as is ever so, on the road...

TW: Parental Neglect, Body Image; Eating Disorders; Drugs; Injury; Blood; Cults; Infertility; Emotional Abuse; Mental Abuse; Physical Abuse; Torture; Self Harm; PTSD; Paranoia

Middle Child Syndrome

Growing up in the affluent Sawyer household should have felt like a privilege; but for Adelaide Louise Sawyer—more commonly known to her friends simply as "Addie"—it often felt like an afterthought. Born on the cold morning of January 31st, 1962, she entered a world already tightly stitched with legacy. The Sawyers were a long-established line of witches in the Pacific Northwest, their legacy woven into the fabric of Cardinal Hill for generations. With wealth, status, and tradition backing them, expectations were high—something Addie felt keenly from an early age.

As the middle child in a family of five, she was always caught between two extremes. Her older sister—Penelope—was the golden child, ten years her senior and seemingly perfect in every way. Penelope had been a prodigy—brilliant, graceful, and responsible—the kind of daughter their parents could proudly show off. It was never a question of whether she would succeed, only how far she would go. Meanwhile, her younger brother—Nathaniel—was the adored baby of the family, effortlessly charming and doted on by their parents and everyone else to the point he could do no wrong. And then there was Addie... She was the one left drifting between them, constantly being asked why she couldn't be more like her sister in terms of everything or watching as her brother's smallest achievements were met with enthusiasm while her own barely earned a glance.

School offered little reprieve. While her sister had excelled academically, Addie struggled to pay attention. Her grades were average at best—not because she lacked intelligence, but because she simply couldn’t focus. Numbers and history dates blurred together; and teachers’ lectures felt like white noise. She was always dancing—if not physically, then in her mind—humming under her breath, tapping out rhythms on her desk, or absentmindedly practicing footwork beneath her chair. The only time she felt truly present was in the local dance studio, where no one expected her to be anything other than herself. There, she was just Addie; and for once in her life, that was enough.

Cut Loose, Footloose

Dance was more than an activity for Addie; it was the lifeline that kept her grounded in the midst of an overwhelming family dynamic. From the time she was little, the local dance studio became her sanctuary, offering her an escape from the expectations that loomed over her. While her older sister was lauded for her achievements—always excelling, always praised—Addie felt her own accomplishments were overlooked. She wasn’t the “perfect” child; but when she danced, she didn’t need to be. The ballet studio became her world, a place where she wasn’t just the middle child, the overlooked one, but an individual with her own rhythm, her own grace.

Addie’s earliest memories were colored by the soft click of ballet shoes on hardwood floors and the reassuring presence of the barre as she stretched her limbs. Her ballet teacher was the first person to ever tell her she had potential, to acknowledge her. The validation she received there was a stark contrast to the lack of recognition she often received at home. As a child, her family’s walls were adorned with photographs of her sister at award ceremonies, with a few of her brother in his adorable, mischievous poses. But Addie’s recitals? Her posing in her latest dance costume? They didn’t make it to the walls of the family home. Instead, they were proudly displayed at the studio, as if she belonged there, not with the Sawyers. The feeling was bittersweet; it was both a mark of pride and a reminder that the place where she felt most herself wasn't the place she was meant to be.

As Addie grew older, the world of dance began to weave into the very fabric of her being. Even at school, she couldn’t shake the rhythm in her mind. She found herself humming the routines she practiced in the studio, twirling in the hallways between classes. The freedom she felt when she danced was something that no classroom or family gathering could replicate. When her body was in motion, she was free—not bound by the quiet expectations that defined her in every other area of life.

But with that freedom came pressure, the kind that crept in quietly and took root without warning. Dance, for all its beauty, had an unforgiving mirror. There were stretches of time when Addie became fixated on how she looked in her leotard and tights, scrutinizing every line and curve of her body. She began to equate thinness with success, with grace, with being “good enough.” Meals became a negotiation—sometimes skipped altogether, other times meticulously planned—as if controlling her body could somehow make everything else in her life feel less chaotic. These habits weren’t constant; but they cycled in and out of her life like tides. And though these moments were quiet and hidden—or so she thought—they lingered in the background, shaping how she moved through the world, both on and off the stage.

This growing obsession with dance made her an outsider in her own right. It wasn’t about following the crowd; it was about finding a sense of identity she couldn't find in the world around her. In the studio, she was a dancer—something no one could take from her, no one could compare her to. It wasn’t about being “better” than anyone; it was about becoming something she could finally be proud of. As she worked tirelessly on her technique, Addie found herself longing for more. There was something magical about the dance world—something she couldn’t quite put into words but felt deeply within her.

This passion for dance became a beacon in her life, a promise of freedom and self-expression. But as much as it allowed her to escape, it also began to tether her to a life she no longer wanted. Dance was an expression of her innermost self; but as Addie grew older, she realized that the world outside the studio was still calling her—demanding more than just pirouettes and perfect pliés.

Do You Believe in Magick?

Magick was never a question in the Sawyer household—it was as certain as the rising sun to greet each new day. The Sawyers had been witches for generations, their lineage woven into the fabric of Cardinal Hill like a thread that never frayed. Addie knew from a young age that she came from a long line of power; but it never made her feel particularly special. Magick was something her parents and relatives wielded with precision, steeped in ritual and expectation. It was in the quiet hum of protective wards laced through the walls of their home, in whispered incantations over tea, in heirloom amulets passed down with solemn reverence. It surrounded her, an ever-present force in her life—unchallenged, unquestioned.

Her own magick made itself known in subtle ways at first, creeping in like a secret meant only for her. A pulse of energy when she was overwhelmed, static crackling at her fingertips when anger took hold, a quiet knowing of things before they happened... The first time it manifested in a way she couldn’t ignore, she was eleven, wandering the wooded edges of her family’s estate when she locked eyes with a fox. It was a brief, electric moment—one heartbeat stretched into eternity. And then, suddenly, she understood. Not in words, not in any way she could explain, but in a way that left her breathless. It was fleeting, gone as quickly as it came; but it was enough. That was the moment she realized magick wasn’t just something she had—it was something she was. It was something wild, freeing.

By the time she reached her teens, Addie knew she was never going to be the witch her parents wished her to be. She wasn’t interested in high-society gatherings of well-bred witches, nor did she care for the rigid structure of their rituals. She wanted something tangible, something real, something that didn’t feel like it belonged to someone else. Instead of memorizing incantations in candlelit parlors, she wandered past the edges of town, following the pull of something deeper. Hedge magick, crystal work, the nitty-gritty of magick's natural pull—those were the things that made sense to her. So, when the time came, leaving wasn’t a question. The world was calling; and she'd be ready to listen.

Most Likely to Break Free

By the time Addie reached her high school years, the sparkle of her childhood dreams began to fade. Dance—which had once been her sanctuary—slowly morphed into something she couldn't keep up with anymore. The weight of reality settled in—her parents' lack of support, the looming expectations of adulthood, and the pressure of fitting into a world that didn’t have room for her wild spirit. Despite being talented, Addie knew the dance world was a tough one to break into; and without the guidance of her parents or the proper connections, she couldn't see a clear path forward. Instead of receiving support, she got the cold reality: “You can’t make a living dancing.” It was as if the dance studio was the only place she truly belonged; and even that was becoming out of reach.

As she entered high school, her love for dance was still strong; but it was tangled up in a web of frustration and rebellion. Instead of spending all her time in the studio perfecting her technique, she found herself spending more time behind the bleachers, getting high with friends who didn’t care about the future. The high was an escape—an outlet for the dissatisfaction she felt toward her situation, her family’s expectations, and the limited scope of her world. She couldn't entirely let go of her love for dance; but as the years went by, the dream of going professional seemed increasingly impossible. She saw her peers pursuing more practical futures, while she felt stuck, unable to reconcile her artistic dreams with the demands of reality.

Even with the distractions, Addie knew she was capable of more. Dance still held a part of her; but the dream of becoming a professional dancer felt distant, dimmed by the realities of growing up. If only she had the support, the financial backing, or even the push from her family—maybe she could have gone further. But instead, she was just another girl in high school, watching her future slip further from her grasp with each passing day. While others in her class fretted over prom and college acceptance letters, Addie struggled with the weight of unfulfilled potential, feeling as if she were stuck in a perpetual state of waiting for something to change, for something to give.

Halfway through high school at the age of 16, though, her world nearly came crashing down when she suffered a devastating injury during a dance rehearsal—an open ankle fracture that would haunt her for years to come. One second, she was in the middle of a pas de chat (step of the cat), the next—she landed wrong; and a sickening snap echoed through the studio. She collapsed instantly. The bone had torn through the skin where her right foot met the ankle. She couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe. The sight of her own blood—her own bone—sent her spiraling into shock.

Her parents, as usual, were absent, leaving her sister to pick up the pieces. While her sister was there to meet her at the hospital, her parents couldn't be bothered to postpone their trip to Aruba. Instead of offering her emotional support, they merely sent her to a healer—a fellow witch who used questionable magick to treat her after her hospital discharge. Though the surgery had initially stabilized the break, it was the witch’s intervention that sealed her skin with eerie precision and ensured she could eventually walk again, eventually dance again. The surgery, healing, and recovery process were grueling; but it was the scar that remained a permanent reminder of her injury—and her parents’ indifference. It wasn’t just the injury itself that left a mark, but the realization that her family’s lack of care and support meant that she couldn’t rely on them for her future. That moment, more than any other—save for the fact her injury led to her apprenticeship with the Seattle Ballet to be rescinded before she ever even got to share the news—solidified her desire to one day leave Cardinal Hill behind.

Chasing the Horizon

The summer after high school, with her diploma in hand and the weight of her small-town life behind her, Addie felt the pull of something greater. She couldn’t stay in Cardinal Hill any longer—not with the suffocating expectations of her family and the crushing reality of her dreams slowly dying. So, with little more than a backpack and a thirst for adventure, she left her hometown behind and headed to California. It was there, in the sun-soaked streets of Los Angeles, that Addie met Teagan—another free spirit, someone whose energy mirrored her own. Teagan was a fellow wanderer, always ready for the next adventure, and the two quickly became inseparable. Together, they lived a life without roots, moving wherever the wind took them, chasing freedom in every sense of the word.

California was everything Addie had imagined and more: the vibrant art scene, the bustling streets, the endless opportunities to explore. But after a few months, the two friends felt the call to go further, to immerse themselves in something completely new. The answer came when Teagan mentioned Thailand—a place both exotic and full of possibilities. The two of them packed their bags once more; and they set off for the vibrant streets of Bangkok. Thailand offered a stark contrast to the familiar comforts of the West. The markets were colorful and alive with energy, the temples full of mystery and history. Addie found herself captivated by the culture; and for the first time in a long while, she felt a deep sense of connection to the world around her.

In Thailand, Addie took up freelance journalism and photography after a local friend saw a writer's potential in the letters she'd write home to her family, documenting the sights and sounds of the cities and capturing the beauty of the countryside. Every day was a new experience—bustling markets, sacred temples, quiet moments of reflection. The land felt alive with possibilities; and Addie reveled in the freedom that came with it. She felt like she was exactly where she needed to be. But as her time in Thailand stretched on, the wanderlust inside her flared up again, urging her to seek out the next adventure. So, after a year of exploring the Thai landscape and its hidden corners—as well as venturing on a handful of weeklong trips down to Singapore and one spontaneous trip into Cambodia that spiraled into a weeks-long ordeal she'd just much rather forget—Addie made the decision to leave once more. This time, it was Australia that called to her. The land down under promised new experiences, fresh perspectives, and endless roads to drive. And so, with her heart set on the next chapter, Addie began preparing to leave the place she had learned to love—and head toward the unknown once again.

The Land Down Under

Australia was the longest stretch Addie had spent anywhere since leaving Cardinal Hill. After the whirlwind of California and Thailand, it felt like a welcome pause—though it would never be permanent. She arrived in Sydney, immediately taken by the laid-back vibe of the city and the welcoming, easygoing people. There was a freedom here, a sense of adventure that mirrored the life she had come to crave. Addie quickly found work as a writer, contributing to travel magazines and local publications. Her articles painted vivid pictures of the country—its coastline, its surf culture, its growing art scene—and they were met with a level of enthusiasm she hadn’t experienced before. She was good at it. She loved it. It was the first time she truly felt like her work could make a mark, like her wanderlust had found its true outlet.

But as much as she thrived in the urban pulse of Sydney, the wild heart of Australia was what truly captured her. The outback, the deserts, the remote beach towns—each new landscape felt like a part of herself that she hadn’t yet discovered. The country’s raw beauty, its vast emptiness, became a part of her. Addie spent weekends driving along the coast, exploring the rugged mountains, and trekking through the wide-open desert. She found peace in the isolation, a stillness that allowed her to think, to reflect, and to let her restless spirit take root in the red dirt. The longer she stayed, the more the country became hers—like it had opened its arms and welcomed her home.

Nearly three years passed before Addie began to feel the familiar tug of restlessness again. Australia had given her so much—creativity, solace, and a sense of belonging—but she knew it wasn’t her forever place. The world was still out there, waiting to be explored; and her need for new horizons had started to call to her again. But leaving wasn’t easy. She had nearly put down roots in Australia—made a life there, a life that was more than just wandering from one place to the next. The decision to move on was bittersweet; but the road ahead was always calling. And so, with a heavy heart and a head full of new dreams, Addie began to prepare for her next journey. Europe was the next stop; and there, everything would change once again.

Between Borders

Europe was supposed to be a short stop—a few months, maybe—but like everywhere else Addie ventured, it pulled her in deeper than she expected. She landed in Scotland first, drawn to the gothic beauty of the Highlands, where the past felt close enough to touch. Her ancestors had come from somewhere within these mist-covered isles; and she felt their presence in every stone and every shadow. She wandered the winding streets of Glasgow and Inverness, finding solace in the ancient architecture and the subtle hum of magick in the air. At night, she slipped into dimly lit pubs, where the echoes of old folk songs filled the air. She took overnight trains just to see how far the land stretched before the world swallowed it whole, each stop offering new mysteries and moments of quiet introspection. From Scotland, she drifted south to Ireland, where the windswept cliffs of the west coast offered a wild beauty she hadn’t anticipated. The crash of the waves against the rocks felt like a primal call; and she stood on the edge, feeling the cold spray on her skin, wondering if home had ever really felt this wild. She found herself lost in the rhythms of small towns, in the lush green of rolling hills, in the laughter of locals at pubs where everyone knew each other and welcomed outsiders like an old friend.

She then traced her way across the continent, always sticking to the roads less traveled. Scandinavia called to her with its midnight sun, casting long shadows across the rugged terrain. There, she hiked through wild landscapes, standing on the edge of fjords and feeling the hum of ancient magick in the air—an energy she hadn’t encountered anywhere else. The beauty of the untouched land made her feel small and connected to something old, something real. Amsterdam’s lively streets offered a stark contrast, with its chaotic beauty and the undercurrent of rebellion that Addie couldn’t help but love and hate in equal measure. She wandered through its narrow canals and neon-lit nights, feeling the pulse of the city mix with a sense of disquiet. In Belgium, she spent nights in quaint towns by the canals, sipping coffee as artists sketched beneath the golden glow of streetlamps, their silent work telling stories of a place steeped in both history and melancholy.

France was a fleeting detour, really just a train ride with far too much wine for her to remember much of the trip; but the essence of Paris, with its haunting beauty and timelessness, lingered in her mind. It was in the quiet corners of the city, away from the tourist crowds, that she found a moment of peace amidst the hustle. Germany’s gritty underground music scene captivated her next; and she found herself drawn to the shadows of its dark history, where whispers of rebellion mixed with the weight of the past. She retreated into the depths of the Black Forest, where the towering pines whispered of folklore and hidden truths before traveling east into Bavaria, where the vast, rolling hills felt like a dreamscape; and ancient castles loomed on the horizon like forgotten legends waiting to be unearthed.

Then came Prague. It was a city caught between worlds—old and new, shadowed yet electric with something just beneath the surface. The stone streets wound like a labyrinth through gothic spires and hidden courtyards; and she wandered them for hours, listening to street musicians play melancholic melodies as they asked for spare coins. She met poets in smoky basement bars who spoke of revolution in hushed voices, their words thick with hope and bitterness. There was magic in Prague—though not the kind she grew up with: this was something else, something in the air, in the history pressing down on its cobblestones. It unsettled her; but she loved it anyway. Then Greece was like stepping into a myth, its ruins whispering of gods and tragedies beneath the weight of an unrelenting sun. The Aegean called to her; and she answered—losing herself in the slow rhythm of island life, where time felt like an illusion and reality softened beneath waves of ouzo and salt air.

Portugal, though, was where everything changed.

Dark Waters

[redacted]

Back to the Roots

After what felt like an eternity of constant motion and upheaval, Addie returned to the familiar streets of Cardinal Hill in late 1990 with nothing but the clothes on her back and a military rucksack filled with her minimal belongings. Her once small, sleepy hometown now felt like a strange haven of stillness, a place to catch her breath, even if just for a moment. The sharp edge of exhaustion—both mental and physical—was undeniable, the wear of her travels and the weight of her escape still lingering in her bones. Addie had nothing but a battered backpack to her name as she stepped off the bus, her heart heavy with the knowledge that the demons of her past might still be lurking in the shadows. She had narrowly escaped the grasp of Oïguasu Arandu; but she knew better than to think they had forgotten about her. Every creak of a floorboard, every unfamiliar glance on the street would tighten her chest with the expectation of danger. Her sleep was shallow and broken—dreams edged with smoke, blood, and half-remembered chants that would jolt her awake in a cold sweat... There was a constant fear in the pit of her stomach, a gnawing uncertainty about what they would do next., what would happen if they ever found her again...

Coming back to Cardinal Hill was bittersweet. She had once fled this town, desperate for freedom and adventure; but now it felt like the only place that could provide her with any sense of safety—even if it was fleeting. It was the closest she had to home—something she hadn’t realized she missed until she stood on its streets again. There was a weight in the air, a change in the atmosphere that seemed to echo her unease; but for now, it was all she had. No more grand adventures, no more endless roads... Only the ghosts of the past and a new chapter that Addie wasn’t quite sure she was ready for. Loud noises made her flinch. Shadows made her pause. She found herself checking the locks and mirrors more times than she cared to admit... But with the promise of uncertainty ahead and a knife permanently hidden beneath her pillow, she was ready to face whatever came her way in a town that had once been both a sanctuary and a cage.

In the months since her return, Addie has kept a low profile, crashing at a rundown motel shrouded in protective wards on the edge of town while trying to piece together what her life is supposed to look like now. She's haunted not only by what she left behind, but by the uncanny tension simmering beneath Cardinal Hill’s quiet surface—something that feels different from the town she remembers from her youth. Her instincts, sharpened by a decade of danger and survival, keep warning her that something is off. The energy is wrong, like the town is holding its breath. She mistrusts the silence at times, startling too easily—too wired from memories she can’t quite name—often convincing herself that she hears footsteps or sees faces that never come... Still, she’s taken small steps toward rebuilding: reconnecting with old places, avoiding old faces... But for the first time in a long time, she’s stopped running. And that, for now, feels like it's at least worth something.