queen of wands.

pinned goes here when I can be arsed to fill this out. ultra private, super selective, friends + plot priority writing blog for Faye Chamberlain of The Secret Circle novel series by Lisa Jane Smith.

rules. about. prompts. plotting.

We all know that Faye Chamberlain attends Harvard University after she graduates.

MEDICAL CW BELOW.

𝕱𝐀𝐘𝐄’𝐒  𝐄𝐘𝐄𝐒  𝐒𝐋𝐎𝐖𝐋𝐘  𝐒𝐂𝐀𝐍  𝐃𝐎𝐖𝐍  𝐀𝐓  𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐒𝐄𝐋𝐅  𝐀𝐒  𝐈𝐅  𝐒𝐇𝐄  𝐇𝐀𝐃  𝐎𝐍𝐋𝐘  𝐉𝐔𝐒𝐓  𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐈𝐂𝐄𝐃  𝐈𝐓.  The  crimson blood  had  dried  in  dark  streaks  along  the  inside  of  her  wrist,  red so dark that it appears black, like the true color of hematite, caught  under  the  edge  of  one  star  ruby  ring  and  smeared  like  WAR PAINT  across  the  pale  hollow  of  her  palm.  There  was  some  on  her  dress,  too;  a  small,  ugly  bloom  near  her  ribs  where  the  fabric  clung  damply  to  her  skin.  Not  hers.  Mostly  not  hers.

Around  them,  the  trees  whispered  uneasily  in  faint  protestation.  She  could  feel  the  Powers  as  they  emanated  around  them,  lashing  out  because  he  wasn’t  a  Circle  member,  and  it  went  against  not  only  the  tradition,  but  the  blood - soaked  grounds  held  memory  that  had  attempted  to  be  stamped  out  over  time.  The  circle  of  stones  behind  her  still  held  the  heat  of  the  ritual,  old  power  crawling  through  the  ground  like  something  buried  had  been  reawakened. 

❛❛ Maybe  you  only  come  looking  for  me  at  interesting  times, ❜❜  she  said,  lifting  her  gaze  to  him  at  last.  Her  golden  eyes  were  bright to the point of an eerie incandescence,  feverish  with  leftover  magic  and  something  far  less  innocent.  Or convincing. ❛❛ Or  maybe  blood  has  better  manners  than  most  people.  It  arrives  when  it’s  called. ❜❜  She  wiped  her  thumb  slowly  across  her  wrist,  only  succeeding  in  dragging  the  red  into  a  darker  smear.  A  smile  curved  her  mouth  knowingly,  sharp  and  deliberate.

❛❛ I’m  sure  you’ve  seen  worse. ❜❜  Her  head  tilted,  glossy black  hair  sliding  over  one  shoulder.  A  few  strands  pick  up  from  the  upward  draft  from  the  cove just past the rock formation, and  the  expansive  sea  just  beyond  that.  ❛❛ You’ve  probably  done  worse. ❜❜  For  a  moment,  the  air  between  them  almost  softened  into  something  conversational.   Almost.  Faye’s  smile  deepened.  ❛❛ Besides, if  I  were  really  in  trouble,  I  wouldn’t  be  standing  here  answering  mundane  questions. ❜❜  she  teases,  voice  low  and  velvet - dark.

but do you think that faye would be the type of person to say "my mom is dead" (maybe in a you're dead to me way) despite the fact that she's, in fact, very much alive?

(bonus question: what is the relationship between faye and her mom, anyway?)

So, with this inconsistency in mind, it can be turned into something very revealing for Faye, actually. Because yes, I do think she could say, very flatly, that her mother is dead while her mother is technically still alive. But not in a melodramatic, wounded little - girl way. More in the sense that she has already removed her mother from any meaningful position in her life.

Dead doesn't necessarily mean buried; it means irrelevant. It means powerless. It means someone who no longer has access to her, influence over her, or any claim on her. Her mother still exists in the house, behind some closed bedroom door with her nerves and her silence, with her shame over not doing more during the fight with Black John, but she isn't allowed to mother Faye. She doesn't get that distinction. She doesn't guide her, protect her, restrain her, understand her, or even really see her. So, being her, wouldn't waste time explaining the emotional technicalities. She would simply call the woman dead and let everyone else misunderstand the statement if they liked.

Faye doesn't hate her mother. Hatred would imply that her mother still has a vivid and active place inside her thoughts. I think it’s colder than that. She's indifferent. Her mother is a closed door in the house. A nervous shadow. A woman who has receded so far from life, from authority, and from Faye herself, that there is no real place for her in her world.

As for their relationship, I imagine it as distant, blood - bound, and emotionally vacant. Her mother being in her room 95% of the time because of nerves is a tell. I don’t necessarily read it as her mother hating her, but I do think there may be something about Faye that she cannot bear to face. Maybe Faye resembles her father too much. Grant Chamberlain is described as being a cold man, and Faye is very much her father's daughter. She probably has his eyes, his dark beauty, his charm, his temper, his appetite for power. Probably has an affinity for calling on the same elements as he once did. When she walks into the room, her mother sees the man who is no longer there, and left a permanent wound behind. And she would never beg to be separated from that ghost.

She would never ask her mother to look at her and see her instead. She would decide that if her mother could not bear the sight of her, then her mother had forfeited the right to matter.

So yes, I think she would say “ my mother is dead ” while her mother is alive. Not because she is lying, exactly, and not because she is grieving in any obvious way. Because in the only sense that even matters to Faye, the woman is already gone. Alive upstairs, perhaps. Dead everywhere else.

She was probably raised by a full - time governess until she is old enough to handle things on her own and has control over the family fortune and her own trust. So really while this question actually is a curiosity of those that don't know her, she doesn't really think all that heavily into it. She's used to doing things on her own. It's just something that's second - nature to her.

║▌│ㅤ☽◯☾ ‬     * ｡ ⋆      🕯 ˎˊ˗ 𝕱𝐀𝐘𝐄 𝐌𝐎𝐕𝐄𝐃 𝐀𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐃; each leather ankle boot - clad footstep measured and careful, ensuring she was not followed. The dense forest was compliant to her rituals, no matter how often she visited the area. The trail wound downward beneath a canopy of broadleaf evergreen trees, each branch heavy with mist; each stone slick with moss that ran under her soles. The air contained a curious if not surreptitious energy that enshrouded the area, older than the rain that beat relentlessly against the treetops.

Coastal New England had a way of swallowing sound, especially in places that left the brunt of human civilization behind. Once you got past the mainland, and then the bridge that connected to the narrow road that she had left only minutes before, which left you deposited on the island only yards away from the mainland. It all fell behind, leaving only the hush of wet earth; the native New Salem soil clotting moistly beneath her feet. The dripping of water from pine needles above was the only sound that could be heard, even the birds were eerily silent. The pale fog curls between the trees that made its way from the sea, and Faye could hear the waves colliding against the rocky shore to the east of her.

Faye could feel eyes on her, and that was really the enjoyment of it all. She let the silence stretch thin before glancing back over her shoulder, her dark hair switching behind her like a lion's mane. Her eyes shone gold in the dimness of the perpetually foggy afternoon and compared to their surroundings; they were bright and full of amusement ⸻ and of a secret she had no intention of giving away before she was done playing with it.

❛❛ You’re hesitating, Ellie. ❜❜  Faye spoke softly and in even, confident tones, her mouth curving. ❛❛ That’s never a good sign, now, is it ? ❜❜  A branch snaps somewhere off the path, weak from the recent onslaught of rain. It was enough to indicate that she wasn’t alone.

Faye’s smile deepened. ❛❛ Of course, sometimes it’s the smartest thing one can do. ❜❜  She added, turning toward the deeper trees. She steps over a fallen limb, her fingers trailing briefly across the moss. The mist thickened overhead, swallowing the path by inches. Only a native islander would know how to get around the forest to get back to the main road without being lost within its enchantments.

❛❛ Come on, Ellie, ❜❜  Faye called, sweetly. ❛❛ I knew you were here before you even made it past the last house. ❜❜