the wounded healer

She hadn’t realized how much she needed the contact, how grounding Cleo’s arms were on hers until they are absent. Frustratingly, her moments of clarity are less stable, less clear, and she notes the absence as clearly as the accompanying ache. As a woman, and a player in this game, she was not meant to bite those kind to her. Cleo should have been high on this list…and yet she cannot ignore the confusion that it has taken long.  Did her death mean nothing.

 It is not the time, and she bites her tongue, finishing her cigarette and stomping it into the crystals or her ashtray.  For a moment, she’s sure she can taste Cleo’s tears in the air, that sorrow they seem to share in that time, despite stemming from cruelly conflicted states. So of course she follows, focusing too hard on keeping her steps clear.  She doesn’t pause for Cleo or the banging, feeding off her anger and nearly shoving her aside for the espresso pot.

“Fuck me?” she mishears and the confusion sends her to anger. “What- do you think dying eluded me? I’m very god damn aware it happened.  It’s not like I was on pause for a few weeks. All it’s given me is nightmares and pains and it seems like the thirteen of you left don’t even care! Hell- half of you have disappeared.  And it’s fine - I don’t expect flowers and tears from the lot of these women I hardly know.” There is a but she’s desperate to say that remains on her tongue, silent and unheard. Again, she reminds herself she is far too angry. The tears should not fuel her this way, and she takes a moment by the stove, whilst her back is turned.

“Sorry. I’m not…. I’m not in a good way.”  Her voice is quiet and there’s a short break in her shoulders, a shivered shake that she quells with a quick slap to her own arm. “I shouldn’t have called you. Or invited you.  That wasn’t fair.” She turns and there’s an unfamiliar redness that outlines her eyes, the face otherwise too calm. “You’ve been through a lot too.  It’s fine. Don’t feel you need to stay and deal with this.”

clementine never expected luce’s return to be as painful as her death. in the weeks following up to the full moon, the witch denied herself from thinking of the consequences of this. she knew only of her need to bring luce back, rescue her from the unfairness and the coldness of her demise. this is harder than it should be, she thinks, as she cries quietly. 

she wants to tell luce about it all. she wants to tell her she was not forgotten, not once. clementine wants to tell about the protection charms on the room she rested. her tongue itches to tell her that she would visit her nearly every day to place a fresh rose between her hands. she wishes to share how she had to look away as soon as the witch opened her eyes again, in fear she would act recklessly. she wants to share the anger and the longing and how unsure she is that she won’t just kiss her and hold her tight for the miracle that it is that she is alive again. 

no words come past her lips though and clementine is defeated again. it’s equally surprising and alarming when luce apologizes. the florist agrees with her – it wasn’t fair. yet, she is horrified to realize that she wished for it and she is glad that luce called, no matter how scary it feels. it makes clementine think – she felt lonely enough and she was alive and able to receive comfort. she wonders just how lonely death was.

without giving time for her ego to interrupt, she comes around to luce and hugs her – warm and tight and terrified. her tears overcome her again but she doesn’t let go, clinging to luce as she did during the seance, once now she is alive. “ we’ve been through a lot, ” she whispers when she feels she can speak. “ none of this is fair and everything is so wrong right now. ” clementine takes a deep breath. she pulls back just enough to see luce’s face and nods weakly. “ i’ll stay. at least until you can get some sleep. ”

Her eyes can’t quite focus on Cleo.  She tries but it’s the helplessness there that forces her to turn away. No - it’s not that Cleo looks helpless, it’s that she’s pitying Luce. She cannot s t a n d that expression, the feeling that this moment is steep soaked in regret for her.  That she is weak is not a question -even Lucrezia knows she’s fallen - but to be so obviously perceived sets her blood boiling. 

“If you’re worried about me why didn’t you come sooner?”  They’re daggered words said out of turn.  In truth, she’d meant only to think them, but she is overtired and angry.  Luce looks surprised to have heard her voice, turning quickly from her accusation and taking a deep drag of her cigarette. Shaken, she coughs on the exhale, turning back around with a terribly fake calm on her face.

“Cleo, if I knew the easy fix, I’d have done it by now,” the bite has drained quickly into exasperation, collapsing on the swinging chair of her porch. “I don’t want the dead to keep me from my home. It’s my home, god damn it.” But even as she says it, she knows the determination is weak.  She wants to leave - badly- but it’s only the second night. Instead, she massages at the headache blooming between her eyes.  “Please just…come in.  Come upstairs.  Talk to me about whatever bullshit you like.” 

the accusation stings. as if her company’s skin was covered with thorns, clementine lets go. she feels both pathetic and exposed beneath luce’s words and beneath her own actions. the witch stands there, tears on her eyes for an ancient unrequited something, offering the pieces of her heart for luce to turn to dust. 

clementine thinks of leaving. she is ashamed and conflicted and luce offers her not a single piece of empathy. she reckons she doesn’t need to do this. it’s the burning bridge opportunity she waited to have for years. she is pretty sure that if she was to tell luce that she isn’t entitled to her care and attention right now and then left, there would be no remedy for the both of them. out of her self-preservation, clementine knows it’s the smartest thing, knows they are always doomed to burn. and yet,

“ fine, ” she replies weakly. the earth witch doesn’t wait on luce, rushes in and away from the tears prickling her eyes. she reaches for the kettle, surprised she can still find it, but she doesn’t finish filling it. it clangs loudly on the counter with the weight of her unsaid words. clementine doesn’t look up and her shoulders are slumped – defeated. “ i was worried but i– i couldn’t come over earlier, luce. ”  she says and feels it’s too soft of a tone for the chaos raging inside of her. “ i– fuck, luce. you were dead. you died just beside me and i tried to heal you and i couldn’t, because there wasn’t anything to heal. ” clementine pushes herself back now, sucking in a shaky breath. “ you died and i was desperate and angry and – i voted to kill a man for you, to have you back! ” she looks up now, face red and wet. clementine takes another deep breath and takes her hands to her cheeks to wipe her stubborn tears. “ you told me you didn’t ask for this, ” she gestures towards her chest. “ and i can’t– i’m not well enough to pretend to care less than i do. ”

Luce shook her head fast, an almost jerking motion as she flicked her cigarette dead into her ashtray. There’s a twitch to her fingers that’s unusual, too out of control to have come from her own hands.  She hates it and yet she cannot stop it, struggling to light another cigarette, crumpling the empty pack.  

When she looks at Clementine there is far too much hurt in her eyes, narrowed in answer to an angry question that has not been asked. It’s nothing she’s said, only that she has not come sooner. Lucrezia herself hadn’t realized it bothered her, hadn’t known it was the thorn in her side until the 4th day passed without so much as a text.  

It’s the sleep, she reminds herself, You’re not in a good way.  She can’t get her brain to focus right and tries to pass of the glare as that, the lingering bitterness due to the collective’s lack of interest, not solely Cleo.

“No.  Not since.”  There is a harshness to her tone that is new, something raw poorly concealed.  “It’s only getting worse and I- I can’t be in that house right now.”  She gestures back, the lit cigarette shaking violently in her hand.  “There’s shit in there that won’t- it just doesn’t stop.” The words are forced through a clenched jaw,  and Luce’s pacing never stops.

for a moment, clementine can’t do much but bask on the amazement that is looking at an alive luce. she can still remember the cold feel of her lifeless skin beneath her palms, her heart freshly broken, but luce is back. the quiet happiness is fleeting though and the florist registers the sentiment across luce’s eyes and the erratic form she holds herself. it’s even more alarming than the call was and clementine is at loss of what to do. looking at luce in this state, she crumbles not in fire, but in an earthquake, everything she hoped to be stable proving that is not. 

she had this foolish hope all over these past weeks she mourned over luce and their complicated relationship, that once she was back, nothing would change. it was naive, she knows now. not a single person in the coven is the same since her death – why would the resurrected be? 

her foolishness is thrown to her face and she wants to cry. the woman’s state of mine echoes painfully inside of clementine’s chest, the feeling is not so different from when she failed to heal luce after the seance. the earth witch tastes the desperation on her tongue, smells it on the freshly lit cigarette on luce’s hand and she trembles. except now, she thinks, she can do something. please let her be able to do something. 

“luce,” clementine says and her voice breaks. she hates herself for it, knows it’s the last thing the woman needs. she acts, brashly, and she reaches for luce to grab her forearms and stop her from pacing. the witch looks down to give herself time to sniffle and hopefully dry the tears on her eyes. she doubts she is so successful. “ tell me how to help, ” it sounds like she is begging, she thinks, but clementine ignores the pang on her ego. “ you– you can come to my place. i have– sleep tea. i just– what can i do? ” how can i heal you?

Victory does not taste sweet — it tastes glorious, smells of crushed petals and wide-eyed, ashen-faced fear. There’s something inexplicably satisfying in that look of defeat; for a moment, it seems as if the witch may cry and Aleksandr finds himself leaning forward in anticipation, hoping for it. It’s not cruel, he reasons; you can’t be inhumane to something that, despite an inflated sense of power and belief, is sub-human.

And victory, Aleksei learns, is fleeting. It’s him who startles when the wallflower grabs him. He doesn’t catch her mutter, but by the time he’s yanked his hand away, it’s too late. Now it’s the hunter’s turn to grow pale — he turns his palm over in horror, staring at the poison prowling beneath his skin. 

“You little snake.” He wants to hurt her. He would too, but whatever voodoo she’s cast upon him has stolen all his strength. When Aleksandr backs away towards the door, his feet drag. “We’ll be back. We’ll burn you and your fucking friends back to the Hell where you belong.”

Maia just left it as a squeeze, she wanted to comfort all of the others but still…she wasn’t good with words yet and Clementine looked so vulnerable still. Maybe she was projecting a little but she didn’t want to pry, not so much at least. “Maybe ginger too?” Maia suggested, trying to wrap her head around all of the notes that she’d seen in her grimoire. “Though that’s maybe something to go in hot chocolate,” She said with a little smile, before reaching out to rest a hand on her arm again. “It’s okay…really it’s been tough, loraxes forever right?”

clementine lets out a small giggle. it comes out in between the tears on her eyes but it’s a genuine one. maia is definitely one of the sweetest girls this little coven has and clementine is grateful to be in the receiving end of this sweetness, even if for a moment. she wipes a stray tear that found its way down her cheek and nods. “ a spicy hot chocolate sounds so good now, though, ” she says, adding a smile for good measure. “ ginger is a good idea though. doesn’t it help to like… replenish magic energy or something? do you have that kind of note on your grimoire? ” she asks. the florist nods again as maia reaches for her again. she doesn’t cry again – thank gaia – and offers a soft smile instead and then a giggle. “ it’s been, yeah. but definitely, loraxes forever. ”

ofelia hadn’t intended to cast a synthetic light over clem’s feelings. something inauthentic, that purged the earth of goodness just to do a shitty job of what the sun was for. but, then again, when had anything ofelia had ever done been entirely intentional? she could list all conscious, GOOD decisions she had made on one hand. clementine, on the other hand, though to ofelia vulnerable, was as authentic as she, the sun itself, in her emotions. and she couldn’t fault her for it. not even a little bit, despite wanting to.  the flames began to die as the two parted, and for once, ofelia felt the debut of guilt in her stomach. she could never understand what clementine was feeling and truth be told, she didn’t WANT to. she was mostly unscathed by the happenings as she stood in the eye of the hurricane. the wind had tickled her cheek, even raked its calloused fingers through her curls but, she was untouched. and she wished to pull clem into the safe zone with her…even if that had proven thus far to be difficult and DELICATE.. ofelia wished to dispute what the other witch was saying…but the blossoming of her pride in her heart stopped her. she nodded obediently, if not with a hint of reluctance. REGRET began to bloom in the places where pride had fled, and the cycle continued. “ i make a mean green tea. ” she burst out proudly, as if to fill the silence if nothing else. a teabag and hot water? yeah, she was a master. she shakes her head a few times, though not enough to hopefully go unnoticed by her peer. “ i’ll see you there, then? ” she retreated backwards, thankful that the flames were dead now and that clem had the power to resist their bite. 

once upon a time, whenever clementine asked for her feelings to be brushed aside, she would wish for her company to deny that. she would wish for someone to insist on taking care of the dismantled pieces of her heart. right now, however, she is glad that ofelia doesn’t do so. clementine doubts they’re close enough for her to want to. they’re not as close as to warrant this sort of worry and truly, clementine doesn’t blame her. it’s no one else's burden but hers, this erratic grief. and as always, she pushes it down and moves on. 

she cradles the little plant on her hands gingerly, even after her magic finds nothing else to heal. clementine puts it down just as carefully as ofelia talks again and she nods, attempting a smile towards the other witch. “ green tea sounds wonderful, ” clementine replies, gently. the earth witch rises to her feet again and clean her palms on her skirt. she never minded the stains on them. “ yes, ” she says, appearing a bit more put together. “ and thank you. ” clementine adds, genuinely, and, with a swift touch to ofelia’s arm, she excuses herself.

her feet can’t move fast enough, it seems as if they never can — the fact doesn’t keep her from trying. belén is already feeling the temperature rising beneath her epidermis, already knows that the air around her is warmer than it should be and needs to put some distance between herself and the healer. it’s a shame that her feet can never move fast enough. the heels of her boots are sinking into the soil of genevieve’s backyard when she stops; the pain in the healer’s voice cuts deeper than any blade could. belén takes a deep breath, but she refuses to turn and face the other woman. 

“cleo por favor, you didn’t do anything— i just have to go. this…this isn’t even about you, okay? i just want to be alone right now.” there had never been so large a chasm between them, especially not one dug by the pyromancer’s very hands. but it has to be done, she’s sure of it. burned cotton and charred wood are on the list of things that she can live with, hurting cleo is not and wont ever make its way onto that list. 

belén wants to cry. she doesn’t want to create this space between them, craves to turn and run into the other’s arms. still, it’s not a plausible option. “we can talk some other time, i don’t feel like talking right now.” though her voice is soft — strained even — the words are harsh, and they should have never been directed towards clementine. bel takes a deep breath, focusing on the air as it fills her lungs and leaves them; much like oxygen fuels a fire, it fuels her resolve. 

it feels like there isn’t enough air to fill her lungs as anxiety takes a physical toll on her. her hands shake and this horrible feeling rises to her throat and constricts it with the pain of tears. she doesn’t want to believe belén would leave her to her own devices, not when the other woman knows so much, owns so much of clementine’s heart. her head shakes to join her denial and the anguish of the rejection that stings so deep within her. she doesn’t know what went so wrong and she doesn’t understand and she feels lost. and belén won’t talk to her. 

i don’t feel like talking right now. clementine takes a step back. it feels like a slap, hot and piercing on her face. belén has never used this tone, never used these words towards her. her bottom lip trembles and the florist needs a moment before she can find words in between the tears rolling down her cheeks. she wipes them with shaky fingers before taking an equally shaky breath. 

“ when? ” she asks, not caring about the urgency so evident on her voice. “ bel, you haven’t talked to me since the festival. ” clementine adds and her voice breaks at the last word. “ i can take it if you tell me i messed up. i can take it if you tell me i’m stupid. but i’m not so stupid to believe it’s not about me when you won’t even text me back. ” 

   ari’s word had been intended to stop the waterfall of emotion the poured from clementine’s leaky eyes, but the opposite affect seemed to have been achieved over the desired one. public speaking was not something ariadne found herself enjoying, but over the years, she’d become good enough at it. giving a speech for her graduate class, having to walk across stage to the ivory piano keys on tour across europe, the little speeches written by someone else to introduce her father at events, parties; ari knew how to speak with emphasis, with conviction… she knew how to make people hear her, and how to make them feel the words. but it wasn’t something she ever found herself comfortable in doing, either. practice makes perfect, and ariadne chases perfection every second of the day, but nothing about this tear-stained moment and set of broken hearts felt perfect. 

   “it means- well, in english it means -” ari hesitated, considering how poorly the direct translation would sound. “it is like my heart and soul, vital and necessary pieces of me. by now, cleo, you are essential. to me, to all of us, to our success. maybe even our survival,” it was heavy words, yet said with the same light tone, full of politeness, that ari said most things with. you’d never be able to tell a fiery ball of anger had sparked inside, one that would continue to grow over the next few days. 

   i won’t thank magic for putting us in danger. it was a very fitting summary of what was happening; they were fearful, yet grateful, of the same catalyst. it had given them power, amazement, companionship… and yet, had managed to break down every sense of security the witches maintained. it had changed everything. ariadne was only just now beginning to fully realize this. “it was magic, yes, but it was your magic.” 

   a gentle reminder for the florist - do not push aside your importance, ari was encouraging with smaller words. she was raised being told everyday she mattered, she was important, she was special, enough so that it became a burden. always having to be someone, having to be everything. the humility that cleo had was something ari never even had a chance at developing. “look,” ari said suddenly, pulling away slightly from cleo to flutter her fingers together in a circular motion, drawing forth pure light in a tiny sphere. with a flick of her wrist, the light shot over to one of the limp, dull plants, and grew slightly just above it. the rays of light, the energy within her tiny little orb, was just enough to draw the leaves upwards, turning to kiss the little rays shining down. when she concentrated, ari allowed the orb to lower until it touched the plant, then absorb down into the living thing entirely so it glowed like otherwordly ether. it was alive, and bright in a quiet, comforting way, though drooping still in it’s malnourished state. “even at the darkest times, there is always light. you just need help sometimes to find it.” 

her hands still feel dirty with magic. something in her wants to wipe it off and wash it away though clementine knows it’s so unlikely. clementine wants to regret everything magic invited into her life. she wants to curse at it with full lungs for removing any peace and comfort from her life. she knows she was never set for grandeur and never aspired for more than a quiet life with her plants and perhaps a partner to kiss her before bed. those fantasies are gone now, dissolving into the chaos and the grief. yet, clementine finds it hard to regret everything magic brought into her life. without magic, ariadne would never be part of her life. or perhaps she would, but never in this way. 

ariadne is the type of woman set for grandeur. she is all elegance and eloquence, trained and educated in ways clementine can’t even imagine. ordinarily, their worlds would never clash and this connection would never exist. right now, clementine can’t fathom going through the days – going through this – without the steady support of ariadne. so she can’t regret it all. so she thanks the stars that bless ariadne from above with their gift for making it possible that she is part of her raggedly life. 

her chin trembles as she listens to ari and she nearly feels guilty to let herself feel special when she knows she failed luce and it seems she failed belén, too. she hopes so much she doesn’t fail ari. tears still fall but they’re not nearly as loud as before. clementine squeezes her friend’s hand. she is lost to words, not sure they can translate the mix of gratitude and sorrow that pours out of her eyes. 

the witch watches, mesmerized, ariadne’s short display of magic. she is reminded of how beautiful it is, if handled with care, and her hands itch less under the magic on her palms. the light enveloping the dead plants seem meaningful in some way, the way ari’s light envelops clementine’s beaten up one. clementine brings herself to kneel on the couch, turning her whole body towards the chinese witch. her hand clutches hers again. “ i’m going to hug you again, ” she says before diving in for another tight hug. she lets go soon enough and though her eyes are still wet, clementine isn’t weeping anymore. “ i think… ” she sighs, eyes downcast. “i think you’re my light right now.” her voice breaks and the earth witch struggles to speak without melting into tears again. “ thank you, i– i don’t think i know the words but – thank you. ” she hesitates now, letting the silence hang between them before she speaks again. “ you remember the woman i told you about, from the festival? ” she asks, softly. “ it was luce. ” 

She’s scared. He doesn’t need magic to know it and as far as Aleksandr’s concerned, it’s confirmation of her guilt. His fingers drift over the petals of the arrangement she’d been working on before he entered. “Friends, perhaps? I’m sure a pretty girl like you has plenty. A tight knit group of girls…” he grins, something charming and dead behind the eyes. “The kind of friends who’d say nice things about your job, who’d take your secrets to the grave…” 

Abruptly, he tugs — the vase topples over, spilling flowers across the counter between them. The smile remains. “Oops. I guess accidents happen, huh? Speaking of… how’s your hand?” His own almost brushes hers when he picks up one of the fallen purple blossoms. He twirls the stem between his fingers as he hums. “Speaking of secrets and graves, the occasion’s a funeral. I need something more unique than lilies. And leave these out of consideration too.” He snaps the stalk between his fingers and then, Aleksei leans in close and tucks the end of the flower behind the witch’s ear. “Violets, shrinking or otherwise, feel a little false.”

she regards him with cautious eyes as he moves. each word pulls the corner of her lips down until she can no longer sustain a smile. clementine feels her eyes going darker and the hair on her arms going up as this man’s voice sends a cold shiver down her spine. he crosses the lines too fast for her to react appropriately. her brain registers her horror before everything is done and he’s spoken his horrible threats and reaches to be too close to comfort. clementine recognizes all this behavior. it’s not very different from her father and definitely not a far cry from her brothers. she never fought them off properly. not until her cheek was stinging red. 

the grave and funeral theme is what makes her snap. he can’t know about luce and carter and yet it makes her stomach sink. she is very quickly reminded that this, all of this, is their fault. a seance would never be attempted so many times if these men never threatened them. ( and if a seance would never be attempted, luce wouldn’t be dead )

the witch grabs his wrist before he can get too far away. she knows she can’t resist physically but she can resist otherwise. this man is already convinced of the truth no matter what she says so she figures there’s no bigger harm into acting onto her impulse. her eyes are cast down and she whispers some words, low enough to make it unable for him to hear. her eyes only gaze up again once thin black lines start to follow the veins on his wrist. “ this behavior is very inappropriate, sir. ” she says. “ i’m afraid i have to ask you to leave. ”

She nods, almost a knowing thing as she follows Clementine to sit in the grass. Ren leaned back, resting an arm behind her with a sigh. “Always liked it better outdoors than anywhere else. My Ma used to say that was the creole in me, that we were made for nature, but I got plenty of cousins that prove otherwise.”  She turned to the pale witch  with a supportive smile. “You should see my house - really my bus.  Converted the whole thing to take me wherever I want.” 

It was a kindness to catch her up, especially when the woman seemed so out of sorts.  She was sure to agree, to hum her approval.  “Right, the captured one.  Seems like a ticking time bomb to me. What are the options?”

the earth witch looks at her company curiously before hazel eyes dip towards the grass blades. she plucks one, twirling it with her fingers in a soothing dance – or at least, it is to her. her head turns to the side just a fraction, consequence to her curiosity. it feels almost like a deja vu to the beginning of this journey, how she had to test the waters with each of them and try to establish a relationship. loren proves to be a strange and refreshing presence all at once. 

“ are you an earth witch, perhaps? ” clementine asks as she watches the blade of grass dance. she smiles then, the most genuinely she had so far. “ that sounds lovely. your home, i mean – i’d love to see it if you’d let me. ” her demeanor changes again when the hunter is mentioned and clementine sighs, puts the blade of grass on her hair. she doesn’t see how quickly it wilts there. the florist hugs her knees before replying. “ i guess– setting him free, though i think that’s not a popular option. then making him spill about other hunters, ” she shrugs, speaks more quietly then. “ i’m partial to trading him for luce. ”

“Would I?” it’s an empty ask.  He’s already seen the necromancing cunt. Even if Roland hadn’t left the brand, Jack and he’s cruelty was littered all over Cole’s face.  As he spent his days in the darkness, he reminded himself he could not regret those actions. These witches only looked human, they were unnatural and would do worse to him given the chance.

He snorts, tipping the water glass left and right in his restrained hands. “I know better than to trust what you say.  Soft face doesn’t mean a soft heart.”  He glares at the witch, a broken exhaustion behind his eyes. “If you wanna judge me do it in the fucking open. It’s a mind fuck trying to understand what the lot of you get out of this.”

for a moment, clementine doesn’t do a thing but watch him. the earth witch examines his eyes and what kind of emotion shines behind the harsh look he gives her. she never understood gratuitous hatred. she can admit she knows now more of anger and resentment than before and yet, she can justify this anger. clementine doesn’t see in which way the anger this boy carries is justified – not yet, as they haven’t decided his fate yet. the witch knows he will be dead soon enough but then again that’s only because he attacked them first. 

“ what do you get out of all this? ” she asks then, raises her eyebrows. “ you nearly killed a woman and for what? we never even attacked you before you did us. ” clementine straightens herself up then, looking down at the man as anger starts boiling hotter inside her veins. “ so you want to talk about mind fuck? i helped heal a carved up, bloodied mess of a woman and i can’t understand what you two sickos got out of that. ”

It takes very little to find her — some patience, the saccharine gushing of loyal customers on Instagram and most crucially, the business card he pilfered from the tea seller’s table at the festival. There are alternatives to what he saw of course, justifications that others would use, but Aleksandr trusts his eyes, his gut and a family history of experience. He doubles down on his hunch and within minutes, he’s discovered where the little witch will be.

Her head is bowed when he enters, the soft chime of a bell announcing his arrival. Her smile is a wriggling fish, slipping through her fingers before she manages to secure it in place. He smirks. “I’m looking for something in particular,” each step he takes towards her is measured; they echo in the quiet of an otherwise empty store. When he comes to a halt it’s right in front of her, only the counter separating them. “I’ve heard you’re all the rage and wanted to see if you could… work your magic on me.” 

clementine looks at this man and tries to see beyond her fear. it paints the man in front of her with mean features and malicious eyes and she so much wants to believe nothing of that is true. the florist refuses to believe that he caught a glimpse of the secret that ever consumed her life. she doesn’t want to realize that hunters are closer than they’ve ever been and that the fog over her name has been lifted. so she tries, and she tries so hard, to look at this man and see nothing but a vaguely familiar face. the witch refuses to acknowledge she isn’t successful.

his choice of words throws her off for a bit and she looks away from him. clementine takes in a nervous breath before smiling at him yet again. “ ah– i’m sure people are way too nice about my job, ” she says as she guides a strand of hair off her face to hook behind her ear. “ well, i’d love to help you. what’s the occasion? ”

   big displays of emotion, or emotion at all, really, had never been advocated for in the jiang family. some of the sorority girls called ari stiff, and she didn’t disagree, but watching and feeling clementine fall apart in her arms, it was hard not to wonder if she had the best end of the deal. her parents were careful, and calculated, professional and calm, much like ari modeled herself to be. tears were reserved for injuries, though when too angry, ariadne was known to shed a few herself. the heart was a muscle, not a leader, and ari hated how much at a loss she felt in terms of comfort to the earth witch. 

   though out of practice with acknowledging feelings, ari knew her friendship and connection with the mess of a brunette she clung to now was real. and so, she would try her hardest - to comfort, to fix, to assist, to be whatever cleo would need. her tears were like kindling on a fire, growing her guilt, but also- her anger. anger that someone, several someone’s possibly, could come and ruin their lives in this way. take away things they loved, people they cared for… ariadne was mad. 

  with an arm snaking around cleo’s shoulders, she maneuvered them to the couch, where cleo had instructed they sit the last time ari showed up, unannounced. once seated, it seemed clementine regained a bit of composure, enough to allow a few words slip by her quivering lip. “i know,” ari nodded numbly, the mention of their names tugging the hole in her heart a little wider. but when cleo mentioned no longer wanting magic, their abilities - ari could not agree or sympathize. “clementine… you are the best of us,” she began softly, speaking just loud enough to be heard over the lingering crying, the stray sob, the shuddering breath. “i am not hurt, and that is thanks to you. when we went to get the hunter, he fought back. when he came for me, nothing he did could get to me, and i was protected. you made that possible-” ari tugged the little charm from under her shirt, where it always rested against her, and showed cleo that she still wore and kept it. “if anyone were to have magic, and be deserving of it, and do the most with it… it is you, XĪNGĀN.”

comfort leads clementine to tears. it’s clearly meant for the opposite effect and yet, the bond established with ariadne in these past months it’s what makes it possible for clementine to cry freely. she never cried much during infancy. the years were harsh and her father was harsher. the few instances in which clementine couldn’t contain her tears in front of her family became fuel so she would never do it anymore. she remembers how fear would pull the tears back into her eyes and trap the sobs inside her throat when she heard her father’s steps next to her door. 

her tears are so rarely met with comfort. she is used to the scrutiny that comes with it. she is used to the scoffs and then the laughs. but clementine isn’t used to this – ariadne’s kind eyes and kind touch and ever kinder words. it feels alien, almost. it brings a knee jerk instinct to feel shame for not being the one offering comfort and for fiercely demanding comfort to the point that ariadne has no way out. 

clementine shakes her head when ariadne declares she is the best of them. tears fall with the movement and they mark fresh paths on her cheeks. her ego would much like to believe it but – how could she? she feels the weak link, the weakest witch. yet, ariadne seems to see in her thing she can’t see herself and she is so impossibly kind. 

her eyes meet the charm she made and clementine takes her trembling fingers to it. mentally, she thanks this magic. while the sorrow and the agony cut deep and she definitely wants nothing else to disrupt this coven, clementine needs to thank the earth that blessed her with these powers. because now, it meant ariadne was safe. if she continues to be, clementine doesn’t know and yet, something rings true and loud inside her heart: she protected ariadne. she failed most, but she didn’t fail all of them. 

“ i don’t know what that means, ” she replies with a tearful rehearsal of a smile. clementine has no choice but to cry more, feelings coming in waves and she crashes hard. “ i don’t– i don’t think i believe, ” she tries to explain, brushing past the compliments she doesn’t know how to accept. “ but ari i– i’m so happy that you’re not hurt. i’m so thankful that i could do this for you. i won’t thank magic for putting us in danger but i will thank it for keeping you safe. ”