/ I thought this story was going to have only eight chapters in total, but there's going to be one more. Please enjoy this one, and feel free to leave (constructive) feedback. /
Burn, Witch, Burn
"There is no love
without forgiveness,
and there is no forgiveness
without love."
- Bryant H. McGill
Chapter VIII: Enlighten Me, Little Bird
"I'm going completely bald - how in the hell could I allow this to happen? I'm rotting away like a stinking, stranded whale. Just look at me - no man with eyeballs in his skull would even dare to look at me like this. And I'll be glued to a goddamn bed bathing in piss in no time."
An exaggerated sigh echoed from inside the adjacent bathroom.
"At least I'm honest, not sugarcoating anything - you know exactly how it'll go. And in a few weeks I'll be dead."
Another sigh, even more exaggerated than the first one, came from the smaller room, and only a moment later, Myrtle Snow stepped into the larger bedroom where the complaints about health conditions had been coming from. Reproach was written across the redhead's features as she stepped behind the Supreme, ungloved fingers carefully brushing through a bunch of blonde hair. Then, the same hand trailed to rest upon the dying woman's shoulder.
"You're beautiful, Fiona. With or without hair, glued to a bed or not," Myrtle spoke almost soothingly, yet there was a certain hint of determination in her voice. "Furthermore, I don't care if men won't look at you anymore." With a tilt of her head to the right side, Myrtle inspected the other witch closely, her eyes intently scanning her every facial detail. And for a moment there, the flame-haired woman was convinced to have seen a faint smile daring to overtake Fiona Goode's miserable state of misery.
"I will continue to look at you," Myrtle then added after no response came from the unusually self-conscious Supreme, "Because to me, you will always be as beautiful as a fair flower kissed by the mesmerising sun. Like the latest Balenciaga runway look for the spring collection. Beautiful like-"
"Myrtle."
Myrtle was instantaneously silenced by her name spoken by the rough voice that belonged to Fiona Goode.
"Shut up."
The Supreme rolled her eyes far back as she stared at the less powerful (if that still actually applied) witch through the mirror before she proceeded to paint her eyelashes with expensive mascara. It was now the redhead's turn to remain quiet, watching Fiona apply her makeup in what could be compared to a trance. Then, the Guardian of Veracity in the Vernacular grew another smile and she lifted the bunch of blonde hair that she had kept in her hands.
"Hold still," said Myrtle sharply and she carefully placed the high-quality wig atop Fiona's nearly hairless head. Using her fingers to adjust the wig and settle the strands comfortably around the Supreme's prominent features, Myrtle found herself staring and smiling at the reflection in the mirror.
"Let me finish," Fiona ordered and with a simple nod, Myrtle retracted from touching the Supreme's new hair and her skin. "And stop smiling like a retard."
"I beg your pardon, Fiona?"
"You've heard me."
After a successful evening out, the doors of Miss Robichaux's Academy for Exceptional Young Ladies eventually reopened, two women stepping inside more or less quietly. Fiona Goode was holding on to Myrtle's arm for support along with carrying her cane on the other side. It was obvious that the reigning Supreme was inebriated, and surprisingly, even the fiery redhead appeared slightly tipsy that night.
As quietly as possible, Myrtle made an attempt to lead her lifelong nemesis towards the staircase of the building, however, the blonde had other plans. She freed herself from Myrtle with a little force and shot the woman a rather annoyed glance.
From the former head of the Council came a rolling of eyes as a response. Following the Supreme through into the Ancestry room, she shook her head when she saw the drunk woman stumble over to the liquor cabinet. Once again. Yet, Myrtle decided not to interrupt Fiona - instead, she leaned against the doorframe, her eyes on the woman that she had almost died for.
Myrtle Snow, what had been wrong with her? Wanting to die, burn to death, because somebody supposedly wasn't part of her life any longer? What had got into her that she truthfully had feelings for someone like Fiona Goode?
The redhead sighed, and her eyelids were about to close, rest for just a moment, when she heard a thud and glass shattering. Instantaneously widening her eyes again, Myrtle gasped in shock at the sight of the Supreme on the floor.
"Fiona!"
Rushing over to the woman on the parquet, Myrtle knelt beside her, hands moving to take hold of Fiona, hold her tightly.
"Fiona? Fiona, are you okay?" There was immediate fear striking Myrtle - that very same stinging feeling hitting her chest like it had when Cordelia had first revealed whose blood the Axeman was covered in before the witches killed him.
'This blood is my mother's.'
The feeling stung. It hurt. It pained Myrtle more than what she would have liked - but what could she do? There was a chance that the woman she loved was about to pass away, actually pass away. Perhaps she was exaggerating, maybe her fears were irrational. Oh, what did Fiona do to her? Myrtle Snow had been an expert at keeping her composure for the most of her life, even with Fiona around usually, but all of a sudden, irrational feelings seemed to have taken up a great space within her mind.
"Are you deaf, Myrt? Would you help me up now?"
Blinking a few times, Myrtle noticed that the Supreme had regained consciousness, and she only nodded rapidly. Was she so lost in thought? Internally shaking her head at herself, Myrtle Snow moved to help Fiona back to her feet and over to the chaise longue. Carefully, she lifted the Supreme's legs up after removing her shoes, assisting her to lie down properly. To relax, regain the energy that she would need to walk up the stairs without tumbling.
"What happened?"
"I must have fainted," Fiona said lowly, "Shit, am I really too weak to get myself a drink on my own now? Let go of me. Get me a drink, goddammit, I need to numb the pain."
Myrtle swallowed back a bunch of tears that attempted to fall from her eyelids. Was she so close to tears simply because Fiona had fainted? Was she so close to tears because she was frightened of what was going to happen to Fiona sooner or later? Was she so close to tears because Fiona was still treating her like she wasn't worth shit?
"Fiona, I really don't think this is a good-"
"What's going on here?"
The flame-haired witch was silenced, but it had not been Fiona's voice to do so. It was Cordelia. Turning her head to look at the entrance to the Ancestry room, Myrtle spotted the headmistress standing in the doorway with arms crossed, eyeing the two women sternly.
"Delia, my little bird, we just got back home, and Fiona-"
"I don't care, Myrtle."
Once more, Myrtle was silenced by the likes of Cordelia Goode. The youngest of the three witches stepped further into the room, getting a better view of the broken glass and whiskey on the floor as well as her mother and the Guardian of Truth.
"I don't care where you've been and I don't care how drunk both of you have got, but I do care that you make noise like a bomb's struck the house and wake up all of my students for nothing. Myrtle, I expected a little more respect of you. Now, be quiet, for heaven's sake, I'm going back to sleep."
Cordelia turned away from the women again, approaching the door to leave the room and go back into her bedroom. For a moment there, the Ancestry room was drowning in silence, unbearable silence, but then, Myrtle stepped away from the chaise longue, catching a glimpse of Fiona rolling her reddened eyes at her daughter's outburst. Then, the redhead forcefully rested her hands upon her hips.
"What is your godforsaken problem, Cordelia?"
"You're making too much noise."
The older witch was tipsy, enough to fall out of her usual role of being well-composed, calm, considerate.
"Stop making excuses, Delia. Tell me what your real problem is."
The blonde headmistress did not seem to listen. She continued to walk without showing any reaction towards Myrtle's words.
"Just let her go, Myrt - she doesn't know shit." Fiona's voice was low, dry, and hard to understand. But Myrtle did not listen. Shaking her head at the Supreme, and before either of the witches could speak another word, the redhead gazed at Cordelia's back and merely a split second later, she stopped walking, turned around, faced Myrtle, stared her straight in the eye and walked back into the room, coming to stand a few feet from the redhead.
"Myrtle," Cordelia eventually said, "Let me go."
"No, Delia. I want to hear the truth. Right now."
"My, my, Myrt's finally learning how to be a proper witch bitch," Fiona's voice echoed shallowly through the air.
"You want the truth? Do you really not have the slightest clue?"
"Enlighten me, little bird."
"Can you imagine how this feels? Myrtle, you burnt at the stake once, nearly twice, and I was the one to sentence you the second time, and there was nothing in this world I would have hated to do more than that. Then suddenly, my bitch of a mother thinks it's necessary to come back right then when I was already so close to a mental breakdown because I could hardly bear to lose the one person who has been there for me my entire life."
Myrtle's lips were parted lightly, almost as if she was planning to speak, but no words came out.
"Then I find out that you and my mother apparently have a thing going on."
"Delia, is it because we're two women? Because there's nothing to-"
"No, Myrtle. I don't care if you're straight or gay or whatever label there is, but I care that two women who both had the greatest influence on me throughout the years, both negative and positive, who had been at war with one another since forever, suddenly decide to bond and fall in love with each other. You hate Fiona, Myrtle. You were my greatest supporter all my life, and now you've sided with the one who's ruined me? Who's ruined us both? Who's ruined this coven?"
Slowly, the redheaded woman began to understand. Wordless, Myrtle lowered her head lightly, her expression now one of concern. For a moment, she pondered Cordelia's previous words. Fiona, in the meantime, seemed to be fighting with a headache rather than listening to the two women talk, and she had ripped off the blonde wig from her head, holding it clenched tightly between her fingers as it dangled beside the chaise longue.
"You're right, Fiona has been a terrible Supreme, she's been a terrible mother to you and she's been a bitch to me all my life, but none of this can change that ... that there's something between us."
"You both are driving me insane. You're unbelievable, both of you. And I'm disappointed in you, Myrtle. You were my mother, not Fiona, and now it feels like everything comes crumbling down on me," Delia explained, teeth clenched a little too much. "Forty years and all my life, I've seen you two fight each other. I expected a lot of bullshit from Fiona, but not from you. I feel ... betrayed."
"You should be happy for us, Delia. I'm sorry for the incident with my second death sentence, but you need to be stronger than that. Besides, the coven is safe, we're at peace, and your mother has somebody to take care of her for the last weeks of her life."
"You're just as heartless as me, Delia," the Supreme slurred.
"Heartless?" Cordelia had raised her voice into what was close to shouting. "You dare to call me heartless, Fiona? You have no soul. You killed Anna Leigh Leighton and Madison, and you possibly killed Nan as well. All you ever cared about was yourself! And Myrtle, I really wish I could understand you, but I can't and won't. I thought you had been there for me, and now you do this to me."
"I'm not doing anything to you, Delia. I understand that you're angry, but I don't care any less about you because of this. Yes, I do have feelings for Fiona, and trust me, I've hated myself for feeling this way for so long, but people can ch-"
"What? What do you mean, for so long? How long?"
"Ever since ... we were students here together. Do you think I wanted to feel this? Do you think I wanted to have feelings for somebody who treated me like Fiona has? Things had changed when she kissed me. When I realised that she felt the same. When I realised that in this very twisted sense, she had always been there to fuel my passion, to keep me going. That I needed her."
Now it was the headmistress to part her lips and close them again right away, unsure of what to say. Meanwhile, Fiona had sat upright, and she seemed to have listened as closely as she could to the redhead's words.
"Cordelia ... Myrt hasn't done anything wrong. Don't you realise? Goddamn, I thought you had at least a bit of brains in that head of yours. Despite her feelings for me, she's always been on your side. She's always supported you, and she still does - it was me who wooed her. I kissed her. I confused her. Don't be angry with Myrtle, be angry with me instead, like you always are, Delia dear." The Supreme did not notice the look that the Guardian of Veracity in the Vernacular was giving her. A look of - surprise? But Fiona was too busy focusing only on her daughter, and not letting her headache take over. "And if you please, even if you hate me, allow your mother to die in peace, do me that favour. You owe me one for giving birth to you."
There was a long silence. None of the three witches dared to speak first, especially because none of them seemed to be certain about what to say. What the right thing would be to say. If there was anything. It took a whole minute at least until one woman spoke up.
It was Cordelia.
"It'll take me a while," the witch with the gift of second sight began, her tone dramatically changed from fury to what sounded like understanding, "To get used to this. Just don't come to me asking to be burnt at the stake ever again, Myrtle."