/ Second chapter right here - writer is in a writing fever at the moment. Our dear Myrtle is a little sad here, but you know, even a flaming fashionista can be sad sometimes. Please enjoy and as always, please feel free to leave (constructive) feedback. /

Burn, Witch, Burn

"I should have no compassion on these witches.
I should burn them all."
- Martin Luther

Chapter II: You Want to Be Burnt at the Stake?

The coven was safe, after all. The Seven Wonders had been performed by no other than Cordelia Foxx herself, the one true successor to their previous Supreme. The loss of Madison Montgomery and Misty Day was tragic, yet this collateral damage was what was needed to secure the coven's future.

For now, it was all going well – society seemed to grow more and more accepting of the witches among them, the coven seemed to regain its strength that once was lost at the hands of Fiona Goode. More and more young women were contacting the new Supreme, Cordelia, requesting to seek refuge in Miss Robichaux's Academy for Exceptional Young Ladies.

It was all going well, and yet, one Myrtle Snow found herself drawn to a rather unpopular idea.

It had been a while now since Fiona's death, and it seemed that everyone was dealing perfectly with the more or less dramatic loss. Maybe not everyone. Myrtle had been sat at the piano in the Ancestry room for hours this morning, replaying melancholic symphonies by Franz Schubert over and over. It was the redhead's way of handling the pain that she still felt. It was her way of coping with bereavement.

Only a trained eye would have recognised and understood that what Myrtle Snow was doing was an outward expression of her sadness. It was an opportunity to overthink and ponder the possibilities, the available options. Either way, her decision was made. The flame-haired witch had been reflecting on what to do since the minute she had gone to bed the night before.

Once Schubert's symphony had ended yet again, Myrtle eventually lifted her gloved fingers from the ebony and ivory keys, her shape rising from the piano bench as she silently moved across the Ancestry room. Zoe and Queenie had been listening to the depressing music the whole time, rolling their eyes in annoyance every time that the redheaded witch's fingers began to play the same song yet again. Now, they let out a sigh of relief simultaneously, their eyes on Myrtle, who made her way out the room without another word, without paying attention to the two girls just once.

Heading up the stairs with elegant movements, the former head of the Witches' Council made her way to the office that now belonged to Cordelia. Opening the door without knocking, Myrtle found her dear little bird attaching pins to a map of the United States – she smiled faintly at the sight before she finally spoke up.

"I'm so proud of you."

Cordelia turned her head to gaze over at her elder, giving her a satisfied smile. It was true, Cordelia was happy, she was proud of what the remaining witches of the coven had achieved in such a short span of time. Most certainly, the coven was on its way back to its old glory.

"We need to discuss the council. We never had young witches on the council, and Queenie and Zoe deserve an elevated role here at the school to set them apart. What do you think?" There were still matters to be spoken about, and completely oblivious as to why Myrtle Snow had really come into her office, Cordelia presented her – very plausible – idea to the woman who had always been there for her, through good times and through bad, the woman who had always backed her up and supported her. That was exactly why the new Supreme needed advice from her Aunt Myrtle, and that was what the blonde was about to get.

"I would start by telling them that being an authority figure requires you to make hard, unpopular decisions for the greater good."

It began. Myrtle Snow was now proposing her thoughts on the whole matter and nothing could change her mind. She was too heartbroken. This entire situation was too much for Myrtle – not many things ever had such an enormous effect on the redhead. This one time, she was determined.

"They've matured so much, I think they can handle it." Cordelia smiled to herself as she spoke, now fiddling with the folders on her desk.

"I was talking about you." Myrtle's expression was cold, stern, only a hint of a smile displaying the pride that the ginger held within herself. A simple way of downplaying what she truly felt, of what she mastered to repress so expertly each and every single day – Myrtle could not allow the agony of losing Fiona Goode take over, not at this very moment. She had to remain stable, firm in her ways and steady in her decision. There would be enough time to mourn and let the tears flow freely once she was on her own again.

"Me?"

"You have every chance to be the greatest Supreme this coven has ever seen-"

"Stop." The younger witch's voice cut off Myrtle mid-sentence. There was a hint of somewhat embarrassment, perhaps fear that this conversation was leading in a hard, unpopular direction.

It was anything but easy for Myrtle Snow, but living like this was even worse. It wasn't the guilt of having murdered Pemby and Quentin that made her do what she was doing, that made her say the things she was saying. This was, technically, only an artificial yet plausible explanation for what Myrtle wanted – for what she needed.

"Delia. I have something to say. And your tasteful modesty is out of fashion, so knock it off. Thanks to you, we're entering a new era." With that, Myrtle now approached the headmistress slowly, her expression now a little more cheerful – which seemed more than ironic at this point. "You planted the seeds, but in order to reap their harvest, you have to clear the rot of the past."

"Myrtle, you know I love your metaphors, but I have no idea what you're talking about—"

"Me. I'm talking about me. We all know what happens to a witch who grievously harms another witch." The words were spoken with such ease, dryly, as if it didn't affect the redheaded woman in the first place.

"I hope you're not suggesting-"

"I'm not suggesting. I'm insisting."

"You want to be burnt at the stake? Again?" There was shock written across Cordelia's face as she spoke, eventually naming what Myrtle had been on about the entire time. Was this reality? Was Cordelia's greatest supporter, her biggest help really asking to be burnt at the stake for the second time?

Myrtle had no other choice – the pain was unbearable. The Guardian of Veracity in the Vernacular had tried, she had really tried to get on with her life and manage her emotions. Simply – cope.

Ever since Fiona Goode was dead, something had changed drastically for Myrtle. The satisfaction she felt whenever the two witches carried out an argument, the enchanting tension between them when they taught one another a lesson or two, the underlying charm when they fought a battle of words and who knew the more sophisticated insults – it was all gone.

Four decades of bone-deep hatred for one another were over, four decades of always being there for the other in their times of need, even in such a very twisted way, seemed to be completely worthless now.

"Want has nothing to do with it."

Everything seemed worthless to Myrtle Snow. She never expected her nemesis to ever be a part as essential as this to her life. With Fiona's passing, something deep inside Myrtle had died as well, and the pain was eating her alive. Never would she show it. She was far too sophisticated, far too reserved, and far too proud to do such – giving away anything would be way beneath her dignity.

"At the start of your glorious reign, the last thing you need is an Abscam or Watergate. I killed, and I must pay for it. Now, before word leaks and you are tainted by my hubris and actions, however deserved—"

"Myrtle. Stop talking." Cordelia shook her head lightly at the other woman's delusional words. She was becoming delusional, was she not? "I didn't hear this … I didn't."

Smiling reassuringly at the Supreme now, the redhead had yet to convince her to agree to her request – her instruction. After a moment of silence, Myrtle decided to speak up once more. She had to do this. She needed to pay for her mistakes and most importantly, she needed this unbearable agony to stop tormenting her, once and for all.

"Listen to me, child." Myrtle wanted nothing more than to know that Cordelia was doing fine, that she was happy, that she was going to be a marvellous Supreme to this coven. Her reign began with a very hard topic – Myrtle had it planned. The Guardian of Truth would be released and Cordelia would grow perfectly into her new, responsible role. It was only beneficial for them both. "Now that you're in charge, my life's work is fulfilled." There was not a hint of a lie behind Myrtle's words – her life's work was fulfilled, eventually. "I've made many painful mistakes in my life. I want my death to have some meaning", she continued.

"No! No way!" Cordelia was indignant about this. How could she ever allow this to happen? How could she allow this woman to burn at the stake and leave her alone? The Supreme's lips were trembling lightly as she eyed the older woman through her chocolate brown eyes, tears slowly swelling in her dark orbs.

"You were my mother, my true mother, just as you promised you would be, and I can't do this without you."

"Stiff upper lip, my dear. Everything you do or say ripples through the entire coven. You cannot be a hypocrite", Myrtle finally argued, that same reassuring smile still lingering on her nude lips, "I won't stand for it."

With that, it seemed Cordelia had given in to the flame-haired witch at last. The tears came flowing down the blonde's cheeks. Myrtle herself simply stood and watched her little bird shed tears for her. The redhead could imagine how hurtful this was going to be for the Supreme, and yet, it was for the best. For the coven – and to ease the pain.

There was a silence between the two witches now, merely the sound of quiet sobs echoing through the room. A sigh soon left Myrtle's lips.

"It's what I deserve, Delia. Don't make a fuss about it. Life goes on." On the inside, the redheaded witch was breaking apart seeing her beloved Cordelia like this. This was Myrtle's fault. However, she knew just as well that the Supreme would overcome her sadness and live life happily in the end. How could Myrtle be so sure? The truth is, she wasn't sure at all, but she was sure about one other thing – Cordelia was undoubtedly as strong as Fiona Goode. She would survive.

Without another word passing through her lips, Myrtle Snow nodded her head once in a manner as if saying her silent goodbyes already and she turned on her heels and left Cordelia's office.

Once back in her assigned bedroom, Myrtle leaned against the wooden door and closed her eyes. There was no way she could stop her own tears from falling anymore. The redhead carefully took off her glasses and put them into her coat's pocket before she slowly slid down the massive door until her behind gently landed on the parquet flooring. Pulling her legs close and wrapping her arms around her knees, she buried her face in her arms, allowing herself to cry.

Her fate was sealed.

"Fiona, you stupid bitch … Why did you have to leave me?"

Not long and Myrtle Snow would pay for her committed crimes. She would be released from her heartbreak. She would be burning for something that probably wasn't even real. What had there been between the Balenciaga lover and the former Supreme? Had there been more behind the surface of their mutual hatred? After all, there was a very fine line between hate and love. Was that it? A very twisted kind of love?

Myrtle Snow hardly knew answers to all these questions, but she did know one other thing – she could not live without Fiona Goode.