Note: Apologies- because of the way the story is structured, even though I'm writing many parts in parallel, I can't release them quickly because the connector pieces aren't there yet. For anyone left by the time it's finally complete, I think it'll pay off. I do want to promise this isn't as meandering as it may look. There's just a lot of pieces to the story, so things like 'Mother's Moonshine,' for instance, will reappear.
Now, CW, prepare for more beldam violence against children. Even though she's capable of gentle feelings in this story, can't forget who we're dealing with. Personally, I think she's much scarier if she is capable of the full range of emotions and is simply at their mercy because of how volatile they are, because that means no matter how well you cooperate and no matter how much she likes you, you're still not safe. Much scarier for her, too.
[X]
[Terri's dream/memory, mid-5th century, winter]
A sea of flickering candles cast a welcoming glow over a long table covered with a brightly-colored cloth, seasonal greenery from around the world, and an incredible five course feast. The scent of a spiced-cider-like beverage infused the air and a harp strummed a soothing melody in the next room. It was that time of year. Precursors of today's Christmas were already entrenched worldwide by old pagan seasonal traditions, and though winter feasts did not yet emphasize gift-giving, Terese had a pile of presents at hand for the child.
Next to the cloth doll replica of the little girl was a stuffed menagerie of exotic creatures made from materials offering a hyper-realistic impression of how they would feel; a wood flute; colorful patterned dresses (treasures for someone of this girl's class); a tea set; a wooden puzzle; and a fairy-princess-esque crown made of unusual dried flowers from the unique garden outside, preserved in wax. The second most special gift, a mechanical music box (incredibly novel for the time) was in Terri's hands, twinkling a melody that hadn't been written yet, and it contained the most important gift.
Yet the presentation and music went unappreciated, the food uneaten, the gifts and toys untouched.
This girl had been in such a good mood, so sweet and affectionate, until the moment her eyes fluttered open at the end of the week and she realized she wasn't back in her home on Earth again, for the first time. Then not a smile to be found. Interesting. Seemed it was all well and good to receive thankless gifts from Terri until she asked for something back. The beldam was only appreciated as long as she could easily be thrown back in the toybox and locked away when morning came. Phht. Children. Terri had secured the tantruming child in the storage closet while she cooled down, but let her out again after a few hours. She tempered her justice with mercy, after all. The child who emerged from the closet was silent and trembling. ("Dear, there is a much worse closet I could have sent you to," Terri had assured her with a dismissive pat on the head.) As apology, she requested a family portrait and provided the girl with painting supplies. In the meantime, she'd plan their festivities!
It would be fine, the beldam told herself. She could win the child over with a scrumptious dinner and a jolly party. Terri switched out of her improved imitations of clothes the girl's birth mother wore into real finery, transforming her bland, earth-tone tunic into the intricately-patterned gown of a rich woman. Diamond shapes overlapping in shades of grey, blue, and indigo with pale beads, and a pearl-laden blue headpiece and veil to match, made it look, she thought, almost like being cloaked in a starry dusk sky. Now she'd look like a proper lady the girl would respect.
But the child was stiff as a board the entire time, barely looking Terri in the face. Now she actively wept at the sight of her present, slumped forward in her dining chair with her eyes pressed into her fists and both elbows on the table like a damned barn animal. Terri couldn't have a single enjoyable evening, could she? Why weren't her best efforts appreciated?
By now, Terese had forsaken all hope of a long game. It hurt too much to be repeatedly rejected, and food was scarce, times were desperate. Worship of the Christian God was becoming the norm, demand for filial piety strong as ever, and the crack-down on 'idols' ruthless. Terri had been forced to switch her strategy to quickly love-bombing and entrapping, so she could guarantee herself rations to consume over time, rather than risk more living runaways. She wasn't particularly pleased with it, but she had to focus on the basics. She needed to eat. While a less risky strategy, it entailed its own hurdles. Few were desperate and rash enough to agree so quickly, no matter how lonely, not even the children. This little girl certainly wasn't, and it left Terri ready to rip her own hair out. At barely 6 years old, how hard should she be to win over?!
Yet the girl cried and cowered at the sight of the needle, thread, and buttons that had been presented to her so caringly, as Terese hovered over her, frowning and insulted. 'Buttons' at the time were more often used as decorative seals, or jewelry meant to indicate status, than for cloth fastening, so these were no simple black plastic or brown wood. These were silver disks, engraved with stars, diamond-encrusted! And this child was a peasant! How could she turn up her nose at such a gift?!
"Darling, it won't hurt!" Terri promised insistently. "The point is to make everything easy. You'll never want for anything again!"
She wasn't lying. Terese could, and did, ensure that it didn't hurt. Although prey suffered fleetingly near the end of the hunt, the husks they became experienced a flat and tedious, but not painful, existence before they were relieved of consciousness completely. She'd been humanely—at least by comparison, in her opinion—putting prey down and trapping souls for years, unlike some. Some who were fortunate enough not to have to hunt to survive, who seemed to hunt for sport alone, or to inspire continued fear in their plentiful herds of cattle. Unlike Him, who seemed to take pleasure in sadistic torture and executions, she euthanized gently because she had to. The sacrificial show of loyalty she demanded she at least delivered with anesthetic, whereas suffering seemed to be part of the point of His. 'Slaughter your own child for no reason! Passively agree to be beaten to death by an angry mob! You'd do it if you loved me!' Unlike Him, who hoarded those who could provide love indefinitely, until surely their mortal minds deteriorated and every second was agony, Terese eventually consumed the souls, and they were enveloped in the gentlest dreamless sleep—at peace.
Was she flawed? Of course. She, too, was demanding, needy, and selfish, and willing to cheat, manipulate, and swindle. She didn't believe herself a hero, like a lunatic, as she leaned into playing the heel and committed atrocities. But she did have all of the above going for her, so how dare He and his simple, hive-minded horde pretend they were ethically superior?! How dare the mortals prefer Him?!
"I can't stay!" the child bawled. "I still love my mama and papa! I can't leave them!"
A child had never shown her loyalty like that, and one probably never would, no matter that she'd provide anything they wanted. "You're so much more comfortable here, darling!" Terri objected. "You have nice clothes, a soft, warm place to sleep, you can bathe in clean water, you have all the food you want, any kind you want. I'm sure they're lovely people, but your parents can't give you a comfortable life." She paused, the side of her ruby-painted lips twisting down tensely as her fingers drummed against her thigh, then added, "I worked hard on it!" All of it ripped like patch cloth from her own being, her own energy that was impossible to replenish without the child's respect. What exactly did this irrational, insatiable girl want from her?!
A rainbow, perhaps? Rainbows certainly tested well with the fool creatures. Try and drown them, and then give them a f***ing rainbow, and they'd forgive you. These mortals only seemed to enjoy love if it was a cavalcade of torture and gaslighting. Somehow, though, Terri knew with the certainty and precision of 100 bee stings that she could weave rainbow after rainbow and the children wouldn't bat an eyelash. Their beautiful eyes would stay squeezed shut tight and tears would continue running down their sweet, pudgy cheeks. She could follow His formula to a tee and be declared monstrous, while He continued to be revered.
"But they love me!" the child argued.
Terri recoiled and uttered, "I love you." The aplomb and salesmanship were long removed from her voice, replaced with a low rumble of offense that threatened to erupt into a full-fledged roar. "Would I have bothered with any of this if I didn't? How dare you suggest I don't care when I work so hard!"
"You don't even know me!" the child wailed. The witch's baffling thought process only frustrated her more, intensifying her urge to cry.
"Sharper than a serpent's tooth is a daughter's ingratitude," Terri spat, touching a cringing hand to the spot above her heart as gingerly as though it had actually taken a puncture wound. "Darling, I have an idea. Perhaps you should make an effort to get to know me, since you so ignorantly complain that I don't know you and it offends you so," she pitched bitterly. "Then you may see differently. Shall I give you more time alone to think about it?" Terri tweaked the child's nose, fingertips hovering just a hint longer than necessary, as if threatening to drag her by the snout toward the closet again.
The beldam thought that, for a child still in possession of her eyes, the brat sure wasn't using them. How caringly and attentively Terri had researched the child's favorite foods and activities...and not only that. She knew her favorite color, animal, season, scent, flower, and time of day; which random objects she collected; where she went to be alone. She knew the child's preferred temperature down to the degree; the fabrics she found most soothing against her skin (not an easy thing to deduce, with what little the child had to wear in her home environment); and the names of every imaginary friend and the drama amongst them at any given moment so she knew whom she could sit next to whom at a tea party. She knew every fear and what soothed it; every bad memory Terri could deliberately construct appealing situations to contrast with; every insecurity or special need; and obviously every allergy. She knew every miniscule idiosyncrasy, each melody the child habitually hummed without thinking, which leg she more often crossed over the other, which wiggly baby tooth her tongue flicked at the most.
Hers was the ideal haven because it was so painstakingly, personally tailored. Terri's was much more devoted, one-on-one attention than this girl would receive elsewhere, from someone who'd taken on more than He could handle, who told such blatant lies about His ability to forge a unique connection with each of thousands of millions of children—such a thing was flatly impossible! She so respected the children's individuality (thought the woman known to turn the same three sock puppets inside out to recycle amongst most prey), and this was the thanks she received!?
The child whimpered a mangled version of "I don't want to" and judged Terri with an unbearably familiar look. A look that gave a name. 'Monster. Witch. Dragon.' It wasn't fair. She so terribly wanted love, but once enough time passed, none could provide nourishment beyond fear. Many yielded exclusively fear from the beginning. As this child cried, her fear intermixed with hatred. Watching food spoil in front of her like this made Terese want to retch. It made the beldam feel gutted, hollow. A joke. A shoddily-made scarecrow that the fowl cawed at and crapped on.
Fear must comprise a large portion of His nourishment as well, yet there had to be enough love to not only counterbalance but surpass the hatred His strategy must incite! How else to explain how He was thriving? Everything He did, and so many loved him! She didn't want millions. She didn't even want thousands or hundreds or dozens. She just wanted ONE, and they only hated. Why? Why?!
Terri clasped her hands together in frustration and buried her pointed nose between the top knuckles. "You are confused," she said. The child was clearly confused about this familial relationship. Her gift to Terri was completely unsuitable. Terese wasn't nearly tall enough in that finger painting, not like the mother should be. In fact, she and the girl were practically level with each other. What was that supposed to mean?!
Her stomach growled. The girl's plate was piled high with untouched food. It sickened Terri. She would appreciate the most pathetic of scraps right now, and the girl offered none. This time each year, she watched even the poorest humans pool resources and feast with family. Terese hatefully scanned the empty seats at her large dining room table, agonizingly aware that the family member meant to fill each one was sharing their wealth and celebrating with someone else, while she had nothing.
When would it be her turn to eat? Would she ever again share a meal with someone who loved her?
"Let's give it a try," Terri said, doing her best to sound congenial as she firmly held the child in place with two hands, while two others reached for the sewing equipment and another pulled an ice cream scooper-like tool from a pocket in her dress. "You will feel so silly when this is over. Then we'll use your new tea set for the cider!"
The child struggled as she felt every inch of herself begin to numb out and fade, blow into the wind like sand, head fuzzy. With one leg, prickling as if she'd just been sitting on it, the last part of her body she could feel, she managed to kick Terri solidly in the abdomen.
The beldam's existing hunger pangs were amplified by the impact as she wheezed in surprise. Then it seemed a critical seam, which had been frayingfrayingfraying for a long time, finally gave out. This was hardly an unusual argument, and this girl hadn't even done anything especially offensive. But this was the longest string Terri had experienced without success, and the rejection seemed more hostile every time. The thought overwhelmed her: Clearly the children were the ones terrorizing her! How was she the monster here?!
Terese exploded at the girl, "You're cruel!" and began crying herself. She was known to whip out manipulative crocodile tears, but these were authentic. If the unexpected switch from slowly drifting snow to thunderous downpour outside was any indicator, they threatened to erupt into weeping as raw and uncontrolled as the child's. "You don't know what it is to have no one love you! I have no family! You're selfish! If you were a kind person, you'd scrape together some love for me!" Terri violently shattered a plate from the table where they'd just been sharing a meal—her own empty, untarnished plate. She usually conducted herself better than this, but she was STARVING. Even this child, who was poor, couldn't possibly understand, Terri believed. At least the girl had family to comfort her when she had to go hungry!
Terri grew. Stretched the way she knew the human children drew adults they respected, loved, or at least feared. Tall. Looming. Worthy of taking up space. Worthy of being literally looked up to. She was worthy. She WAS WORTHY! The beldam shrieked commandingly, "Dammit, love me! LOVE ME, LOVE ME, LOVE ME!"
The girl jolted and tipped the chair, sending herself careening backward. The second she hit the floor, she scrambled away from Terri like a frightened crab until she hit a wall. Although she was shuddering and her mouth hung slightly agape, her wails had quieted to whimpers. But her face was paler and more twisted with terror than before, pupils so dilated her eyes looked nearly black, as Terri's obvious instability struck her. She was dealing with a madwoman. She was doomed. Unless! Believing she had nothing to lose, the petrified child's last feeble reach toward safety was to pray to her God, stumbling and stammering through semi-coherent snippets of the early 'Our Father.'
Terese's ears rang. She froze, numb, as reality blurred and flickered around her. This house. Her best efforts to improve the child's life, to entertain. It was all nothing but a pathetic stick-figure scribble. A cheap, childish imitation of someone else's universe. The mere idea of a thing, crumbling in execution. Bad macaroni art soon to be trashed.
Mistakenly believing her prayer was having the desired effect of weakening the creature, the girl continued, voice raising in confidence and intensity.
A few stray black tears silently trickled down Terri's cheeks as she trembled with rage, hands clawed, about to snap. She had resisted this urge for so long, even when it felt so strong and so urgent that she would die if she didn't sink her claws into a throat and rip! Yes, she could be ruthlessly violent, and she had mutilated adults in fits of rage, but so far she'd always put small children down gracefully. It was a line she hesitated to cross. They enraged her so, but there was something endearing about them, even when they hurt her. And how they hurt her! But why should she hold back? If others could commit atrocities and still be regarded as upstanding, why should she hold herself to any moral standards?
The reflection of a waning sickle moon, shining through a nearby window, glinted in her dark eyes. There was no sense in holding out hope any longer. Plenty of predators made great mothers...but that's not what she was. She was simply a reaper. At least she was a good one. If nothing else, she had that.
"You mindless little drone," Terri growled in disgust as she approached, heels creating fierce, deliberate clacks against the floor. Her normally animated, twinkling blue eyes seemed flat, grey, lifeless as dolls' eyes. Playtime over.
The child bleated her prayer at the highest possible volume before her last words were jarringly extinguished by an impossibly strong grip around her throat.
Terri tossed all inhibitions aside, lifted the child by the neck, and relentlessly bashed her head into the wall, until she could hear the back of the skull crack, strangling until the face turned faintly blue. She dropped the limp corpse, plunged her arm down and sunk a handful of needles straight through the throat, Freddie Kreuger-style, to rip out the offending vocal cords. She tossed them aside like a broken doll's voice box, but only after shredding them down to weak red thread that fell like confetti. FIXED IT.
Huffing, Terri interrupted her passionate outburst, reminding herself to slow down and be practical, as she scooped out the child's eyes and preserved them before the soul escaped. Terri had worried for a moment that she'd shot herself in the foot in her rage, but after experiencing such a traumatic slaughter, the new ration was now adequately more fearful than hateful. FOOD! Terri gulped it down, had to forcibly contain herself and remember to save some for later. The husk continued its howling the whole time, though it was now a hollow, flat echo, like wind blowing through a tunnel. When the wailing child's spirit was trapped securely behind the mirrored door, Terri wailed jeeringly back at it. (She humorously considered shoving the unused flute in the spirit's face to liven the moaning up a bit so it wouldn't sour the lovely sound of her harp.)
After working herself into a good frenzy again, she returned to the mutilated body. Shame she hadn't gotten to use those pretty buttons. The beldam considered sewing them on anyway and preserving the body as a trophy, but that wasn't how this felt. This wasn't a face she'd want to see again. She didn't even want to remember the name. Might as well use the meat. She dragged the corpse by a foot to the kitchen area to get to work, ready to properly vent her fury. She hacked, chopped, and sliced, more invigorated with each spatter of blood in her face, a baptism of blood that cleansed her of all the detailed knowledge she had painstakingly accumulated about the girl, until her memory was blank, pristine, and the carcass entirely meaningless to her, no different than butcher meat. Not a thing she would want to love her. Such a relief!
Although it did little to alleviate her true hunger, Terri feasted on the remains. (If all the children did was cannibalize, dammit, she'd just start cannibalizing them back.) Then, feeling refreshed, she was motivated for the first time in a long time to allow the mirror to reflect her corporeal body. She admired the results with a smile. She no longer looked quite as haggard—hair shinier, cheeks rosier, frame maybe even a bit thiccer, as was her preference. Gorgeous. Fairest.
Keeping them alive a bit longer, with or without buttons to blind them, to feed on appreciation was still ideal, but this experience was exactly what Terri had needed to realize she'd been much too proud in her refusal to rely on fear. She needed to eat. If she couldn't have love, she would feast on plentiful fear as often as possible, and for fun, always pair the meat with a nice wine for taste.
(Anyway, if Terese wanted to be her best self for the ones she truly wanted to love her, she'd have to take occasional opportunities to vent this...deep...black…sludge-pit of hateful desire to erase… It came from the Thing. It always had tried to warn her about how the children were no good and would eat her alive. She should have listened better, sooner, before she'd foolishly stumbled into the trap they now lied in together—a humiliating doom spiral in which they were made to rely on creatures they'd once detested and feared, forced to wish for their love. Because she had irrevocably lost the love that once sustained her...)
Yes. This new approach suited her fine. It did not have to be painful. It could be a game. A hunt. Meticulous detail-seeking only to improve luring efforts, never to bond. Sacrificing her own energy only for the purpose of multiplying benefits down the line, never because she felt sorry that the human child was hungry—she was hungry, too! And she had to conserve enough energy to treat herself. She'd go on replicating the lowly mortal parents' clothes at first, for a day or so, to lull the children into a sense of security, but from now on, she fully intended to spend more time in the stylish, upper class apparel she deserved to wear. She'd no longer debase herself for these heartless baby heathens. And, oh! The storage closet! She had exciting ideas about how to artfully renovate her new trophy room!
The future looked a bit less bleak. At first. Then, hours later, regret began to leak in, announcing itself in brief, punctuated flashes like the dripdripdripping of a faucet. Well. That would not do at all. She'd told herself long ago she would never be sorry again! It was a foolish, impractical waste of time and effort when everyone had already decided you were irredeemable, unworthy. Why feel remorse? Why try to change? People would only hurl more rejection at you and make you wonder why you felt the urge to atone. She'd simply ignore the people who looked down their noses at her. If she mimicked their own atrocious behavior, easier to laugh in their faces!
Now, something to remedy these feelings that were getting in the way of good sense...
Removing her own eyes for the first time was an experience she wouldn't care to recount. Such a shame, too… They had been so useful for luring at times; the humans found them captivating. But it was worth it. Just as she'd promised the girl, there was the brief sting, the raw ache, but eventually it flattened into a pleasant, novocaine-numb sensation, and when she returned to the mirror before proceeding to amber-encase her own eyes, she was satisfied with the result. She'd used the buttons/seals she'd offered the child, and she thought the silver shone vaguely blue and the diamonds sparkled just like the flecks in her own eyes had. There. Wouldn't even miss them!
More crucially, her intolerable, unacceptable feelings were at least quartered in strength now, and she was safe from the memory of that insidious toxin, love. The empty specter, the conspicuous absence that haunted and hunted her in the labyrinth of her memory. It would not hurt her again. She was the most poisonous thing around, now.
[X]
[May 2020, Hell]
The first dreams were beautiful, overflowing with a warm glow like a perfect September afternoon, just before sunset. Fun at LooLoo Land, falling through rabbit holes, and hunting together with Alastor; watching shows with him; teaching him magic, how to dance, and how to play music; celebrating having their own home together; each comforting the other when they had a nightmare (a very sensitive secret shared between them alone).
Happy memories of a few others snuck in. Fencing and making up big fish stories with Jimmy. Popping colors, flashing and sweeping lights, and a cheering crowd, as a little hand took hers and a glittering smile widened when she asked if he'd like to be in the show, too. Building the most special of all snow angels with a dear friend, once upon a time, under a pure, unpolluted sky teeming with bright new stars that made the frost sparkle.
Then the sun seemed to not set, but drop straight out of the sky like a bomb, and she was hit with a pitch dark, hard wall of pain.
That pivotal event, so many centuries ago, when she'd allowed the most of the good in her to lie down and die, in too much pain to fight. Gory, vivid flashes of the times she'd killed young Alastor, specifically the times she feared she'd waited too long to reverse the mistake. A far-away, echoing screech of outrage: "I designed you!" Blurred faces, with mouths that appeared to be flat lines of disinterest, nonchalance, as she burned from the inside out. Very briefly, replaced by warm amber eyes and a gentle smile, ready to love her better after her nightmare, but then that, too, cruelly ripped away and replaced with a scowl of pure hatred, as the searing pain shocked through her again, hammering, hammering, HAMMERING. A furious buzzing sound like a saw, deafeningly loud, enough to feel vibrations ripple through her, cutting straight to her heart, combining with the hammering to create indescribable pain.
And the labyrinth. The screams and cries, crashing and thudding of the hammer, and whirring buzzing sound echoed through the unnavigable, pitch halls that spiraled into a hopeless, isolated nothing in every direction. Stretching. Even if she tried with all her might, with every shred of her limited power, to forcibly pull herself to an exit, the door always slammed in her face, followed by the quiet click of a lock that made her feel especially powerless, for how simple of a force could neutralize her.
A mental image of every...single...star...blinking...out…
BLACK.
The jumbled soup of dread and despair finally cleared as, in the wee hours of the morning, Terri awoke with a stifled cry, springing up in the bed in full fight-or-flight mode. Reorienting herself, she realized that a steady stream of joyful, cozy memories had been sharply interrupted by nightmares. Terese scanned the room and found the clear culprit on the floor near the bed—the damned blanket. Ugh! Clearly the clever rat child had snuck in to lay it on her, it slipped off during the night, and the sudden interruption of the spell caused a rebound effect.
Terri would have been prouder of the effectiveness of her handiwork had it not been used against her, but she accepted, begrudgingly, that this turn of events was a blessing in disguise. This clinched it. Simple revenge was not the best plan. It was important to get him back on her side. She did miss him...she could no longer deny that. So she'd prefer a peaceful approach if viable. If not, she was happy to strong arm him into it by bluffing that she'd starve him out if he didn't mind his place.
Her anger had been fresh when she'd arrived in Hell, likely to convince her to do something impulsive—something that would satisfy her immediate thirst for vengeance at the expense of opportunities to war with more deserving enemies. Now she recalled careful plans she'd laid years ago that were far better uses for Alastor than the relatively minor joy she'd derive from reclaiming her power and punishing him. Even if there weren't better uses for his power with him wielding it, Terri no longer needed to permanently recollect it, since she was more food-secure. As long as she only went out once in a while to consume a soul no one would miss, she'd go unnoticed while hiding under the hotel's shield.
The presence of the handy shield, and placating the princess by attempting to reconcile with Alastor, might buy her time to built a rapport with Charlotte. Hopefully, Terri could end this game with at least one very powerful, conveniently connected, nutritious child in hand. Two was preferred, but all she really needed was one.
Deep down, ONE was all she'd ever wanted...
'No more of this useless rumination!' Terri chastised herself. She needed her beauty sleep, and her strength and focus. Turn it off! The beldam lapsed into a much more peaceful rest.
[X]
Note/Citation: "Sharper than a serpent's tooth is a daughter's ingratitude" is a direct quote/callback to Neil Gaiman's original Coraline book.