now."
The man's head snapped toward her, eyes widened with fright as he realised he had been caught in the act. Shakily, he stumbled backward, redirecting his attentions, or more specifically his aim, to the newcomer. Even from a short distance away, Molly didn't miss the shake in his hand as he held the weapon.
The innocent woman flattened herself against the wall, staring between the two with a horrified look in her eye. Meeting her gaze, Molly tried to slyly gesture for her to make an escape. But instead, and somewhat admirably, the woman stayed and straightened up.
The stranger could have abandoned her, use Molly to escape from the man and not worry about being attacked further that night, even at the expense of another woman. But alas, she was unaware that her rescuer was no ordinary woman, and stood defiantly with the intentions of joining her in taking him down together. Two against one.
"I'll put a bullet in you!" He threatened, pointing the gun again at Molly as if to emphasise his point. Instead of recoiling in fright, Molly simply took another step forward - her gaze now fixated on him and him only.
She soon paused in her stride, a stoic element to her expression and a narrowing to her eyes that somewhat frightened him. Molly looked determined, leaving him wondering if there was someone behind him about to arrest him. Casting a quick glance over his shoulder and confirming that the woman truly thought herself invincible against a loaded gun, he spat another threat.
"Did you hear me, you stupid slut?! I'll put a bullet right between your eyes!"
"Or maybe I'll put one between yours," she retaliated, tilting her head ever so slightly. The attacker hardly noticed at first, too focused on the woman to make sure she wasn't about to whip out a weapon, that he didn't see his gun was moving on its own accord.
Now looking down in horror, he began to shake violently as his hand uncontrollably started to turn in on itself and aim the gun at his own skull instead of hers. Terrified, he glanced back toward the woman opposite him to see she was still wearing that same expression. Completely unaffected.
Tilting her head up, Molly's slight action simultaneously slid his finger over the trigger and pressed it hard - sending a bullet straight between his eyes and killing him instantly. The other woman in the alley screamed out in horror, backing away from the carcass that had tipped lifelessly back against the ground.
Molly furrowed her eyebrows when the connection between his mind and hers suddenly severed, leaving her to analyse how she was feeling about having killed someone without hesitation.
He was vile, she tried to convince herself. He was probably going to rape or murder this innocent woman.
Perhaps what struck Molly most was not whether or not she felt he deserved to die - but that she had killed him so easily. Even now, with the echoes of his victim's cries in her ears as Molly stumbled backward out of the alley - she didn't feel a thing. The old Molly would have reprimanded him and turned him in to a police station.
But that was the old Molly.
"Molly," Mead's voice called out from the kitchen, the speaker herself appearing in the hallway with a grin so forced it could have split her cheeks in two. "You're home."
"You don't need to act," Molly rolled her eyes, trailing through the house and consciously searching for Michael. "I hate you as much as you hate me."
"Hate?" Mead echoed sarcastically, waving a hand before turning back into the kitchen and making a beeline for the oven. "Sure we're practically family! I even kept you some of my pot roast from dinner!"
Molly followed after her curiously, keeping a safe enough distance in case the Satanist decided to suddenly whip around with a weapon. Sure enough, she bent down and retrieved a plate from the oven - using the appliance to keep it warm for longer.
"Is it poisoned?" Molly demanded. It wouldn't kill her even if it was, but she didn't fancy spending the night dying only to make a recovery in the early hours of the next morning.
"You have little faith in me," Mead rolled her eyes playfully, fetching for a fork in the drawer and presenting both the plate and cutlery toward her. Her attitude was so obviously fake, but Molly didn't know if she was genuinely trying to trick her, or whether Michael has told her to play nice and she was exaggerating.
"I think I'll take it to Michael's room," Molly quirked an eyebrow, watching intently for a reaction, "and let him try a couple of bites first."
The older woman didn't give a reaction, perhaps she was simply playing with Molly's mind to make her paranoid. Stepping down the short hallway, she nudged open the door to Michael's bedroom to find him there - sprawled across the bed and watching television with furrowed brows.
"Hey you," she greeted, a warm sensation flooding her chest at the sight of him. His head turned from the news channel in front of him toward the girl in the doorway, sitting up to greet her.
Michael looked leagues younger at that moment than he did at Hawthorne - having swapped his suits for a comfortable pair of pyjamas and leaving his hair in its natural wavy state instead of styled.
"You thought she poisoned the pot roast, didn't you?" He guessed in amusement, eyes following her as she nudged off her shoes and climbed onto the bed next to him - settling the plate on top of her crossed legs.
"It wouldn't be the first time she's plotted to kill me," Molly pointed out with a smirk, bringing a bite up to her mouth once she sensed it was probably safe to eat. "Why are you watching the news?"
"There's so much suffering in the world," he explained, redirecting his attention to the box across the room. "I want to know about all of it."
Molly swallowed thickly, feeling somewhat nauseous as violent images of blood and war displayed across the pixelated screen. It only served as a reminder she could be helping stop it. Should be stopping it.
"Something happened on the walk home," she admitted, setting the plate aside to face him. Molly had struggled with the decision on whether or not to tell him, but ultimately she was dying to let it out. Although he would probably approve of it, even though she knew in her heart what she did wasn't right.
And that's exactly what Michael did as she relayed the story, fighting down the urge to smirk as he saw the lack of remorse in her expression. Molly's innocence was dissipating with each passing day, the more she realised the world didn't deserve someone as good as her in it.
And he loved it.
I've decided to exclude Tate and Violet reuniting from this book. If people want to imagine it still happened that's okay but I personally don't think he should have a redemption arc. Sorry bout it!
Sacrecrow - Hahahaha me too I love writing Molly's descent into becoming less and less innocent the longer she's around Michael! A character being wholly good doesn't appeal to me, like take Mallory for example. Badass as she is, I would have cared a lot more about her if she had some form of development as character and wasn't just completely good! Thanks so much for your kind words! x
Izzie Nicole - Thank you so much ahh! It's a compliment to me that you think Molly is a multifaceted character because I know some people are probably put off by the fact she's Christ and think she's just a complete do-gooder when she's as layered an onion. I hope you like this chapter too!
Grim - Angry Molly is my favourite Molly too! You'll surely get to see more of it ; )
VampireSiren - Cordelia done FUCKED UP, I can't give too much away for what happens but Molly isn't going to forget that easily! I hope you like this chapter and what's to come! x
Guest - I was wondering on whether or not to include Madison and Violet because I think that's an interesting combination but I didn't know what else they could have talked about when I wasn't having Violet return to Tate, plus I knew Violet was coming back this soon so I thought it would be okay to wait for her to reappear!