A/N: This is my first time writing an actual story for The Witch's House, so I apologise if it seems a bit crappy and short. I'm trying to experiment with my new writing style to see how well it works, trying not to give too much away whilst giving a general idea of what's going on. I do hope you give this story a chance. This idea came to me the other day as a 'what if' scenario, since I've noticed many people have tried to come up with sequel fanfics to the actual Witch's House game. I thought I'd try and give it a go, and this was the ending result.
Disclaimer: I do not own 'The Witch's House' or its characters; however, I do own the OC used in this fanfic.
WARNING: SPOILERS FOR 'THE WITCH'S HOUSE' GAME AND 'THE DIARY OF ELLEN' AHEAD. IF YOU HAVEN'T PLAYED THE GAME OR READ THE BOOK BY FUMMY, I SUGGEST DOING SO BEFORE READING THIS STORY.
Chapter 1: Untouched Secrets
The mouth of the smoke cloud heading towards the houses opened and engulfed them entirely, swallowing them into a sea of grey and nothingness. Flames in the distance licked at stone, straw and dirt amidst the furious crackling as it made its onslaught, jumping from one home to the next. Screams and cries were lost amongst the grey and orange, never to be heard again, nor ever to be heard by anyone.
Except for the pair amidst this chaos. Two faint silhouettes could be made out if one were to squint and lean forward far enough: a cat and a girl.
"Come with me," the cat insisted, his voice resembling that of a young boy. "You might as well! They saw you as a 'witch' anyway! How 'bout it?"
"Up and at 'em!" I heard the voice of the black cat call from the doorway, forcing my eyes open and dragging me back to reality.
A groan from me who occupied the bed was his cue to move into the room, his paws pitter-pattering across the carpet signalling his approach. I wriggled around to awaken my limbs, rolling my shoulders forward and raising my legs and feet to kick a little at the quilt covering me. Once clinging to my body, it dropped into my lap when I forced myself to sit up, yawning and stretching my arms above my head. They felt stiff at first, but the movement I made soon resumed the blood flow needed to make it smoother and more comfortable.
The cat sat before the side of the bed and waited until I brought my arms down and turned my head his way, my eyelids still drooped. The rectangle of weak sunlight streaming in through the window which he'd chosen to sit upon made him look like a shadow that had somehow come to life.
"… You couldn't leave me be, could you?" I responded with a grumble.
"Yeesh. Got up on the wrong side of the bed again?" the cat countered in a teasing tone and the slight cock of his head.
I scowled as I rubbed my forehead with a hand, closing my eyes in attempt to fight off my weariness. I was too used to this kind of exchange.
Silence fell, but it only lasted several seconds before his voice sliced through it.
"That dream again, eh? I see how it is."
I dropped my hand to the quilt and opened my eyes, my fingers digging into the silk until my knuckles matched its colour. When I didn't say anything, he spoke again.
"You wanna talk 'bout it?"
I stared down at the quilt to fight the urge to look his way. My mother used to say that if I didn't acknowledge annoying things, they'd get bored and go away. So, that's exactly what I planned to do.
Several more seconds passed before I heard the cat hiss at me.
"Yo! You listening?"
I caught him in the corner of my eye on his hind legs pawing at the quilt, having moved closer to the bed to try to get my attention. I closed my eyes again. I focused on the darkness concealed under my eyelids and the silence around me, attempting to block him out and pretend he wasn't there. I felt the bed shift beside me and something faintly touch my shoulder.
"Yo!"
His voice rang in my ear, causing me to flinch. I forced my eyes open and blindly lashed out my arm. The cat yelped, and I turned just in time to catch him dodging my arm and leaping down to the floor, landing on all fours.
He should be thankful cats always land on their feet.
I smirked at the idea that I'd alarmed him, but when his golden yellow eyes met my gaze I creased my brow into a scowl.
"You're like the annoying little brother I never had and never wanted," I eventually said, leaving traces of bitterness lingering on my tongue.
"Is that any way to talk to someone showing you concern?"
"And how much of that concern is actually genuine?"
The cat said nothing, his eyes going up and down once as he looked me over. I knew I'd caught him out.
He went to open his mouth—
I beat him to it: "Just leave me alone to get ready, will you?" I growled.
His mouth fell closed just as quickly as it had opened. We stared at each other for a moment longer before he decided that was enough to send him away, his body twisting away from me and his retreating footsteps being muffled by the patterned carpet.
I hadn't planned to get ready just yet. I only wanted him gone from my sight.
When I was sure he was gone, I allowed a sigh to escape and leaned my back against the headboard. My gaze returned and lingered to the spot where the cat had once been sat, the rectangle sunlight brightening up part of the red rug underneath the bed, its colour dull. Dull and worn down: just like the former me.
It reminded me of when I'd first entered this very room. The bed sheets had been drenched in blood, and despite being cleaned thoroughly the dreaded smell of iron still lingered around the room and in the very place I had to sleep. There was never a moment where I didn't wake up and felt the urge to vomit. But my nose eventually grew accustomed to this. It doesn't bother me much anymore, just like most things.
Sadly, the cat wasn't one of those things.
My index finger traced along the petals visible on the rose poking out of the bush by the house's garden door, newly bloomed. According to the cat, it sprouted up shortly before my arrival. The poor soul was crushed to death.
I enquired with the cat once about the point of having a garden inside when there was one outside of the house. I have yet to get a pleasing response. Even so, I despised this place all the same, along with its flowers.
I despised all the flowers in this garden, from the jealous yellow tulips, to the kind and gentle white flower they wished to kill. But I hated the roses the most.
I spoke to the rose as if it could hear me. "You fell for temptation too?"
I stopped my finger's movement, slipping my whole hand under it and cupping its head in my palm. I made sure I avoided the thorns on its stem. I was devoid of empathy.
"How careless," I spat. "But I'm one to talk. I made a deal with the devil."
My fingertips poked at the bottom of the petals. Its obliviousness to the dangers the house posed made my stomach churn. It was nasty discomfort, even though I, too, was once oblivious.
"This world is a cruel place. Even now as you're reborn as a delicate and innocent flower, you remain oblivious and ignorant to the dangers. But unlike before you're much stronger. The thorns on your stem prick those that try to hurt you."
I lifted my palm up in one movement, snapping the rose's stem free and bringing it close to my face. I felt one of the thorns lightly scratch my little finger, the slight sensation of stinging quickly following.
My eyes narrowed. My words became disgusted whispers, "I envy you. But at the same time I find you pathetic." I closed my hand without warning, crushing the petals with a satisfying squelch. "Those thorns made you less likely to be touched, but your ignorance still got you crushed again."
Turning my palm downwards and opening it up, I watched the crushed rose drop to the ground and land with a small jump at my feet, still and lifeless.
"It cost you your life a second time," I added, spitting at it to further demonstrate my disgust.
"Who the heck are you talking to?"
The cat's voice and entrance neither startled nor alarmed me. I turned my head back to find him laid down upon the wooden bench, his paws and tail curled up to his body as he observed me.
My response was sarcastic, "The house."
"The flower fumes must have gotten to your head," he teased. "Try going outside some time. It'll do you the world of good."
My shoes crunched against the grass as I moved to stand beside the bench, my hands reaching down to collect the white teacup and matching platter on his left: as white as that flower, pure and beautiful.
Disgusting. I knew better than to drink from it.
I focused on the wavering reflection of the blonde haired girl with the bunched up fringe staring back at me from the inside of the cup with dull and worn blue eyes. Dull and worn, just like the rug.
"Will you ever tell me about the previous witches?" I asked, not bothering to look up at him.
"Maybe. Maybe not," he responded. "Not like that matters. What does matter is your wish." That prompt forced my eyes from my reflection as I lifted my head up, seeing the cat grin at me. "You still have to tell me. You deserve it after the large meal you offered me. You're pretty hard to read though."
I scowled and set the teacup and platter down on the bench again. I held back the urge to throw it all over him with a sharp intake of breath through my nostrils.
"I didn't offer you anything," I replied in a low voice. "You ate them of your own accord."
My scowl melted when I allowed his words to properly sink in. My wish…
Something soft brushed against the backs of my fingers. I recoiled them and looked to see the cat swishing his tail around. Those fingers soon became entangled in strands of blonde once I moved them out of my sight, but I wasn't ready to let go just yet.
"Come on! Every witch has one! Tell me yours!"
My scowl returned with the twitch of my left eye. My temper had been ignited.
"Don't call me that," I hissed. "I am not a witch!"
"Then why are you here?"
I wasn't able to counter. My mouth was left agape as I looked the feline over. He'd rendered me speechless.
That didn't stop him from going on, "You're here because you're a witch, Emilia. You lived up to their lies. You chose this fate."
And I knew he was right.
My mouth fell closed, my hand dropping back to my side. I didn't recoil when his tail lightly brushed the backs of my fingers again.
"So, gonna tell me your wish?"
Just like with my fingers and his tail, he brushed over everything without a care. It was always like this. It didn't matter what I asked. He never gave me a straight answer. So why should I give him one?
"I've already told you before," I said in a quiet voice, looking the cat straight in the eyes without falter. "I don't have one."
He showed no new reaction to my response. It was like he'd expected it.
When he didn't say anything more, I turned away from him and walked away from the bench towards the door, the sounds of his paws eventually falling in sync with my footsteps when he chose to follow. I didn't bother trying to stop him. There was no point.
What I'd told him was a lie. I did have a wish, but he didn't need to know it. But he probably already knew and was just playing dumb.
I expect nothing less from a being like him.