Pairing: Cordelia/Misty
Synopsis: Cordelia is reeling after Misty's disappearance. She has lost too many of her girls already, and Misty is by far the one she holds dearest. She must blind herself in a powerful effort to find the free-spirited witch. What comes after doesn't matter – only that Misty lives.
A/N: Based on a prompt in which I was asked to write about what happened during Misty's disappearance. I've taken liberties after that point. :) I changed a few things, a few details, to make the story work better.
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separation
"Blood fills my mouth. Fire sears my veins. I choke back a howl. The silver knife slips-the
choice is mine." – Bree Despain, The Dark Divine
Trembling hands. It was a bone-deep fear as she reached for the miniature shears, thinking that this was absolutely crazy, ridiculous. Myrtle had done who-knows-what in order to restore her sight, and here she was, shaking from head to toe, near sobbing, contemplating the sacrifice of that gift. The scales weighed heavily in either direction; use her gift of Sight to guide the Coven, guide her girls, or retain her eyesight in the hopes that she would find a deeper power within herself she was able to use for their benefit.
One option left her dependent on another human being to live a normal daily life, at least to some extent. The other left her fully in control of her surroundings. Her fingers grazed the heavy metal handle of the shears and took a steadying breath.
The Coven needed Misty. Cordelia needed Misty's warmth, her light, to survive all the darkness that lay ahead of them if a new Supreme failed to emerge. In reality, there was only one choice. Her white-knuckled grip solidified her decision. She steeled herself, cringing already in anticipation, shivering in mortal fear that this thing she was about to do may possibly end her own life. There were important vessels just behind the eye, ones that could cause her to bleed out.
She prayed to every sentient intelligence that may or may not exist that she was not condemning herself to die.
The most difficult part was watching was the blade approached her eye. She didn't know if she could do this, but she dug deep for true resolve and used a second hand to still her trembling grip. A deep breath and then –
Pain. Unbelievable pain. She was not sure if she had cried out, but she was certain behind the ringing of her ears and the sudden blackness in her right eye that she was screaming, a deep, primal sound of pain tearing from her throat. Before she could hesitate, she lined the shears up to her left eye – she had to do this.
Cordelia plunged the shears inward, terror gripping her as she suffered her last moment of sight; there was no horror like destroying such a mortally important sense. Her hands trembling beyond control, the shears clattered to the table and she collapsed forward, still crying out, her lids blinking as if they could heal the wound. The salt of tears burned, seared, and she was thrown into a vision of white – pain, pure pain. The more her eyes instinctively fluttered, the more it hurt. She stumbled, almost fell backward against the table. A pot clattered, shattered near her feet as she sobbed in shock.
She tore cloth from her skirt, roughly, and shakingly pressed it to her wounded eyes. How like Oedipus she must have looked, the Grecian fool who had blinded himself to bear the weight of his shame. Cordelia cried, felt her knees going weak.
Somewhere within her gut she found the ability to yell for help. Myrtle's name tore from her throat just before her consciousness winked away, body slumping to the floor.
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She awoke to blackness and the feeling of nausea sweeping over her. She reached into darkness, grabbed at air, fearfully calling out. Cordelia knew she was in bed, knew that she was safe and alive; she set her mind to the next task, despite the throbbing pain.
"Myrtle."
"Sweet daughter," the familiar voice crooned and a soft, gloved hand was enveloping her own, another touching her face. "What have you done?"
"Misty – she's missing. She's gone. I have to find her. I need to trigger a vision –" she sat up but immediately covered her mouth, feeling bile rise in her throat.
Myrtle tsk, tsked somewhere beside Cordelia. "You are merely hours recovered from your self-mutilation. Your very skin was grey by the time myself and Queenie found you."
Cordelia shook her head. "It means nothing," she determined quietly, shifting very slowly and standing up shakily, reaching out a palm and finding her old walking-stick placed firmly therein. "I have work to do. I cannot lose another one of my girls, Auntie Myrtle."
Certain of the bandages on her eyes, she could smell the healing poultice placed on her wounds. First on her list was the only person malicious enough to eliminate another member of the Coven. Fiona was all but missing herself, but more likely she had taken off on a jaunt. It was Madison she had to find; the girl was poisonous, spoiled, an over privileged brat who stifled emotion with cruelty.
Cordelia felt for the cold metal of the door, nudged it open with her walking stick and used her memory to navigate, the clap, clap of her stick the only sound. It must have been late, because the house was deathly quiet and somewhere there were subtle whispers between Kyle and Zoe.
Music guided her most clearly to where Madison was. She entered without knocking, demanding what she needed from the girl, a sharp bite to her tone. "Where is Misty?"
"Probably rubbing up on a plant in your greenhouse," the familiar voice was near-enough, but when Cordelia reached there was a quick, undefinable sound and suddenly Madison's voice was further away. "Did I say you could touch me?"
"What have you got to hide?" Cordelia searched the air, pivoted on her feet and moved across the room. Again, Madison's voice came from a different direction.
"I can hide anything I want from you," the undeniable amusement infuriated Cordelia. "You've gone and blinded yourself," Madison made various noises, red herrings to lead Cordelia astray and keep herself out of arm's length. "You wouldn't look for any of us, wouldn't gouge out your eyes for us. Just Misty," the strain of jealousy was subtle enough to confuse Cordelia.
She thought she felt air brush past her arm.
"Catch me if you can, otherwise – too bad," Madison sneered just near Cordelia's shoulder, but there was no chance to make contact because that brief sucking sound passed through the air and the bedroom door slammed shut.
Frustrated, angry, Cordelia waited only a moment before hurriedly making her way to Misty's old room, opening the door and barely needing to think about where she was going. It smelled like sage, lavender, smelled like warm earth. Misty's warmth remained though she was missing. It made Cordelia's lungs tighten momentarily in her chest and she had to stop, a hand darting out nearby and colliding with Misty's dresser.
It wasn't hard, after she gathered herself together, to find a shawl; they had been draped everywhere, and even blind Cordelia knew they still would be. The scent overwhelmed her memory and emotion gripped her senses; she would not see Misty's face again, nor her smile, even if she did manage to find where the Cajun was and figure out a way to bring her back. Still, she left with precious few of Misty's things, hoping to trigger a vision.
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When the vision did come, Cordelia felt desperation overtake every nerve ending. She wanted Misty to know that she was coming to find her, she was coming to bring her back. She wanted Misty to know she had not given up on her. At least in some part, Misty had someone who understood and reciprocated her desire to belong. And she thought of all the things she had not said: Misty made everything okay. All it had taken was the sight of Misty to make her days better, even when she had been most depressed – at the point in time which she had no magical ability to speak of outside of alchemy.
Sight. It played such an important role in Cordelia's life, even now as a blind person. There was no other sense so comforting for Cordelia. A moment called Cordelia's attention, the past coming forward through the fog.
Three things Cordelia had known about Misty before she had sight: her hands were incredibly soft, but had enough sparse callouses to let her know that the Cajun had worked very hard in her life. She laughed from her belly, but there was a mischievous tone to her laugh that inspired a smile no matter what mood Cordelia was in. And Misty smelled like some undefined musk, sweet and alluring, and every time one of her shawls breezed past when Cordelia would pass the woman in the hall, the scent would linger on in Cordelia's mind; she would be fixated for such a long time afterward on the scent of her.
It was inappropriate response to a student, but then again Misty and Cordelia were not so far off in age that it was unthinkable. The only thing that surprised Cordelia was that Misty seemed not to know how lovely she really seemed even when one was blind. Compliments were pushed aside, scoffed or nervously laughed at. She'd be heard chewing on something the moment Cordelia offered any kind of praise, that warm throaty laugh accompanying some inane, dismissive response.
So when Cordelia saw Misty for the first time with her own two eyes (so to speak) it was indescribable. Cordelia was, in fact, so moved by Misty's general countenance that she had to correct herself often when she'd catch herself staring at Misty in odd, simple moments. She'd stand just a moment longer in the doorway when she bid the blonde goodnight, eyes matching Misty's kind gaze and wishing she had been gifted with Misty's presence much earlier in life.
Late one night, after they emerged from the greenhouse, chattering idly about different ingredients, Cordelia was walking just behind Misty when the Cajun turned on her heel and started walking backwards, still speaking animatedly and smiling, and the sound of her voice faded. It was just the sight of her, and Cordelia thought that she'd never really understood poetry until she met Misty. Misty was poetry personified, she was a sheet of music. Cordelia was so moved that she reached forward and grasped Misty's hand, clasping it in her own.
"Don't ever let anyone tell you that you are anything but the sun and stars, Misty," she wasn't sure where the words came from, but nonetheless they spilled from Cordelia's mouth and left Misty blushing. "I know it's hard for you to fathom any kind of compliment, still, but I wish you could see yourself as I do."
And she'd left it at that, though she felt an ache swelling in her chest. Cordelia had held on to Misty's hand just a moment too long, but still, she let go delicately and reluctantly.
"Let's go inside, get some tea, shall we?"
Misty had not uttered a response, glittering eyes only lingering on Cordelia with an inquisitive, awe-struck look. Cordelia took the lead, heading inside before Misty and found herself both disappointed and grateful when Misty returned to speaking as she had been before affectionate words filled the air between them.
Drawn to the present by a worried-sounding Kyle, Cordelia was jarred by his voice.
"Uh - Cordelia? I was walking by and you sounded panicked."
"Get me Queenie, please, if you can wake her."
"Yes, ma'am."
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The graveyard smelled a bit moldy, like algea sitting too long on top of stale water. That was the way in New Orleans, where the dead slept above-ground. Cordelia was lead by Queenie's hand, and with her free hand she would touch stones as they passed, mosoleums, until finally she felt a jolt of pain upon touching one.
"Here," she instructed, face contorted with worry. She clicked her teeth in frustration and impatience as she heard the clang of a shovel against stone. Kyle seemed to break ground, though, as clattering cement fell dangerously close to Cordelia's toes. "Help me," she bent down blindly, her hands clasping warm oak and metal grips, pulling with all her might and cursing heavy coffins.
Kyle and Queenie helped, and soon it was slipping free.
Cordelia could feel it, the tremor of anticipation as she fumbled for some kind of latch, something to free the lid, when she felt masculine hands gently moving hers aside and the sound of the coffin lid coming free was like a surge of anxiety. Would it be Misty? Was her vision right?
Queenie mumbled unpleasantly, "Damn, she looks bad."
"Is it her?" Cordelia was afraid to reach forward, afraid to touch a corpse that may not be Misty's.
"It is. You sure she can be saved?"
"You have to try. You've done it before. I need you to do it now. Please." Cordelia's voice broke just a little, and she felt a heavy hand gently nudge her aside. Beside her, Queenie seemed to be leaning into the casket.
And then Cordelia felt her heart stammer, stutter against her ribs and tears sprung to her eyes, hot and stinging.
Seconds later, the sound of a deep gasp caused Cordelia to move Queenie out of the way (making a note to apologize later for being rough), and she surged forward, hands blindly reaching into the casket.
Stiff, dry skin met her hands, and suddenly she was clasping Misty's fingers and hands, pulling the Cajun forward into her arms and buring her face against her hair. Despite being stuck in that casket for days, Misty still smelled like Misty, pleasant and earthy.
Misty quivered in her arms.
"Miss Cordelia?"
"You're safe now, we found you. I found you," Cordelia's voice seemed to shake and tremble as much as she was, her hands finding Misty's sides first, then her arms and eventually the slope of her neck and throat. Cordelia felt Misty's jaw working slightly as her thumb grazed just below. "Are you okay?"
"It was that damn Hollywood bitch," Misty spoke callously, covering Cordelia's hand with her own briefly before Cordelia felt her slipping from her grasp and standing. Cordelia stood, reaching an arm out to help Misty out of the casket. "I'm gonna kill her."
Maybe Madison was right. Maybe Misty was special - if only because, at that moment, she should have told Misty that killing Madison could not happen.
Yet she knew that if Misty went back home now and left Madison beheaded, she wouldn't have been nearly as angry or upset as she should be.
Tingles erupted over her skin as she felt Misty's hands at her arms and slowly, carefully, thumbs grazing the wounded flesh around her eyes.
"Jesus, Miss Cordelia," her voice was hushed between them, and Cordelia felt the warmth of Misty's face near her own as she examined the damage. "What the hell happened?"
Cordelia wanted to cry, but tears burned her eyes incredibly at the moment. "It was the only way," her voice quivered her her throat, soft enough to go unnoticed.
There was an awe-struck exhale, the gentlest of touches at her face. Tension was building in Cordelia's chest because she didn't need sight to know that Misty was staring at her intensely, sadly.
"You mustn't feel the need to take any blame. It was my decision. It was my choice. It was you or a pair of eyes that weren't even mine."
She expected Misty to say something but instead, she was engulfed in a warm pair of arms, fingers tangling in her hair and Misty's face buried against her neck. There were salt tears kissing her neck for a few moments, but she soothed Misty the best she could. Her fingers gripped tightly at Misty's waist before gently encouraging her to step back just a little.
Cordelia motioned in the general direction in which she heard impatient stirrings from Queenie and Kyle, "Come, let's get out of here, shall we?"
"I got a bitch to beat," Misty growled, her voice causing goosebumps to erupt as it passed near Cordelia's face.
Cordelia meant to lead herself out of the cemetery, but instead she felt an insistent, familiar hand dragging her quickly from the premises, Misty's ringed fingers holding fast to her own.