Witches Will

The streets seemed painted in blood. Thus were the nights of a Blood Moon. Shawna could feel the ominous edge to the air that had her bringing the hood of her jacket up as she hurried to the cemetery. She found herself attempting to ignore the Shadow Man?s whispers, but on a night such as this it was hard to ignore. Ignoring meant migraines and torment, torture and nightmares. To deny meant to suffer the consequences. The wind nipped at her skin and she shook her head in protest even as the ink dark of her eyes went aflame with a crimson sheen.



Her restless pace only would cease when her footsteps paused before the great oak tree. The unease would never leave her spirit as the limbs of the tree seemed to reach out for her with skeletal branches. More and more Shawna was tortured by the sensation that the Hanging Tree wished to do nothing more than to render her flesh from her limbs. She shuddered even in the southern heat as the jacket was discarded and a hand was shoved through her unkempt hair.



As the Shadow Man wished and demanded she was alone. The loneliness was a peaking sensation that seemed to devour and consume her soul as she closed her eyes to the suffocating feeling of pain. Alone. Lonely. Lost.



The feelings ran rampant through her as she reached to her thigh to withdraw the honing knife. Was she truly to do this? The summoning that he demanded even though she pleaded with the Shadow Man. Shawna knew she did not carry the gift of necromancy, she wasn?t that powerful or talented. She could twist a curse but this was a far cry from her abilities. Still the Shadow Man plagued her, forcing her to learn the practice and rituals. He taunted her, the everlasting presence of the Shadow Man had brought her to ruin.



Depressed and anxious she had ran from all she had trusted and all she had known. The promise of affection from Nicholas became cinders in her palms with the suggestive whispers of the Shadow Man. The hunter, Talbot became a Monster in her eyes thanks to the nightmares the Shadow Man provided where it was not Evil that the man sought the end of but her.



Every single night she died by his hands. Even though Shawna knew of the Shadow Man?s influence she could not escape the recollection of the truth veiled within dreams. She left the Man who was nothing more than a Monster himself far behind if only to save herself and her kind. The Witches.



Taking in a deep breath the crimson spark to her eyes flashed to life as she stared upon the Hanging Tree. The spirits of the dead cried out for redemption and she knew that it was time to seek their forgiveness. She would be a rightful sacrifice. After all her wrongs, this would be the only right she had left to offer.



Briefly her thoughts flashed upon Klara, Soul Twin and Bond Sister, as she felt the tattoo at the nape of her neck ignite in such searing pain it near brought her to her knees. A warning protest from her own gifts and yet the painful solitude she had been forced in by the Shadow Man had become unbearable. She was willing to yield to his final request.



The Blood Moon glinted upon the flawless blade of the dagger as it was raised in the night sky. The wind howled in protest as the moonlight ran red upon the light born weapon. It seemed so prophetic for a moment meant for sacrifice in the hours where blood was meant to spill.

The swift pain of a fresh wound forged from flesh being severed was what Shawna expected to feel. What she didn?t expect to feel was the cruel, agonizing sensation of the bones in her wrist being ground together. The man?s vice-like grip only tightened around her wrist as her ink drop eyes seemed to blaze with a spark of blood fire as she looked upon him.



?Trance?



His name was hissed from her tightly clenched teeth as her eyes narrowed upon the scrawny male that held her wrist still. Shawna easily knew that he took pleasure in providing that amount of pain with just a mere thought and it made her wish to harm him even more. In other moments such as these the Shadow Man would have come to her defense? instead he was oddly silent. Still, Shawna could feel his rising interest and piqued curiousity and such an exchange even as he seemingly had forgotten about what he had brought her to do.



The cemetery lived up to the expected atmosphere. Quiet and cold as Death. The witch found herself sneering with contempt at Trance as she looked him over. He looked so frail, so weak and so hungry? yet Shawna knew better than the rest not to judge a book by its cover. Trance was not one to take lightly. One should never judge the appearance of a Collector.



He had been quiet up until this point, his hands and his actions were always fidgeting and restless as he released her wrist if only to make his next choice move. The sound of her own bones breaking sounded as fragile as twigs snapping beneath the force of a storm. The fury and the paint left her eyes to bleed to scarlet as she shook her head and suppressed the desire to cry out in pain.



?I?ve been looking for you for quite some time, petite. You were far more of a challenge to collect for my menagerie than that bitch of a werewolf or even that blasted blue haired fae. Blue hair, black eyes. Black Hair and eyes so deep in their crimson shade one might think your eyes are black? but non cher your eyes are the darkest shade of drying blood. Perfect. I think I shall place you on display right between mon petite mort bleu and the she bitch. Such a contrast those colors?her with those captivating eyes. Makes me think that perhaps the sun and the moon mated just to breathe life until that wolf. Oh ? her mate I?m certain is furious to have her only for her to be taken away.?



?You are nothing more than scum, Trance. You are far from a collector with how you hoard creatures as if we were pieces in your collection.?

?Mais non, cher My plans are different? the market pays a pretty price now for witches, and werewolves, and the fae? oh my.?

?So you are going to sell us then??



Shawna knew that she should have bit her tongue from the remark but the rolling fury setting her soul on fire left her burning inside with the attempt to fight. The sudden squeeze of his fingers tightening around her throat left her breathless, the incantation waiting on her tongue falling to silence as he crushed her throat.



?A shame they would pay well for you cher? how I?d love to hang you from this tree in memorium of your ancestors. A nice thought that.?



His throaty chuckle reached her ears even as the darkness began to crawl towards the edges of her sight. He carried her, struggling limbs and all, to the van waiting in a darkened portion of the cemetery parking lot.



The witch could only curse herself for the lack of noting her surroundings as she was thrown into the back of the van. The last thing Shawna saw before the darkness claimed her was the view of another figure, likely female, curled in the corner of the van. Shawna would swear on her life if ever asked that the creature she saw in that van that night was an angel? but surely not?

Shawna had managed to find some moments of silence and peace despite the situation she found herself in. Sleep rarely came and when it did it was often plagued by whispers from the Shadow Man and nightmares. A shallow inhaled breath from her captive companion had her eyes cracking open as she became suddenly alert. They had stopped.

The witch shifted in preparation for spell casting and curse working when she felt the cold metal against her flesh. Not handcuffs as she first assumed she wouuld be restrained by but far worse in a time of need. Charmed silver. Inwardly she swore and sat back as her eyes flickered briefly to searing crimson. The pain that seared through her was another story and the momentary defiance died, snuffed out as surely as any flame without oxygen. This was the price she had to pay. Trust.

Save for Klara, the witch had found she put her trust in the worst of sorts. There had been Trance during her reckless years and then of all things she had come to trust a hunter of all monsters in her non-reckless years. A Hunter of monsters. A Hunter of Her. Talbot. Her stupidity at the realization the situations her heart left her in had her hands clenching. She was nothing better then a fixed mongrel when it came to the charmed silver. Earth magic and the Shadow Man didn't play well together... which left her with curses and blood magic. None of which she had any choice to attempt unless she planned on drawing her own blood.

The hissing screech of the van's door being hauled open shattered her thoughts as she sneered at her captors, a few well landed kicks to Trance only had the man laughing at her.

"Oh cher, you always had fight in ya. Good thing... you will need it where yar goin'. Unless ya prefer to be a broodmare? Hmm. Yer choice." The quick kick to his shin was answer enough for the man as she was near dragged and stumbling towards her new home... the old asylum.

The screams penetrated the asylum and even Shawna recoiled at the sound. A glance behind her showed that her companion in the van was still with them. An angel. An actual angel. Shawna took in her feathery wings, soft brunette curls, and the soul born blue eyes. Those eyes that could go straight to the soul. Shawna averted her gaze with a frown. She wasn't much for anyone getting a peek into her soul, much less an angel. She knew how much smut she carried after all.

"I bet you're looking forward to this aren't you, cher?"

Shawna cast a glare in Trance's direction but said nothing. It was best not to.

She had expected the screams and sounds of pain to be coming from other captured supers, or innocents being tortured. Despite all her looking, Shawna saw nothing but still she could hear the screams. It made her wonder if it was all residual from the very existence and past of the aslym. The thought itself made her cringe as she drew in a shaky breath.

What had Trance meant before...

The conversation plagued her as she soaked in her surroundings with eyes that didn't miss a single speck of dirt. The guards directed the angel into one of the cells before she was directed to one. Directed was a kind word considering the manhandling toss in she got.

Thankfully the zip strip had been removed from her bruised wrists, but it was the charmed silver that remained. Groaning she sank down on the soiled cot, not wishing to think of what bodily fluids had tainted it so. She still did not understand why she was here.

Only too soon would she find out...