*skids in on a broomstick flying at an unsafe speed*
Hi everyone! I am so sorry for the length of time this has taken! Everything just seriously started to pile up, and when I actually did have time to write I was really struggling to get some of the characters in character. Can you all forgive me? *offers several hundred cupcakes as a bribe*
I'm a bit worried about this chapter, cause it has HB in it, and I completely love her, but I'm a bit worried that she isn't in character. I really hope she is! *crosses fingers*
Thanks to everyone who reviewed! and thanks to everyone who welcomed me to the fandom! This chapter is dedicated to you!
So, please read and review! I hope it makes up for the length of time!
Chapter 2
Constance felt, rather than heard, Mildred scream out her name. The potion mistress was sitting at the staff table, staring into the distance as she sipped her tea, ignoring the conversation between Amelia and Imogen and the sound of Davina humming tunelessly behind her. She was a million miles away, lost in the darker memories of her past, haunted by the eyes of the only woman she had ever feared, when the desperate cry shattered her defences.
Constance shot to her feet. Tea slopped over the china saucer onto the pale blue table cloth as she slammed her cup down. The reaction of her colleagues would have been comical, had she not been fixing her mind on that frantic sound and where it had come from.
Miss Cackle had been sitting opposite her deputy, observing Constance through tired eyes, half listening to Imogen's plans for a new fitness programme and thoughtfully munching on a slice of cheesecake. Ever since the inspection the school had suffered at the hands of Constance's old tutor, Constance had become very withdrawn, refusing to answer any direct questions from the head mistress as to her wellbeing. She almost never joined in conversations with her fellow teachers anymore. At the sudden movement, Amelia started and choked on a mouthful of cheesecake, barely avoiding spilling scalding tea all over her lap.
Imogen, who at that precise moment had been detailing a particularly gruelling run up the side of the steep mountain, threw her hands up in front of her face, as if expecting some sort of attack, and hit herself in the side of the head, hard enough to knock her out of her own chair.
Davinia's reaction was typically over the top. The chanting teacher had been sitting in an arm chair, chewing daintily on a camomile flower, humming quietly while reminiscing about her time in Mongolia. The highly strung witch leapt from her chair with a piercing shriek and flew towards the staff room cupboard. Once there, she yanked the door open and hid behind it, peeping nervously through the opaque glass of the cupboard door.
Constance remained perfectly still for a moment, oblivious to the bewildered stares she was receiving or the reaction she had caused. Then she crossed the room and flung the door open, so hard that it slammed on its hinges.
'Constance! What on earth is the matter?' The shout Amelia sent after her deputy went unheeded and the headmistress was forced to climb out her chair and follow the young woman, joined a moment later by the other two, who sensed the urgency left in her wake.
Striding quickly down the corridor, Constance wasn't at all aware of the other teachers following her. All she could feel was the fear and desperation radiating from further down the corridor. Now that she had dragged herself away from the dark treacherous depths of her mind, Constance could feel that something was very wrong in the present. The tension in the air was not just due to the storm outside, and she could feel the after signs of violent and dark magic thrumming through the stone walls. Constance cursed the fact that whenever she succumbed to her exhaustion she missed something vitally important. Like the time Agatha Cackle had invaded and her students had ended up saving the school – at great risk to their own lives – while she had been sleeping. She shivered as a sense of fear so strong, yet so familiar, crashed into her in a cascading wave of emotion. It was a fear that she knew all too well, a fear that still haunted her dreams whenever she dared to sleep.
Constance walked so quickly that she was almost running, and the others were having difficulty keeping up with her long strides. So when she stopped in her tracks, the three of them barely managed to prevent themselves from slamming into her back. When they saw what had stopped her though, they went completely still.
It was a sight that they never would have expected to see. A drenched and dishevelled Mildred Hubble was sitting on the cold stone floor, her eyes wide and staring. She was trembling, through from cold or fear the teachers could not tell. And slumped against the wall opposite her was a girl they had never seen before, swathed in a sodden black cloak that succeeded in doing nothing but emphasising the leanness of her body as it clung to her limp form. Her face was pale and bore signs of a stressful ordeal; bruises on her high cheek bones, a gash across her hair line. For once, the four teachers were completely at a loss at what to do; it was the first time something of this kind had happened.
Then Mildred looked up. The idea that everything was about to change, coupled with the realisation that Agatha was on the loose and that both she and Mistress Broomhead would probably be out for her blood had brought a sudden overwhelming fear rising to the surface so quickly that her mind had gone blank. She'd done the only thing she could think of. She had screamed, screamed for the one teacher she was sure would hear her. Now, under the steady, if apprehensive and surprised, gaze of her form teacher, Mildred felt a tremendous sense of relief. Despite the known tension between her and Miss Hardbroom, there was no doubting that her presence was reassuring.
Constance saw relief flood Mildred's face and it was that which spurred her into action. She knelt down beside the pair of young witches and placed her delicate hand briefly against the unknown witch's forehead. Removing her hand, she cast a glance over her shoulder at her still frozen colleagues, 'she's alive, unconscious, definitely injured'. She turned to Mildred, who by now had begun to calm her racing heart, and reached out a hand to grasp her by the shoulder. 'Mildred?' when her pupil didn't respond she shook her slightly, 'Mildred!'
Mildred snapped to attention, her gaze becoming more frightened at her teacher's stern tone of voice. Seeing the effect she had had, Constance said more gently, 'There will come a time and a place for you to tell us what happened, but for now I just want to basic facts. She was hit by a spell wasn't she? Where was she hit, and did you recognise the spell at all?'
Mildred swallowed and her gaze travelled past Constance to the still stricken headmistress. 'It was Agatha, Miss'. Amelia gasped and felt rage bubble inside her at the thought that her sister would attack a young witch in conditions such as this. Mildred turned back to Constance, to find that the elder witch was staring at her intently. Constance could see that, despite the fact that Mildred had just told the truth, there was something else. Mildred knew immediately that her form teacher knew that she had only told her half of the truth and pleaded with her eyes that she would not push her. Not in front of the other teachers. What she had to say was something she felt Miss Hardbroom should know first.
Constance narrowed her eyes slightly, sensing what Mildred was desperately trying to convey to her, and gave the slightest inclination of her head. Seeing it, Mildred breathed out sharply through her nose and continued, 'I didn't recognise the spell. I think it was a red colour…lots of sparks. She was hit here' Mildred gestured to her own back, just above the ribs.
Amelia abruptly moved to join the group on the floor, 'Constance, we need to get her stabilised. We must find out what damage curse caused her'. The headmistress glanced up at the other two women who were hovering uncertainly behind Constance. 'Imogen I want you to light a fire in the infirmary, make a space as comfortable as possible'. The P.E. teacher nodded and jogged away down the corridor. Amelia turned to the chanting teacher and hesitated briefly. Davina was twirling her baton nervously in her hands, her eyes fixed on the injured witch. A strand of frizzy hair had fallen down in front of her worried gaze. Amelia recognised that look; Miss Bat was struggling not to break down in a nervous trembling heap. 'Davinia, dear? Do you think you could make some nice hot tea? Mildred looks half frozen and the poor girl will need something when she wakes up'. The kindly headmistress recognised that sending the nervous witch to check that the castle was secure was not a wise move; she would have to do it herself.
Meanwhile, Constance summoned a thick blanket and draped it gently around Mildred's trembling shoulders, much to the surprise of her student. She then conjured a stretcher and levitated the still witch onto it with an expert hand. Her eyes met Mildred's briefly and a current of understanding passed through their gaze. Constance understood that she was the reason Mildred was holding back, and she understood that Mildred wasn't going to tell her what it was until they were alone. With the stretcher hovering beside her, Constance said, 'Amelia, I think Mildred should come to the infirmary with me, we may be able to get some sense out of all this'.
Amelia nodded, 'good thinking Constance. I will meet you there shortly; I must check that the castle is secure. The last thing we need is another invasion from my dreaded sister'.
Mildred stumbled and nearly fell as she materialised in the infirmary. She was saved only by the quick reflexes of her form mistress as Constance caught her just before she hit the ground. Constance pulled Mildred upright and set her down gently in a chair, casting her an apologetic look. 'I apologise Mildred, I should have warned you. It can come as rather a shock to those unused to materialising'.
Mildred shook her head, 'it's fine Miss Hardbroom, you needed to get here as quickly as possible'. Her head was spinning and she felt slightly sick, though she doubted that was from materialising.
The infirmary was really little more than a room, with a layout much like the staff room, only bigger. The large fireplace, lit by a welcome roaring fire, was the main feature of the mainly bare room, accompanied by several beds and medicine cabinets. The school did not have a full time nurse or matron, though all the staff had basic first aid training, because despite everything that could go wrong in a school for young witches, there had never been any need for one. There had never been any serious accidents, nothing that couldn't be cured with some rest and a minor healing spell.
Constance turned her attention to the witch and gently deposited her in a nearby bed. She waved her hand at the stretcher, causing it to vanish, and then set about removing the witch's wet clothes.
Mildred watched as Constance methodically began to undress the witch, unfastening the clasp of her sodden cloak and peeling it off her body. Underneath the dark cloak, the witch was wearing a long black dress that looked distinctly warn and second hand. Very carefully, Constance turned the witch onto her back and began to undo the buttons at the back of the dress. She had undone the buttons when a strange sense of foreboding filled her. It crept up her back from the base of her spine, and her fingers stilled as she stared at the very slight gap she had made. The feeling was so strong that she was unable to stop her hands from trembling as she parted the dress. The worn material fell away to the base of the witch's spine, and Constance froze at the sight that greeted her.
The witch's alabaster skin was marred by numerous pale scars that scattered over her shoulder blades and down the length of her back like a strange spider web. The sound of the raging storm and the roaring fire, the room and its contents, everything fell away as Constance stared in shock at the marks, her brain simply refusing to accept what she was seeing. She sank slowly to the floor, her shaking legs unable to bare her weight. It simply couldn't be happening. I was the only one, wasn't I? The world span around her and her stomach heaved fiercely as memories locked at the back of her mind rose up in her mind, and a sense of horror filled her. There was a strange ringing in her ears and it was as if all her senses had suddenly abandoned her. She could do nothing but stare, tears stinging her eyes at the realisation that she wasn't the only one. There was no way she could be mistaken; she had identical scars on her own back. She would recognise the work of Hecketty Broomhead anywhere.
Hands grasped her shoulders and a faint voice shouted at her as if from far down a tunnel. Mildred stepped back from her stricken teacher, frightened and bewildered at her actions. While Mildred could see why anyone would find the sight of so much obvious abuse sickening, she had not been prepared for this. Her form mistress was kneeling on the floor beside the bed; her usually straight shoulders were shaking intensely and her hazel eyes were clouded with horror and fear. When Constance's eyes had filled with tears, Mildred had really begun to panic. What frightened her was that Miss Hardbroom seemed to have completely forgotten where she was.
The powerful, formidable woman that so often terrified her was gone, replaced by a woman who had completely forsaken her mask and was obviously struggling not to break down. Mildred was unsure what to do. Every instinct she had was screaming at her to reach out to the older witch and comfort her, but she was unsure whether Miss Hardbroom would appreciate the gesture.
Mildred twisted around to look down at the witch lying on her stomach. Her heart sped up at the sight of the pearly white marks across her back. She swallowed as bile rose at the back of her throat. Her eyes briefly flickered to the base of the witch's back; the cuts inflicted on the witch were more recent there, some only just beginning to heal properly. Whoever had done it had been very thorough. Don't pretend you don't know who did this; the voice at the back of Mildred's head was angry and bitter, why else would HB have reacted so badly?
Trying to push down her rising nausea, Mildred examined the girl's back for any signs that the curse Agatha had fired at her had done any damage. She was just about to pull away when she saw that one of the ribs of her lower back was sticking out at an awkward angle, straining against the pale skin.
Mildred knew enough to know that a broken rib meant that there was a risk of a punctured lung. She turned back to Constance and grabbed the older witch by the shoulders, 'Miss Hardbroom!' Constance continued to stare straight ahead, oblivious to the urgency in Mildred's voice. Mildred hesitated for a moment. Then she reached out and took Constance's pale face in her hands. She was struck by how cold and smooth her face was. 'Miss Hardbroom! Please, snap out of it!'
It was the unexpected gesture that brought Constance back to the present. Had Mildred shaken her teacher or shouted at her there was a good chance that Constance might have lashed out, so shaken by the memories of her past as she was. The caring and gentle action was something that she was so unused to that when she did realise what was happening she simply sat there staring at her pupil in astonishment.
Mildred saw the fear and surprise swirling around in her teacher's hazel eyes. Very quietly, as if afraid to scare her teacher further, she whispered, 'who did that to her?' she paused. 'What did they do to you?' the question slipped out before she could stop herself, and she held her breath, shocked at her own boldness. She had not intended to ask either question but she hadn't been able to stop herself, and now she was afraid that Miss Hardbroom would be angry that she had dared to ask such a personal question.
Constance took a deep breath, attempting to gather some of her remaining composure. Mildred's touch was strangely comforting. Constance focused on the warmth of the young witch's hands, allowing it to steady her, slowly locking the threatening memories away at the back of her mind. Mildred smiled softly, completely surprised that Constance had not yet pulled away, shocked that she was allowing such a personal gesture to occur, much less allow the physical contact.
Constance opened her mouth to speak, though she had absolutely no idea what she was going to say, when the door began to open. In a flash, Constance was up off the floor, towering to her full impressive height, standing in front of Mildred and the injured witch with her arms spread as if to shield them from view. Whether she actually expected Hecketty Broomhead to walk through the door, or whether she was expecting Agatha Cackle, she didn't know. All she knew was that the urge to shield Mildred and the strange girl that she shared a horrifying connection to over shadowed any reason.
The door swung open and Davina floated into the room, carrying a tray containing two steaming cups. Seeing Constance's protective stance, she stopped, casting her eyes nervously around the room, expecting there to be something dangerous lurking in the shadows. When she saw nothing, Davina hurried over to the table near the bed and deposited the tray carefully. She then turned to Constance, who by now had lowered her arms and folded them tightly over her chest. 'Well? Is she hurt?' the chanting teacher sounded anxious and worried, though those emotions were not necessarily because of the unknown witch. She was unable to prevent her gaze from flicking back to Constance; was it her imagination, or did the other witch look far too pale? That surely couldn't be tears in her eyes, could it?
Mildred meanwhile, had pulled the material back over the witch's back, concealing her scars from view. She then moved to stand further away from the two teachers, close to the fire, grateful for the warmth.
Constance looked at the unknown witch and said, 'the curse broke a rib and probably inflicted some rather nasty bruising, but the damage doesn't seem too serious; there is no internal bleeding and the rib hasn't punctured a lung. Nothing that can't be fixed'. She was growing increasingly uncomfortable under Davinia's concerned gaze.
Davina breathed a sigh of relief, 'well that's good. I'll leave you to it, shall I?' she could sense the tension in the room, and guessed that she had interrupted something important.
The witch backed away to the door and was halfway through it when Constance turned to her. 'Davinia, please tell Amelia that I must speak with her urgently after I've dealt with this'. Her tone, though distinctly less commanding than it usually was, left no room for argument.
Davina nodded and closed the door behind her. Once Constance was sure of her departure, she pulled the material away from the witch's back again. This time, though her heart quickened at the sight of the scars, she was able to stop herself from breaking down. Instead, she placed her casting fingers just above the girl's broken rib and muttered a spell under her breath. As she finished reciting it, a tendril of white light curled from her fingers and sank into the skin of the witch's back. There was an audible pop and the rib moved back into place, perfectly healed. It was a simple spell that she had been forced to master long ago, and provided you performed it perfectly it required very little energy.
Constance remained staring at the witch for a moment. If what she suspected was right, then the witch before her knew far more about her own past than she would have liked. If there was anyone who would be able to see past the walls that she had built up around herself over the years, it was the still unknown witch lying before her. Constance flicked her wrist, re-buttoning the back of the dress, and then conjured another thick blanket, laying it over the witch and tucking it in around her body to prevent a draft.
Mildred felt something lurch in her stomach at the strangely motherly gesture. She had often wondered why the teachers at Cackles were unmarried. While she was sure that Miss Drill had more than a strictly friends relationship with Serge, the man the girls had met while camping several months ago, she was pretty sure that the other teachers had no such relationship. This had puzzled her sometimes. While Miss Hardbroom often scared the living daylights out of her students and was extremely strict, Mildred knew that there was a lot more to the older witch. She had seen past her frosty exterior on more than one occasion. So why had she never married? There was no denying that HB was very beautiful, especially when she wore her hair out. A smile flitted across Mildred's lips as she remembered how surprised everyone had been on the night of the Halloween celebration. With her hair falling in gentle waves to her waist, HB had looked far less frightening.
Thinking about it, Mildred realised that she already knew the answer. It was the same reason that HB had nearly broken down over seeing the girl's scars, the same reason that she kept an impenetrable wall around her and tried to make her students fear her.
'Mildred?' Mildred snapped out of her musings to see that Constance was standing right next to her, holding a steaming cup out for her to take. Hoping that her form tutor couldn't actually read minds, Mildred took it with a grateful smile and sat down in a chair beside the fire. She took a hesitant sip of the liquid, highly aware that Miss Bat's definition of 'tea' could differ greatly from her own, and was pleasantly surprised. The hot chocolate slid down her throat, warming her from the inside out.
Constance pulled a chair up opposite her student and seated herself gracefully, folding her hands in her lap. She gave Mildred a moment to gather her thoughts before saying, 'so Mildred, what happened? You and I both know that there is something else you didn't tell Miss Cackle. I would like to know exactly what happened'.
Mildred paused. Then she pulled her legs up to her chest and wrapped the blanket more tightly around her, cradling the steaming drink between her cold hands. 'I couldn't sleep. It wasn't the storm really; I just felt that there was something…wrong'. Mildred hesitated, wondering how to continue. 'I looked out my window and I saw her' Mildred gestured at the witch. 'And then I saw the other witches, there were three of them, and they started to attack her. There was a flash of lightning and I recognised Agatha's spectacles, you know the large round ones'.
Constance nodded, frowning slightly, 'so you decided to break the school rules and rush out in a raging gale to rescue a witch you knew nothing about?'
Mildred could feel her defences rising and she blurted out, 'you would have done the same'. Mildred slapped her hand over her mouth, shocked once again that she had dared to speak like that to Miss Hardbroom.
There was a stunned silence. Constance hadn't actually meant to criticise Mildred's actions, but what her student had said shocked her most of all because she knew perfectly well that what she had just said was true. Constance folded her arms across her chest and raised an eyebrow, though she decided not to comment on what Mildred had just said. 'So what is it that you wouldn't tell the others?'
Highly aware that she was treading on dangerous ground, Mildred hastened to continue. 'She told me something before she passed out. She told me that you and I both have to be careful because Agatha Cackle is trying to destroy the school and…' here Mildred hesitated. The last thing she wanted was to shatter her teacher's defences by bringing up her former tutor.
Constance leaned forward slightly, sensing Mildred's concerns. 'Yes Mildred?'
Mildred took a deep breath, realising that she couldn't keep it forever. 'We have to be careful because Agatha is working with Hecketty Broomhead'.
Constance recoiled as if stung, throwing herself back in her chair and gripping the arms tightly as if she could physically get away from what Mildred's words. Mildred watched in despair as her teacher paled alarmingly, her eyes showing the horror she felt as her body began to shake. Why? Constance screamed her frustration and fear in the only place shielded from prying eyes, when will she just leave me alone? She wanted to scream outloud, wanted to deny it, wanted to dematerialise and never return. She wanted to run away from the woman she could never get away from. If only she could out run her fear.
By the time Constance had calmed herself once more, she realised too late that Mildred had already moved to comfort her. The girl was kneeling at her feet and grasping her pale hands in her own, gripping them tightly as if to steady her. Despite the dismay she felt about the fact that she had allowed one of her students to see past her cold exterior twice in less than an hour, Constance couldn't help the slight grateful smile that curved her lips. Mildred's heart was definitely in the right place.
She cleared her throat loudly and said gently, 'was that all Mildred?' she tried to ignore the fact that some part of her was refusing to let go of the girl's hands.
Mildred hesitated, glancing over at the still witch, the last words she had spoken booming once more through her mind. The young witch still didn't know what it was about those words that she found so frightening. Constance felt a tremble run through their connected hands. Constance squeezed Mildred's hands tightly; giving the girl what she hoped was a comforting smile. If it had been Amelia in her position, the headmistress would have embraced the girl and waited until she felt better. But Constance wasn't like the kindly elder witch, and she was still getting used to the strange feeling of actually allowing someone to help her. For now, a smile was all she had to offer.
It was enough. Mildred took a deep breath and said, 'she told me that this was just the beginning'. She paused, realising something that hadn't even crossed her mind up til this point. 'She didn't even tell me her name'.
There was a long heavy silence. Then Constance stood, gently pulling Mildred up and steered her over to the chair by the fire. Mildred picked up her hot chocolate and took a quick gulp, glad to find that it was still warm. Constance flicked her hand at the dying fire. The flames sprang to life again with a roar. 'Mildred, I want to you stay here. Just while I talk to Miss Cackle. I don't think she should be left alone. Could you do that for me?'
Mildred nodded without hesitation. Constance folded her arms over her chest and prepared to transport herself to the staff room when Mildred said, 'why do you think we have to be careful Miss Hardbroom? I mean, I understand why Agatha hates me and why she would want you…out of the way, but I can't see what Broomhead wants with me. I didn't do anything to her'.
Constance sighed. How could she even begin to explain Hecketty Broomhead's motives? 'I don't know Mildred. I assume that Agatha has told her of your heroic feats last year and she sees you as a threat. We won't know until she wakes up'. It wasn't the entire truth, but Constance was unsure whether she wanted to tell Mildred about Mistress Broomhead's obsession with perfection and failure. 'Mildred, whatever is going on, it is safe to say that what the girl said is true. Things won't be the same ever again, no matter how much we wish that nothing will change. Your life could very well be in danger, if I know Mistress Broomhead, and it would be a lie to say that you shouldn't be very careful. No more breaking the rules, no more midnight feasts. If you do as I say and don't do anything foolish, we might get you through this unscathed'.
Mildred swallowed, looking up at Miss Hardbroom fearfully. 'What about you Miss Hardbroom?' Mildred knew that her form teacher was scared; she could see it in her eyes.
Constance shook her head, 'I at least know what I'm dealing with. The academy is unfortunately quite innocent of what is to come'. You don't stand a chance. Constance tried to ignore the voice at the back of her head, though she was unsure whether it was referring to herself or Mildred.
Staring at Mildred, Constance had the overwhelming feeling to say something that would make her young pupil feel better. The only problem was that she wasn't very good at the sort of thing. 'Mildred…no matter what happens over the next few days I want you to trust your instincts. They have proven to be very good in the past. Things are not always as they seem, and you may find yourself facing something that is not necessarily what you think'. She hesitated. 'Follow your heart Mildred, trust what it tells you. Your heart is in the right place. And right now, that's the only advantage you have against Hecketty Broomhead.'.
And with that, Constance vanished.
Constance materialized outside the staff room door. Breathing heavily, she leaned against the wall beside it, resting her head back against its cool surface. Her head was whirling and she could feel her body shaking. She felt like curling up in a ball and hiding from the world and her problems. She felt like screaming her pain to the world, felt like showing every single person within 500 miles that she was not the cold emotionless woman they believed her to be. She wanted to beat her fists against the wall and sob those ugly violent sobs that shook your whole body. She hadn't cried like that since she was first taken under Hecketty's care. If you could call it care. Her vision blurred and she felt something warm and wet trickling down her face. Reaching up a hand, she was shocked to find that tears were flowing freely down her face.
Pull yourself together Constance, a witch does not cry. A witch does not show weakness. You stupid child, how can you expect to excel if you spend all your time grovelling on the floor. Get up!
Constance flinched as a phantom pain seared her skin. She pushed herself away from the wall and wiped her eyes determinedly with the back of her hand. Now was not the time for tears. After making sure that her appearance was presentable, Constance turned and flung the wooden door open.
She ignored the squeak from the corner of the room, and the splutter of tea being choked on, and instead fixed her eyes on the startled headmistress. 'Amelia, we have a crisis on our hands'.
Mildred was angry. She was angrier than she had ever been. The rage had bubbled from inside her the moment Miss Hardbroom had dematerialised, a rage so profound and intense that it was startling. And it was all directed at that the woman who terrified her form mistress. 'What right does she have to come here and destroy the school?' Mildred was pacing back and forth, waves of energy radiating from her tense body. 'What right does Agatha have to attack a witch in the middle of the night? What right does Broomhead have to haunt HB? What right does she have to physically scar a young girl and emotionally ruin a life?'
She wanted to smash something. She was still scared, there was no denying that, but if Agatha or Hecketty had marched into the room at that moment, Mildred felt they would have had a pretty hard time of it. Mildred threw herself down in a chair by the witch's bed and wrenched the bedside table open, scrambling around inside for anything she could vent her anger on. The sheer level of her rage scared her somewhat.
She pulled out a note pad and a pencil. She paused for a moment, considering shredding the paper and snapping the pencil. Then she flipped the note pad open and began to scribble on the white page, letting her wrath out through the flimsy led tip.
A few minutes later, Mildred sat back, reasonably calmer than she had been before. She gazed in some surprise at what she drawn. A tall woman stood among raging black clouds, her arms raised, and hair blacker than night twisting about her body. Her eyes flashed lightning; her mouth was open in a scream of rage, and her dress rippled with wild fire. It was a beautiful drawing, full of power and tension, and for a moment Mildred was almost sure she could see it moving. She touched the face of the Goddess of Elements, smiling slightly, if I could, I would let you loose on them, I'd like to see them try and take you on.
Mildred… Mildred sat bolt upright in her chair, the notepad and pencil slipping from her fingers to fall with a clatter on the stone floor. She stared at the girl in astonishment. She might have only heard the witch speak once, but she had very little doubt that the voice that had just spoken in her mind belonged to her. Still watching the witch, Mildred knelt down beside her. The young witch's beautiful - if bruised - face was just as still as ever. Slowly, wondering if she had imagined the voice, Mildred reached out and touched the pale skin of her forehead.
Mildred didn't even have time to blink. A hand shot up and out, snatching her hand away and gripping it tightly. The witch's eyes snapped open and Mildred saw fear and alarm in them. They remained staring at each other for a moment, neither daring to move. Mildred had the strong feeling that the girl wasn't seeing her at all. And then the witch blinked, vibrant blue eyes clearing as if a veil had been removed from in front of them. She released Mildred's wrist, clearly shocked at her actions. 'God, Mildred, I'm sorry'. Her voice was full of concern, and once again she was struck by the feeling that the girl knew her.
'It's understandable. I mean, the last you probably remember was being attacked by Agatha'. Mildred was rather shaken, but it was not because of what the witch had done. She realised that it had been a reflex action, and the fact that she would immediately think that anyone touching her was trying to hurt her angered Mildred greatly.
The witch, obviously relieved that Mildred wasn't angry with her, said with urgency, 'did you tell her?'
Mildred nodded in assent. She was struggling not to let the anger show on her face. Focusing instead on the rising curiosity inside her, she asked, 'was that you?'
The girl frowned, rolling onto her back slowly so that she could begin to sit up. 'Was what me?' She had a pleasant voice, soft and musical, yet Mildred felt the girl did not laugh often.
'I heard your voice. Up here'. Mildred tapped her temple, wondering if she had actually imagined it.
A strange expression flashed across the girl's face. Fear perhaps? Or guilt? Whatever it was, it vanished just as quickly as it had appeared. The girl nodded slowly, 'yes, it was'.
Her tone was guarded, and Mildred understood that the girl had no desire to tell her how it was possible. Mildred extended her hand suddenly, smiling. 'I'm Mildred Hubble by the way, though you seem to already know that'. She had no wish to push the girl who had obviously been through so much; if she wanted to tell her, then she would, but Mildred would not force her to.
The witch took Mildred's hand in her own and shook it, smiling. 'Hope. Just Hope'.
'Hope', repeated Mildred. She thought of the scars on her back. Looking into her eyes, Mildred could see a strength that had not been there before, a fire that refused to drown. Her name definitely suited her.
So, what do you think? please review to let me know, and as always, criticism is welcome!
