qetsiyah

🥀 — "together." a bittersweet concept, as it was qetsiyah herself who ripped amara away from silas to guilt him. was it because it failed so miserably that the plan shifted, or did the witch genuinely regret the path she chose all those years ago? how differently would it have gone down, she thought, if she'd remembered just how stubborn silas could be.

🔮 → "that was all i ever wanted." originally she had pictured a long and happy life with silas at her side as her dream existence, that was until amara had been brought into the fold. love was not divided, it only grew and flourished, and her heart grew even more full. the immortality spell in theory had been meant for two, but she'd pushed herself to make enough for three. it was meant to be a private celebration, an invitation to the third that made them whole, and in the end instead she was left out in the cold. "believe it or not... i never wanted this existence for any of us."

THE VAMPIRE DIARIES | 5.07 ― “Death and the Maiden”

Silas felt something he hadn't felt in several lifetimes. Something he wasn't familiar with any longer. Fear? Definitely not. It wasn't as if Qetsiyah could kill him - that was literally impossible. Nervousness? Anxiety? Those seemed to be more accurate emotions. His eyes lingered on Amara's face for a few seconds, immediately picking up on what she was silently trying to tell him. And he completely disregarded it. There was no way in hell he was running from anyone - let alone Qetsiyah. "Honestly? I thought you'd be rotting away in a grave somewhere." His eyes finally traveled back to the witch standing in front of him. "But you saved me a lot of hard work, I'll give you that. Thanks to you, I don't have to continue my search for Amara."

🥀 — She saw the defiance. The total disregard. Both the egos that stood before her were far too great to back down now, and it left the maiden to shrink uncomfortably in their shadows. Even so, with his eyes on her, she found herself struggling to focus. The man she had risked it all for—the person she suffered for. He was looking, she thought silently with a faint gasp, not daring to express her... reaction aloud, where Qetsiyah could hear. It was hard not to get caught up in the realization that they were all here, together again. Awaiting the next phase of their shared destruction.

🔮 → "half right - my bones do lie in greek soil, my brother saw to that when he killed me over your grave marker after everything you put me through." everything they both put her through, though there was no need to drag the woman down. there was no need to. "you really are stupid, aren't you? i used to tell myself the reason you couldn't create the immortality elixir was because your abilities lied elsewhere - a psychic, so talented, so charismatic, all knowing... except you aren't, and you never were. you are arrogant to a fault, and utterly blind if you think i brought her here for her to be with you."

🥀 — "but if he doesn't take the cure." if the witch actually intended to keep her two persecutors in the same place, forever. would they return to stone, with a living breathing guardian this time? was it always amara's fate to return to her tomb. her chest tightened at what felt like a promise. it frightened her, deeply, but even the chance at being relinquished of the burden was enough to revitalize her. stiffly, she nodded. "naí, potnia."

🔮 → "my mistake last time was giving him the choice - i won't this time." it was clear silas lacked any honor - or a spine - but she would not be deterred. following her promise to end the handmaidens suffering, she reaches out to take her hand in her own, and makes one more "we will end this the way the three of us should have spent eternity - together."

🥀 — the logic was sound, but amara couldn't help but wonder still. silas hadn't come for her, that much was obvious—but perhaps waving around a breathing version of her wouldn't make a difference after all. "if that's the path he chose," she spoke slow, thinking through it in real time, "it won't matter where i am." looking back at qetsiyah, the immortal began to entertain the idea that she was speaking the truth. "no," she answered the question, sounding uncertain of it. her life wasn't hers anymore; did it really matter how she existed in it? "and what of the other side? if it's lost its meaning..." terribly disguised wishful thinking.

🔮 → "it will matter to me - i want you both where i can see you as you made it clear i can not trust either of you." literally or figuratively the meaning held the same - when she found silas, she wanted him to be confronted by the sight of them both in the flesh and not in the illusions he was always so fond of. the witch wanted them both close enough to her to prevent any untoward rebellion from their fate and to make everything entirely clear to them both. "for the time being you are still the anchor, you are just free of your chains... the sooner we finish our task, the sooner the burden is off your shoulders."

🥀 — she feels the withdraw of the blood, the life giving liquid that did so much to bewilder and revive. the immortal was desiccated for so long, without this feeling of rejuvenation.. but she feared showing disappointment. "i'm the bait," she assumed. even if she was wrong, she knew it didn't matter. "why now? tell me at least.. that much." just because she couldn't imagine how much time had passed, it didn't mean she didn't understand. she was awake every one of those days.

🔮 → "if you were bait, we wouldn't be going anywhere. i'd keep you here, tucked away for safe keeping and find a way to bring him to me." the witch admitted, though she wasn't entirely far off from her purpose. "after what you two did to me... i gave silas his options - an enjoying his immortality without me was not one of them. if he's free, it almost didn't seem fair to leave you hidden away when you're both just as guilty. surely you're not complaining?"

"I don't believe it.." For the first time in all of his immortal existence, Silas was at a loss for words. Standing before him were two of the women he claimed to love - did love. The very same women he had deceived and broken the trust of. His eyes flickered back and forth between Amara and Qetsiyah, trying to gather his wits as he assessed his situation. "I.. You're both here.. Together?"

🥀 — Amara may not have known exactly what was going to transpire, but she knew to be wary, and to expect more of the treatment her mistress enforced. And now here he was, the source of the ire. "Silas..." She was scared to speak out of turn, to trigger anything, but she couldn't deny herself the small comfort. All those centuries, denied the ability to even call to him... Yet, the way she looked at him, she hoped with everything inside of her that he would run. Save himself.

🔮 → the expression on silas' face was a new one, even for her. for a man who loved to hear himself speak, to see him nearly lost for words was a treat indeed. "did you really think i'd rest and just allow you to go on terrorizing a whole town, enjoying yourself all the while, with no recourse? that wasn't the deal - and it felt cruel to let our dearest amara be alone in her suffering for your collective sins."

🥀 — this wasn't a side to qetsiyah amara didn't know. she knew her better than anyone who'd set foot onto this old earth... but it was worse, darker, as damaged and twisted as she had become in the two thousand years she lied still. the gentle nature of the touch sent shivers down the handmaiden's spine, and hot tears began to stream down her face. there was an attempt to keep her composure, but it was quickly discarded in favor of the unadulterated fear. she swallowed, shaking as she pulled away. "wh," she paced, lips still close enough to smear the life-giving blood. "what are you going to do..?" to me.

🔮 → her fear was palpable even the tears start to flow and she withdraws. gingerly pulling back her free had to fall at her side. "don't hurt yourself." it's an order, though the bite behind it is gentler than her other instructions. she thinks about leaving the fearful beauty in front of her to stew in uncertainty - but unlike the woman in front of her, she could be honest. "we're going to find silas, and we're going to end this once and for all."

🥀 — she dared not speak again, and does as is asked of her. it didn't take much coaxing, though, as the blood still served to revitalize her and take away the ache that was her immortal body. it was the best she'd felt in centuries.. but the fear of what came next hovered over her like a storm. qetsiyah had something planned for her, and after all this time? there was no telling what horrors await. so amara focused on what was in front of her. she drank, her shaky hands moving up to brace the witch's wrist to hungry, quivering lips.

🔮 → the witch doesn't need to repeat herself, and amara follows the orders as if they are as easy as breathing. the blood loss in noticeable to a degree, but it's doing the woman in front of her a word of good. with every drop her color is returning, hard and rough rock turning into something soft and pliant. reaching up with her free hand, she fixes the hand maidens hair, laying it flat, moving it from her eyes, even pausing for just a moment to caress her face as she paid the woman an endearing "good girl."

so the taste of blood was sweet ichor. every cell in her body writhed in painful ecstasy as new life burst through her. consciousness. eyelids flash open and her favorite nightmare is suddenly real. and it was right about then that everything became too much. the hot blood, pooling along her neck from down her chin. the chill of the air. the way he heart began to hammer inside her chest. "q—" she tried to scream, but her throat isn't ready for it. she isn't ready.

when the handmaiden tried to speak, the witch moved her free hand to press a finger against her own lips - a universal symbol of silence before pulling it back. "drink, get your fill... we have a long journey ahead of us."

the figure she once knew so well encased in stone - as perfect as the day she was trapped within it to begin her eternity of suffering. while qetsiyah had been happy to leave her there, moving a giant rock around was less convenient than the alternative, so she made the smarter call. slicing her wrist strategically, muttering a spell as she did so in preparation of what would come next. bringing a bloodied wrist to stone lips, the witches fury vibrates through the very air as she waited for the inevitable.