Pacifica's stomach was still roiling about the physical damage that her mother had caused. Priscilla Northwest had never struck Pacifica as a particularly violent person. Sure, she was greedy, didn't care about other people's plights, and wasn't the best mother ever, but the blonde had never thought that her mother could injure another living being. And to think that that living being was so attractive. Pacifica had thought about kissing other girls, but she never really thought about it harder than, "it'd be interesting to give that a go." It was very similar to the thought process that made her find out that she hated caviar. She had thought, "why not?" and tried some only to vomit the whole shebang into the punch bowl. That was how she felt about girls. An interesting thought, but not really something she would do more than once. Maybe that metaphor wasn't very good. She couldn't think of a more apt description, though.
Kathrynne had made her question the metaphor. The blonde laid on her bed, staring at the clock as it switched from three to three zero one. She couldn't stop thinking of the messy curls, the curve of the older woman's lips. Dipper's hair was pretty curly and messy, too. His lips weren't as full, but he was a great kisser. She touched her own lips with a tentative finger. She had never really paid attention to them before. What did they look like? She untucked her feet from under the covers, and silently padded out into the hallway towards the bathroom. She closed the door behind her, then flicked the light switch. Something moved in the mirror, and when she focused on the glassy surface, she nearly screamed. Her mother's face was reflecting towards her, eyes dark and features exaggerated.
"Do you know how long I have been waiting in this mirror for you?" Pacifica scrabbled at the door, trying to find the knob. It had to be a nightmare. Her mother had burned in the fire, she had seen and identified the corpse at the morgue. The blonde had fucking buried her.
"Five hours and twenty three minutes. I can't believe how boring it was. But look at you, daughter. You've begun." The woman grinned through the mirror, mouth too large and teeth too wide. Pacifica's left hand gave up the search for the knob and settled for running through her weird hair.
"That's right. You'll be a witch, a real one, soon. I know somebody told you about it. Who." Pacifica glanced towards the floor and shook her head. The teen's mother glared out from the mirror.
"You're too quiet, daughter of mine."
Pacifica swallowed, trying to get her throat to make some sort of agreement. All that came out was a raspy croak. Her mother laughed, "eloquence is key, darling. If you wish to be heard and respected you must first enunciate your words."
The blonde stared at her toes against the linoleum. She couldn't believe that her mother was alive. Or, rather, if this was a dream, why pull the Bloody Mary act?
"Mother," her voice shook, " I will not tell you anything." After what Kathrynne had shown her, she couldn't give the beautiful woman up. Life was on the line.
"Then I know who told you. All I must do now is find her."
Pacifica stepped back, her right hand finally hitting the doorknob. She jiggled it, only to find that it was locked and unable to unlock. The blonde inhaled sharply.
"You won't be leaving until I'm through talking, Pacifica. After all, you did leave me for dead back at the mansion."
"And I identified your corpse at the morgue, so how did you live through it?" She released the useless knob and crossed her arms, breath still uneven.
Her mother mimicked the action, "Witches can't die unless they lose the will to live, darling. Or, at least, I'm strong enough that my lifespan works that way. I assume it will be the same for you."
The blonde held her pose, despite wanting to try the door and escape again. She had been told all her life to be careful, petite, pretty, delicate, and a multitude of other things because she was the sole heir of the Northwest name and fortune. Immortality was hard to grasp.
"What else do you want from me?" She knew the door was still locked.
Priscilla smiled, her large lips contorting fiendishly.
"I want you to step through this mirror and let me teach you proper witchcraft."
Pacifica backed into the door with a straight face, "Absolutely not."
"You should be jumping for joy, darling. I don't offer to teach any but my own flesh and blood."
The blonde's stomach recoiled, "You may have birthed and raised me, but I will not set foot in any home that you own ever again."
Her mother's grin got even bigger, which the teen hadn't thought possible.
"Fine, then. I don't need permission to get what I want." The older woman's fingers snapped, and the lights in the bathroom went out. Pacifica's heart felt like a shard of ice stabbing her in the ribs. She gasped, feeling smoke swirl around her legs. The amorphous clouds became sharp, like fingernails against her skin. Hands gripped her ankles, dragging her forward. Towards the mirror. She tried to scream, but a hand clamped over her mouth and stifled it. She fought, kicking and punching, but the clouds grew in force and size and before long the short teenager was no longer in the bathroom, and the space looked as undisturbed as if no one had ever set foot in it.