𝙨𝙚𝙢𝙞 𝙝𝙞𝙖𝙩𝙪𝙨

@bctenoire has requested a starter from cecelia morgan.

                 she murmurs the spell under her breath and the long tear in her thigh began to stitch itself back together.            even witches had bad reputations with hunters. she didn’t know he was hunting her. circe was going to end the hunter and then proceed to end her – maybe slowly and painfully. she closes her eyes and breathes, slowly, as the wound continues to slowly close. biting into her lip, she looks up when she sees someone from the corner of her eye. she hurries to her feet before the spell is finished and she groans before dropping to her knees.

                   “if you value your life or your limbs, you will leave me alone,”               she groans and there’s blood all over her carpet. “fuck…” cece whispers and she chews on the inside of her cheek. “oh, bleedin’ hell! just stitch already!” the witch is way beyond infuriated and she whispers another spell to stop the other person from moving any further. “if i know you, i’m still going to fucking kill you!”

quick   on   her   feet ,   but   the   seasoned   floorboards   underneath   her   betray   her   with   a   wavering   groan .   the   tell   is   inevitable ,   and   odessa   doesn’t   make   an   effort   to   try   and   sneak   up   on   her ;   it’s   not   that   she   doesn’t   trust   her   own   abilities ,   she’s   simply   not   STUPID   enough   to   underestimate   a   witch .   even   considering   the   reluctantly   fusing   wound ,   it   doesn’t   require   much   more   than   a   flick   of   wrist   to   have   her   defenseless   and   at   her   mercy   ––   negotiation   appears   to   be   the   logical   approach .   

as   much   as   alexa   had   originally   tried   to   avoid   attending   her   friend’s   birthday   party ,   she   has   to   admit   now   that   music   blaring   from   boxed   speakers   and   triple   sec   mixers   make   for   a   combination   she   didn’t   realize   she’d   needed   the   past   few   weeks .   the   floorboards   of   the   lofty   three   bedroom   stick   to   her   soles   just   enough   to   encourage   a   kind   of   twisted   college   nostalgia ,   though   red   cups   had   given   way   to   crate   &   barrel   drinkware   and   instead   of   checking   their   phones   for   exam   results ,   some   of   her   friends   are   busy   texting   their   babysitters .   all   things   considered ,   however ,   it   is   an   atmosphere   giving   leeway   to   the   thought   that   maybe ,   just   maybe ,   none   of   them   are   as   old   as   they   feel   from   time   to   time .   it   holds   careful   optimism ;   an   odd   sentiment   of    f r e e d o m    similar   to   the   one   she   has   talked   herself   into   having   regained   after   moving   downtown ,   but   not   truly   found   yet .   old   habits   died   hard ,   and   she   had   buried   herself   in   WORK   for   the   moment ,   because   while   sublimation   might   be   a   bitch ,   she   figures   she   prefers   a   mature   coping   mechanism   to   something   more   severe   like   substance   abuse .   

“ stop !   STOP ,   or   i’ll   shoot ! ”   his   voice   reverbs   unremittingly   along   stacks   of   metal   panels   and   empty   storage   racks   as   his   soles   find   steadfast   foothold ,   positioning   himself   and   lifting   his   beretta   92   leveled   to   his   shoulder .   the   abrupt   lack   of   footstep   sounds   on   concrete   slows   the   fugitive   running   from   him   similarly ,   and   despite   the   short-lived   relief   of   having   them   where   he   wants   to ,   he   knows   better   than   to   mistake   a   moment   of   advantage   for   victory .   in   neither   case   does   it   come   close   to   feeling   like   one ;   not   when   the   dreadful   suspicion   of   WHO   he’s   chasing   is   coming   to   an   irrevocable   climax .   they   turn   to   face   him ,   and   the   initial   reaction   pulses   inside   his   skull   like   the   incessant   ticking   of   a   metronome .   no .   no ,   no ,   no .   it   can’t   be .   not   them .