NOTE: Contains mature content. Discretion is advised.

"Ett rött äpple." Britta held up a bright red apple, ripe and fresh from the supermarket—luckily Cordelia had bought apples, even if it were from some old Swedish love spell from days long past.

"Tre droppar blod från den tredje siffran." Clara, Amy and Cordelia had only caught the word 'blod', knowing exactly what she meant when the Swede held up her left hand with her ring finger extended, a small needle in the other hand.

"En flammande röd eld i kitteln går."

By pointing her finger and flicking her wrist lightly forward toward the potion pot belonging to Cordelia, a flame was made to dance by the century-old woman. It was far from being a normal color, literally what Britta had dictated in Swedish—a flaming red fire. Not even with hints of yellow or orange like a normal flame—it was bright crimson. The sisters looked down and jumped as soon as it blazed up into the air, and Amy fixed her intensely blue eyes on her great-grandmother as she held her hands outward.

"Kom närmare," she had commanded gently, making a come-here motion with each hand. "Denna förtrollning kommer att börja."

The sisters and their adopted mother did as directed; they did not understand a word of what she was saying, but the body language helped a lot. Britta had previously claimed that it wouldn't be proper for her to speak English performing a spell that a non-English-speaking ancestor developed. However, this concept annoyed Amy to tears, especially since she was completely oblivious to the meanings of the words. When Britta took the ripe, red apple from the table, she extended it to Clara with a sharpened, double-edged knife.

"Britta," Clara whispered, her eyes trying to look for answers in her facial expression and non-verbal cues as to what to do. Britta had taken Clara's hands and positioned the edge of the blade halfway on the skin of the apple as she guided the young witch to do as the spell called for.

"Skär i vägen för stjärnan," the century-old Swede instructed.

Even though Clara could not understand the words, the way her hands were guided by Britta indicated exactly what she was telling her to do. Setting it sideways on the table, the young, raven-haired witch sliced through it in two moves. As Clara opened it, it was exactly as her great-grandmother instructed—it was cut in the direction of the star, as a sand dollar-like star had been naturally seen in the core. Britta then extended the needle, but Clara winded slightly at the glowing, thin bit of silver-toned metal.

"Tre droppar," Britta stated.

"Where will the blood go?" Clara asked.

"Här," Britta directed, pointing right at the star within the core of the apple.

Suddenly, Clara felt the Swede take her hand and squeeze the tip of her left ring finger, puncturing the tip roughly enough for her great-granddaughter to feel it and wince through gritted teeth. Once a substantial amount of blood came to the surface, Britta made sure three drops went into the holes where seeds rested in the star before closing the apple back and extending it to Amy, who looked at the Swede strangely.

"In i elden det går," the young woman's great-grandmother whispered, gesturing what looked to be throwing.

"Can't you just speak English?" Amy questioned. "I do not understand what you're saying."

"Amy," Cordelia interrupted. "Please be quiet. I think she wants you to throw it in the fire."

"Oh, okay then," the young witch said, concentrating on the desired results of the centuries-old love spell as she tossed the bewitched apple into the fire, watching it blaze up before Britta called the other three witches by holding out her hands in such a way that it signified that she wanted them held—Clara and Cordelia held each one of her small hands, but it was Amy who completed their circle. It was Britta who began the strange, alien-sounding chant as her two great-granddaughters and their adopted mother concentrated on their ultimate goal:

"Två hjärtan kommer att slå som en,

Genom kraften i vår vilja , att denna förtrollning spunnet…"

Violet had been wandering the hall of the house's second story until she came upon the faint glow of the moon shining in from the window at the end of the hallway. Moving closer to it, she looked up to see its silver face illuminating her line of vision. She leaned comfortably on the windowsill and sighed, looking up at the moon peacefully until a voice caught her attention.

"Violet?"

At a glance, she turned around and saw an extremely familiar figure, a teenaged boy wearing a black dress shirt open over a white t-shirt, blue jeans, and plain black Converse. His brassy blond hair was shaggy, and his dark, chocolate-colored eyes looked at her sadly as Violet pursed her lips inward with apprehension.

"What do you want, Tate?" she asked coldly.

"I wanted to see you," the other ghost replied, his handsome face full of remorseful misery.

"Go away," she ordered, glancing back up at the moon with her clear, honey-brown eyes.

"Wait," Tate said, holding out his hand and taking a step closer. "Violet, I—"

"Why are you here?" the girl asked hoarsely, her soft features facing his direction one more time as he took a few steps closer. "I told you I never wanted to see you again."

"But…I…thought you weren't afraid of anything," he muttered sadly, their eyes meeting.

"I'm not, but I could never forgive what you did!" the girl shouted. "You raped my mother, you killed people. Innocent people! Kids!"

"I was different then, Violet!" Tate cried, his eyes flooding with tears at the corners before beginning to fall down his cheeks. "I am a good person deep down. I've changed, Violet. Don't you see?"

"And what about Clara and Amy? You know, the new girls who live here? Have you raped them, too?" the girl sneered, tears forming in her eyes.

"No! I would never!" denied Tate. "They're my friends!" He sniffled sadly, looking down at her. "Violet, they're your friends, too."

"To be exact, Amy is my friend," Violet said. "Before her, there was Leah but even she wasn't a friend to me. I was alone. I still feel alone, and I'm…I'm—"

"You're not happy, Violet," Tate contradicted, wiping away his tears. "You're very sad. You feel unloved. I…I still love you, Violet."

"No, you don't," the girl said, her porcelain doll-like face looking away from him. "If you did, you wouldn't have done such terrible things."

Tate paused for a moment, looking straight down into her doe-like, honey-brown eyes to try and convince her to share his feelings once more. It had burned him so much when she told him to go away all those years ago, but now, he wanted her—no, needed her back.

"We always hurt the ones we care about most," he said softly, tilting her chin up so she could meet him at eve level, "because we expect them to love and forgive us no matter what."

"Tate, I—"

That was the moment he crashed his lips hungrily on Violet's, feeling her aptly return the kiss as he held her close to him. Her small frame felt like heaven in his arms, a sensation he missed dearly as his breathing grew heavier and more lustful, feeling her pull back slightly to look up into his eyes—the look in hers went from contempt to hopeful joy.

"Violet, I love you," he said lovingly. "I want you to be mine again."

"But Tate—"

"I promise you, from the bottom of my heart," he continued, cutting her off. "I will do anything for you. Anything. I stopped killing a long time ago, but I will never do anything to hurt you again. I promise."

It felt like the pain was being sent below, and for the first time in forever, Violet actually felt something. It was no longer that numbing feeling she had gotten when she died from the overdose of sleeping pills; no longer that sadness she had suffered through in life; no longer the hatred she had for Tate after learning about what he did—it was a sense of renewal, the rebirth of tender feelings blossoming beyond her control. She slowly put her palm to his cheek, and he gasped so quietly that it was more like his eyes widening in surprise.

"I…love you, Tate," she sighed. "D-Do you really mean all that?"

"I do," he said. "I love you, Violet."

He leaned in to graze his lips against hers, feeling his heart pounding against his ribcage as she held her tightly to him. On her end of the kiss, Violet began to feel her body heating up as she felt his tongue probe her lips, begging for entrance as she let him in. She let out a soft moan, holding him close and even letting out a gasp as he held her legs and wrapped them around him, taking her to the nearest bedroom—Amy's.

He laid her down on the bed, pulling off his shirt before working the beige cardigan off Violet's body, tossing it aside before gently teasing the side of her neck with kisses. As the tips of her short nails gave his back several sensual tickles, Tate had remembered where her sweet spot was, repeatedly licking and sucking it to the point where Violet became aroused and tingly in every area of her body.

"Tate…" she sighed.

"Violet," he answered. "Are you okay?"

"Y-Yeah," she answered.

His hands found the bottom of her undershirt, pulling it off to find that she was bare-breasted, their average size cupped in his hands as he reached down to remove each article of clothing with such fervor he couldn't contain himself. Tate felt his bulge grow so big it caused discomfort in his pants, but he continued to toss aside any garments Violet had been wearing—her jeans were unzipped and tossed off the bed, her shoes were tapped off, her socks were gently pulled off so Tate could greet her ankles with teasing kisses, but her panties were kept on—it didn't take an idiot to notice that she had already gotten wet. She was soaked through, but Tate did not pay it any physical attention until his clothes were completely off.

"Hm…I remember when you were a virgin," he whispered nostalgically. "I remember feeling you for the first time."

At that moment, he gently pressed his fingers to the saturated crotch of Violet's panties, causing her to gasp as she felt the sensations.

"Tate!" she exclaimed breathily. "Tate….oh Tate…"

After a few moments of teasing stimulation over the thin fabric, he held onto their waistband resting at the hips and pulled it all the way down, tossing it aside as direct contact between his fingertips and the slick, glistening folds of her femininity took place. Violet tossed her head back when she felt his fingers coaxing the juices from her entrance, spreading it all over her lips as he made his way up toward the little nub of flesh that pleased her most.

"Tate! Tate…oh Tate…oh yes…" she panted, biting her lower lip as she bucked her hips. "I forgive you…I forgive you…Tate…"

"Oh, Violet," he panted, nipping at her neck gently. "I can't take it anymore…I need you so bad…please…"

Tate took his fingers away from her pink, silken flesh and replaced it with the tip of his spear of flesh, rubbing the tip teasingly against her entrance. As he felt the heat on himself, he plunged in as far as he could and drowned, stretching her walls in the process. Violet simply gasped upon feeling his member enter her, and she looked up at him before he hungrily claimed her lips in a passionate, fiery kiss.

"Violet," he muttered, beginning to thrust slowly. "Oh yes…"

"Tate, I love you," she whimpered softly, her hands on either side of his face. "I love you…please don't stop…"

"Never," he replied.

He picked up the pace, his palms cupping her buttocks beneath her as she bucked her hips toward Tate, wanting more and more of his love, the pleasure, and the bliss of renewed feelings. Tate seized the opportunity to tease her neck with kisses as she tossed her head back for an umpteenth time, increasing his speed and depth with each thrust.

"Ah! T-Tate?" she asked, moaning in pure bliss. "Faster…please…"

He accelerated the rate of his thrusts, plunging in and out of her liquid heat as fast as she begged for it. Tate lost control, losing himself and the remainder of his sanity in the moment as his hands squeezed her buttcheeks, thrusting so deep and so hard that the headboard bumped against the wall.

"TATE! I'm close!" she squealed, clawing his back roughly as he picked up the pace.

"Me, too! Oh…Violet!"

He was a gentleman, letting her finish before him before unloading his white hot eruption inside her, pumping twice to get it all out of him. Violet was breathless, and their eyes met—pulling out, Tate caressed her china doll face and kissed the tip of her nose.

"I love you, Violet," he whispered.

Meanwhile, the four witches were still downstairs concentrating on the centuries-old love spell taught to Britta by a medieval ancestor. The fire had still burned crimson in the pot, and Britta had still been chanting as her great-granddaughters and Cordelia lent their concentration to the culmination of the spell, during which the fire suddenly turned white. Amy and Clara gasped at the sudden chromatic change, seeing the white glow in the flickering flames and looking over to see that Cordelia fainted cold on the floor.

"Cordelia?" Amy asked, looking over in shock before hearing another thud.

THUD!

Clara had also fainted from performing the spell. Within moments, Amy felt herself become lightheaded, overwhelmed by a strange force as she collapsed to her knees, her eyes suddenly closing to the sight of the white flames burning inside the hollow of the pot. At this point, Britta was the last one standing and fully conscious, walking toward each of the witches and bringing their wrists up to check their pulses—they were all clearly alive, but unconscious. Looking at the remainder of the white flame, Britta swept her hand to the side to quell its intensity into non-existence, looking over at the fruit bowl after something familiar caught her eye—an apple glowing gold.

Taking the apple and biting from it, she felt rejuvenated as its sweet juice rested upon her pink lips. Her hair began to glisten in its golden blonde shade, and every bite she took of the apple, she felt herself becoming refreshed as the blossom of youth seemed to spring into life once more. Once she was finished, she put the core next to the ashes of the apple burned inside the pot and looked to see that her hair was glistening. Then she looked at her great-granddaughters, seeing if they would stir—Clara had opened her eyes slowly, picking her head up from the floor and rubbing the back of it where it had hurt.

"Britta?" she asked. "Are you still here?"

"Ja," the century-old woman said.

"What happened?" Clara questioned, coming to her knees slowly. Britta's gleaming, auriferous sun-colored hair was still shining as she adjusted it to fall over one shoulder over the top of her black dress.

"It worked," the Swede stated.

A/N:

Are you guys happy you saw some Violate? I love their ship so much, I would never mess with any ships including Evan x Taissa.

Britta speaks a lot of Swedish in this chapter, mainly because her aforementioned ancestor taught it to her in the same fashion while she was dead and on the Other Side. Here are some translations if you are confused:

Ett rött äpple – "a red apple"

Tre droppar blod från den tredje siffran – "three drops of blood from the left ring finger"

En flammande röd eld i kitteln går – "…and a red flame in the cauldron go."

Kom närmare. Denna förtrollning kommer att börja. – "Come closer, then the spell will begin."

Skär i vägen för stjärnan – "Cut in the way of the star" (literally, this means to cut the apple in half horizontally because there is a star-shape formed at this part of the core).

Then there's the incantation: "Två hjärtan kommer att slå som en/ Genom kraften i vår vilja , att denna förtrollning spunnet." This translates to: "Two hearts will beat as one/ Through the power of our will, this spell is spun."

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