A/N: I SAW WICKED IT WAS AWESOME YAY! Alright, well that's why I wasn't updating yesterday. So here I am. Again.
Shadowfang14: I … I yeah. I wonder. That's the right question. *grins*
Onward. *WARNING: GRAPHIC SCENE INCLUDED HERE. IT'S NOT HORRIBLE HORRIBLE BUT IT'S NOT NICE EITHER. YOU'VE BEEN WARNED.*
Beatrice's POV:
She sat frozen in the chair, not quite sure what to think. Her feelings had suddenly run away and were not coming back. Everything was slipping away, and the Woodsman was right in so many ways she demanded to ask why he had to be so honest. A large gap was sitting there, where her feelings seemed to have fallen. It was quite a feeling; her whole body seemed to be shaking with it. There was a clearing of a throat from across her, and she looked up to see the Woodsman standing with a sad look on his face, watching her.
"I understand that this is, er, quite a lot to take in, perhaps." He was shuffling his hands and feet around, as if he was scared to talk about it with her.
"It…it is okay." She tried to nod, but couldn't move her head in the right way.
"If you would like to know, we tried this on Abraham, but perhaps for Wirt, it would …work. Better than it did." A bottle came out of his jacket pocket, and with a swift hand, he handed it to her, as if desperate to get rid of it. Perhaps it was dangerous. She did not know; but took the bottle gently, observing the yellow-green liquid inside.
"What is this?"
"The last of the reverse remedy made up for us by a certain witch you may have known very well…" The man sounded resigned, "Yes, Adelaide of the Pasture. She did a few good things in her life, but this was one of which didn't … it did not work on Abraham. Perhaps because we got to him too slowly, but we did not know she was able to help him in time. The boy is better off than he was."
Beatrice felt a minor bit of hope surge through her, and stood to face the Woodsman. He gave a sad smile, as if hoping her the best. Perhaps he was. Despite his rough character, she believed he had feelings as he'd shown. Perhaps, like her, he hid them, so no one ever saw how he was. It occurred to Beatrice as she walked to the door with him that he hadn't said anything completely against their decision to come to him yet. Maybe he hoped to be rid of the Beast as well.
"Does he drink this?" She motioned toward the bottle that was held daintily in her other hand.
"Yes. He will, the Beast may…rebel against it…It is primarily the boy's fight then. Whether he gives in or does not, it will determine if he becomes the Beast entirely. Use it wisely. Be careful, and do not watch if you wish to not see him in pain. It is an ugly process, the getting rid of the evil spirit type of thing. It can destroy a man, or it can make him whole again. It is only for the strong. You had better believe he is strong."
She gave a sort of sly smile, "I believe he is strong."
As she walked out the door, Beatrice could have sworn she heard him mutter under his breath after this, "So did Anna" and yet when she turned back to say goodbye, he had shut the door and was gone. Lorna looked up from her position on the steps with Greg, who was silent. The red-head nodded at the other girl, and looked up to see Wirt at the edge of the forest. He had his eyes trained on her. The bottle was still in her hand, seemingly getting warmer as she held it. Taking a breath, she moved her head to let Lorna know to follow her, and moved down the steps, almost gliding, eyes stuck on Wirt's face.
The boy was awfully handsome, whether he saw it or not. It seemed ornate, almost, his facial features combining with the roots growing from his head. Beatrice would have never admitted it-she also admitted this was horribly cliché as well-but he was the exact definition of almost perfection. It was a magical thing, time, and what it could do to a human. Even if Wirt was turning less human as time went on. She did her best not to think about that, and upon reaching him, found he was staring at her as well. His eyes relayed no emotion, as white and colorless as ever, but his face spoke of something more tender. The boy inside of him had turned into a man, Beatrice was sure of it, as he had traveled here. He was strong.
"Wirt, I have something that I believe will help you, but…I don't know if it will work…and we have to do it someplace else. In the woods." She said it in the most commanding, gentle voice she could manage.
"What do I have to do?" Despite the trusting look on his face, he looked scared.
"Drink this. But it's okay, you're going to be fine."
She hated lying to him, after she had showed him the bottle; she turned to Lorna and Greg.
"Greg, you have to stay here with Lorna. We'll be back." She told him, and ignored the frown on his face, turning to Lorna, "I don't know how long we'll be gone, so seek shelter with the Woodsman. He's fine once you get him talking."
Lorna gave a tight lipped smile and took Greg by the hand, turning him back around. Beatrice took Wirt's arm, but he took the hand and let it slide down into his other one, tightening the grip. He felt root-like, but she ignored that. It was comforting, as they walked side by side into the darkness of the forest area. There had to be a clearing somewhere around here, where the Woodsman cut down his trees constantly perhaps. Somewhere no one in the house or the mill would hear the pain Wirt was surely going to feel. She had screams echoing in her mind already, and her nerves were bustling around like jumping beans.
A clearing suddenly appeared, as they often did, in this forest. Beatrice found it odd all the time, even though she had been there for so long, and was startled once more. She led Wirt to the center of it, handed him the vial, and looked up into his eyes. What was there to say?
"I'll be over there…It won't be painless, Wirt. You have to understand this. Fight it off, for everyone. For Greg, for Lorna, for me, for us, Wirt, for us. Please."
"I…" He gave a small cough and nodded, releasing her hand.
Once she had backed up into the trees, just on the edge of the wide open space, she watched him. He was staring back at her nervously, but took the glass container and suddenly swallowed it all. For a few seconds, she watched, feeling her breath hit the back of her throat with a pounding force, and tried not to let any tears come out of her eyes. He was just standing there with a look on his face like he'd swallowed bees. Beatrice never forgot what happened next, despite as much as she might have wanted to.
One minute Wirt was standing there, swaying a bit. The next he was on the ground, writhing in pain. Screaming in less than another minute, and Beatrice had to grip a tree to not move toward him. Whatever happened, she had this instinctive knowledge that she could not go near him while the potion was still working, taking its effect. She didn't know much about it, after not having been given much detail by the Woodsman, but knew it was something awful as he did not want to go into much detail, that much was obvious. The screaming that had echoed in her mind was now real screams.
It was worse than she really thought was possible. Wirt lay on the ground, twisting and turning and screaming, and the roots on his body seemed to be trying to gain a place on the ground as if he were trying to secure himself. All too soon, the roots would be torn out and ripped off of him, only for new ones to regrow. The Beast was panicking at this liquid now floating in its vessel's body. The air around Wirt was black with a sort of strange smoke. It was cold looking for some reason, and she wondered if it felt so.
For a few minutes this was all that occurred. Beatrice proceeded to stare in horror as the roots stopped growing and Wirt's body was flashing as if being flicked on and off like a light switch. All signs of a tree were gone from his body, and he was now just Wirt, but he looked bloody. His eyes were still white, as they flashed open and closed. The screams were only occasional, but still happening. A black spirit pushed out of him, and then returned, going back to him, clinging onto him. It looked like Wirt was winning for the moment. The black spirit was barely clinging on; it was yelling something too, but in a different language, a tongue unknown to Beatrice.
But it did not end there. As much as she wished it did. The spirit started gaining, Wirt's body had solidified but it was easily accessible, or was made so. The spirit cut his arm open, and Beatrice stared in horror at the bone exhibited there. She could only watch still, as the spirit pushed and pried itself into the body of Wirt. Blood was indeed leaking from the wound, but it appeared as if the Beast did not care. Wirt was silent now. It was like watching from a faraway place, watching something she did not believe was happening actually happening. Wirt was losing and Beatrice was completely unsure of what to do.
A/N: The graphicness will probably continue in the next chapter. Thanks for reading, that was chapter 15! I hope you enjoyed, and please, review, review, review!