WRITING CHALLENGE #3

It's time for our third writing challenge and of course, we're keeping it spooky this month! You do get one sickle per entry, and you can enter with as many characters as you want. This time around, we are giving you two writing prompts to choose between. So pick a prompt and write away, and post your one shots below!

I saw something outside in the woods last night. And it saw me too.

or

She was the ghost haunting his dreams, with a sad song and murderous eyes.

Amelia had always been taught to fear her jidda more than anything else. It was strange, really, the two Slytherin women she had called grandmothers had precisely two things in common: their maiden names were Sacred Twenty-Eight and they had wed purebloods who were not, and that fear was the dominant emotion for them. Fear for Agatha, fear for her next breakdown, fear that one night she might turn her wand to herself or they'd find blood-stained sheets the next morning.

Demaordimah-- that was to say, the Lady Desdemona Shafiq-- was a different type of fear together. Fear her elegant wrists, so perfectly shaped for duelling, fear her long and delicate hands, so precise in potions, fear her well-shaped lips for what she might say. From her marriage to Amelia's grandfather on, she had been the youngest woman named Zabini-- after all, great-aunt Meixiu had already wed her husband and bore him sons, and great-aunt Carla had not yet left her first husband. Even after Nasr's death, after she'd wed again and again, after her name had changed from husband to maiden once more, Madam Demaordimah Shafiq had had her Zabini son, which was Zabini enough for all.

Amelia had been the next female Zabini after her, a scrap of a child with enormous shoes that could never be filled. She could never wed and profit off seven husbands, gaining mountains of gold and heirlooms as her grandmother. She could never command the room, never rest so secure, never carry danger and beauty in quite the same way her jidda did so confidently. She'd inherited features from both parents, though she'd always favored Susan more. Her once-brother favored their father, but Amelia had what was one of their jidda's most distinguishing characteristics-- the same eyes, set in the same sockets. Still, try as she might, they could never go as hard and dangerous, never quite the same sort of enthralling.

Amelia had done the numbers once, as a child. Her grandmother had been eighteen or so when her son was born, and Amelia's grandfather had been her second husband. Had her grandmother married right after school, to her fourteen-years-older Greengrass husband who was to carry the family to newer, better heights? He'd left her a vault of galleons and a river of debt that his family had refused to repay, betrayed her in ways more than one. What had happened then, enough to have her grandmother attract another husband so soon after, a lucky only-eleven-years older? How had her grandmother felt-- and when did the accidents turn so fortunate?

She would never be worthy of her jidda's approval, as she well knew. Still, the dreams continued-- of the unfortunate and beautiful young woman with her murderous eyes.

    Antonin had had his fair share of nightmares and horrors in life, both real and in his dreams. Azkaban had been a dreary, cold place, filled with those soul sucking creatures that took away whatever was left of his humanity, little by little. Not that he'd had much of that to begin with, he'd always cared very little for being humane. Being humane to who? To the people he didn't consider human to start with? He didn't kick dogs, so why did he kick mudbloods and muggles? Well, the dog didn't have the audacity to consider itself his equal. That was why he had no difficulty with harming them. Now, did he willingly go out of his way to do all this... it wasn't in his nature to do so, yet he did. Why did he? He did it for Tom. Antonin didn't once believe that Tom somehow cared about blood purity or the prevalence of pureblood society. He wasn't part of it and as much as he might despise muggles for their lack of magic... that was merely a tool. He wanted power, Antonin knew him well, and his loyalty to his first friend had gotten him locked up. Did he regret it? On those nights where the cold of stones that served as his bed crept all the way inside and chilled him to the bone? When he couldn't eat because he felt to weak to move? As he screamed and writhed while the dementors fed on him? Did he ever regret it? No, he did not. The only thing he regretted was all the time he'd lost with his family. With their son. He said their because Genie was never truly gone. Not really. She lived in his heart, in his soul. With her beautiful, golden ringlets and that sharpness to her smile. With the echo of her screams in his ears. With the memory of her touch on his skin. She lived on in his heart and in his mind, for he would never be able to let go.

    But she haunted him, now. He knew it was his own worry, his own fear. Their son was losing his magic, their only child, the one she gave her life up for. She never survived the birth and in a way, he thought part of him hadn't either. Watching her writhe in pain, hearing her scream. They'd wanted a child for so long, she wouldn't give up and lose him, but that stubbornness took more out of her than she had to give. Since then, Antonin had cared for their son. Antonin had protected him, Antonin had loved and raised him. Titus had been a grown man when Antonin had gone to Azkaban. The boy getting himself locked up- Antonin had known the agony he would go through and back then, he'd had these dreams also. She berated him for letting him get caught -not for joining, never for joining, she was one of them too- and turned a deaf ear to his pleading and explanations. All she knew was that their baby was suffering and that he did not do all he could have to prevent it. His mind would dredge up all those lullabies she used to sing to her pregnant stomach, reminding her of the love she'd felt in life. Sweet songs in a soft voice, sung by a woman almost as dangerous as himself. And now? Now they were heartbreaking. Now they were a reminder that she was not here to sing to her child herself and that Antonin was charged with his safety. That Antonin had failed them both... when Titus had been in Azkaban. Now? Now it happened again. 

    He could not heal the boy. Antonin was no healer and he could do little but notice what the effects and what the illness' limitations were. He could not cure the infection, they would have to wait until the assigned healers found a solution, if they ever did. Maybe they could also find a cause. Maybe somebody had started this, maybe somebody had done this on purpose. There would be hell to pay if that was the case. He could live with Genie coming to his dreams, he could live with her songs. How he yearned to see her every night, that was the one good thing about this all. Was she a ghost? Was she a spirit reaching out to berate him? Perhaps she was but his subconscious, punishing himself for something he had no control over. But her eyes... they weren't angry at him. He knew her memory better than he knew himself and she was furious. Murderous, even, but not at him. No, she promised agony and suffering to whoever had done this. She charged him with the duty to get revenge, for their son's magic, for their son's sickness. Wether it was cured in the end or not, that mattered little. There would be violence because nobody laid a hand on Genie's son.

never drew first

But I drew first blood

I'm no one's son. Call me young gun

July, 1995
Wentzell Palace
Prague, Czech Republic

They had been called home. The owl had shown up and Dominick had come to get her. They were going back to Prague. Anička hadn’t been back to the castle in years. Not since before Thea had existed. But here she was, twenty-eight years old, and being called home like a child. Anička knew better than not to listen though. The only question was why it was that they had both been called. It had only ever been her before. It had only ever been her, he had only ever wanted to hurt her. And now he had called for them both. Now they were both here. And she was worried about it. She didn’t think that her otec was the kind to tell Dominick what it was that was going on. Why it was that Anička came when she was called. Because Dominick was not Josef. Dominick was Matka’s, and Josef belonged to Otec. And Anička… Anička didn’t really belong to either.

They were being punished. They were being punished together, and that meant that it had to be about Aurora. That it had to be about Nick. It was about the halfbloods. There was no way that it wasn’t. Otec had made sure that they all knew what he thought of halfbloods. He had killed Issa on Christmas morning. That had been their gift. A dead halfblood girl under the tree. Because this family didn’t accept halfbloods. Because they were better than that. Anička knew that they were supposed to be. But she knew that first Ares, and then Dominick, couldn’t help who they fell in love with. She hadn’t been given a choice. She had been sold when she was three weeks old. An alliance with the families of other nations. They could sell off a princess. Because what did a girl matter?

But this wasn’t just about her. This was about Dominick too. And that meant that that was what it had to be about. She hadn’t corrupted the bloodline. She hadn’t had a halfblood child. But she was just as much at fault. She hadn’t stopped him. That was twice that she had let someone from this family make that mistake. Though Ares hadn’t had any children, Anička had allowed the halfblood into her home. And she knew that she couldn’t do anything about it. She was at fault in her otec’s eyes. She was going to be punished for that. Otec, or Josef, or someone else. Someone was going to be on that end of her punishment… Unless it was Dominick. That… That might just break the both of them. Anička didn’t think that she could recover from that one. And she had recovered from so much…

No sooner had they arrived in the parlor of the palace than the lecturing started. She could handle the wrath when it came in the form of words. Words stung, but they could be forgotten. It was the physical punishments that were the worst. They were disgraceful. They were bringing shame onto the royal line. They were going to have to answer for that. And she had known that that was coming. She had known that it was going to be ugly. This was going to be one of the worst punishments that they had faced in a long time. The lecturing switched from her bratr’s indiscretions to her own. And Anička could feel her otec’s words cut like a knife.

He had raised her better. She was smarter than this. She knew what she had done.

She knew better than to speak. But staying silent was just as dangerous. She knew that her otec was cruel. He always had been. And so, when he raised his wand, no one said a word. “Vypadni.” Get out. He hadn’t even had to look at her for Anička to know that the words were meant for her. And she didn’t hesitate more than a moment. It would be worse if she didn’t go. She didn’t want to leave Dominick there, she didn’t want to think that her otec was capable of killing her bratr, but she was under no real delusions. This could have very easily been the last time that she saw her bratr alive. Knowing better than to disobey, she moved into the hallway, and shut the door between them.

And he was there. Josef had been waiting in the hallway. Her starší bratr was standing in the hall waiting for her. Anička hadn’t been prepared for him to be right there. If she would have known that he was she would have risked staying in that room with Otec and Dominick. She would have risked defying her otec to stay away from her bratr.

His hands closed around her arms as he pulled her against him. “Ahoj, malá sestra.”

Anička’s eyes turned dark as she looked up into his. The exact same blue that her own were. The same jaw lines. The same thin upper lip. They were the same. Bratr a sestra. She could hear the sounds of her otec’s lecturing Dominick, and the sounds of pain that were coming from her bratr, but she couldn’t focus on that. Not when she was dealing with something just as dangerous out here in the hall. “Get away from me.” English. Defiance. She wasn’t supposed to speak English here.

“Ne.” His voice was low, and his lips were close to her ear, though he had to bed for that to happen. Her bratr was much bigger than she was, but Anička snapped her teeth in his ear, and he chuckled again. “I think about you, you know?” His English surprised her, but she found herself listening anyway, trying to figure out this game he was playing. “The look in your eyes, the fire that burns through the ice when we’re touching you..”

It took everything in her not to lash out. Not to let the fire that coursed through her burn his hands away. But she knew better. That would only last so long. And then he would get ahold of her again. And it would hurt even worse. He would make sure that it did. “Let. Go.” She sent enough fire through her skin to give warning, but she knew that he wouldn’t let go. He never had. He would rather her burn him than let her go.

“You won’t do that. You don’t want Otec to know… I keep your secrets, Princess.” His hands moved down her arms, and she flinched when they made contact again. “All of them.”

“Jednoho dne vás zabiju, bratře.” Her eyes were burning, but she didn’t move. Her words were strong enough on their own. One day, she would. One day, when it was just her, and it she didn’t have to worry about Dominick being murdered in the next room. One day, when she didn’t have to worry about someone retaliating, and killing her daughters. One day. She would kill him.

Josef’s smirk was enough to make her blood boil, but she knew that she had gotten under his skin. At least for the moment. He let go of her, and shoved her back into the door that she had come through. “Until then, Sestra. Postarej se o naši malou princeznu.”

Her words were lost as he opened the door behind her with magic, and she went tumbling back into the parlor where her otec was cursing Dominick.

“Dívka.” It came out as a growl, and Anička tried to back pedal away from him. He had told her to get out. She wasn’t supposed to be in here. But Josef shut the door behind her, and she knew that she was trapped. “Dívka, Dívka, Dívka…” He was chuckling, and shaking his head as he closed the distance between them. She was in trouble, and she knew it. “You know as well as I do that the only way to clean something like this is with fire, dívka.” His words cut sharper than any knife, and deeper than any curse, as he aimed once more for her bratr. Dominick flipped and twisted, convulsing with the pain that her otec was inflicting. She wouldn't believe it, she refused to believe that curses like that, that her otec's words, and desires were enough to change someone's, enough to change Dominick's, heart.

The echo of the thud of Dominick's body once more collapsing to the ground was enough to fill the silence between them. She wasn't stupid enough to open her mouth again. Not when she was already caught in a terrible position. She had condemned herself the moment that she had fallen through the door, she wasn't going to make it worse. Anička had never been very big, and when Ondřej moved to stand in front of her she was dwarfed by him. “Ne…” Her voice was soft, but she didn’t believe it. She didn’t believe that he could do this. That this could work. She knew that he tortured her. He manipulated her. But she was used to it. “Mě. Prosím, Otče. Zraň mě…” She could handle it.

“Nika…” Her bratr’s voice was hollow. Empty, but she shook her head. She could do this. He could hurt her instead.

When he grabbed her she had been expecting it. He had laid a hand on her for far less. And she was now a willing victim. She had volunteered… Anything to stop him from hurting the people that she loved. He could hurt her again, and again. But she could make him leave Dominick alone. When he turned his wand on her she willed herself to shrink back, to pull away, but she couldn't. As the curse hit her, she felt herself contort as it ripped through her. She wouldn't give him the satisfaction of screaming though. He wasn't going to get that from her. Instead, she let her silence condemn her. When he released the curse she was breathing hard, and there were tears streaming down her cheeks, but she hadn't uttered a sound.

Her otec hovered above her, just inside her line of vision, as she lay in a heap on the floor. With the way that she had twisted, and contorted, her right hip was exposed to him, and when she saw him move to curse her again she was prepared for the Crucio... she was not prepared for the searing pain situated in one place. The burning that felt as though it were pushing straight through her bone... Anicka had never felt anything like that in her life, and she couldn't help the cry of pain that came then... "You don't tell me no... You'll do well to remember that, Dívka. You don't tell me no, because I own you. You may be married but you are mine, and you always will be don't forget that. Your life, and your daughter's lives, depend on me. Never. Say no. Again." Her otec pulled his wand away and before Anicka could look at her hip to see what he had done she screamed. The curse from her otec's hand coursing through her once more, and this time she slipped away from the world, her eyes finding her bratr’s for just a moment, before everything slipped away. Neither one of them were going to forget the look in each other’s eyes today…

MADE BY VEL OF GS + ADOX 2.0

Gemma had always hated An Caillteanach.

It was worse now, more than ever. Needles were digging a thousandfold into her head, and she was bloody weak. She was older, she was strong, and still it wasn't good enough. Like hundreds before her, she was prey to the illness that swept across the country, and like them all she wasn't much spared the impacts. There were a thousand places she'd rather be than here, a million. And yet. . .here she was, on the stupid cold island she'd grown up on.

The Matron had said sick folk couldn't be in the castle, and she hadn't wanted to go to Pyxis, and it was the perfect time to be renovating their home. So An Caillteanach had been the only place she could go. She'd be joined by bloody Morgause and her brood, because of bloody course they still lived there. Gemma had never thought she'd been one to wish Morgause was well, but there it was. It worked out, maybe. With Morgause sick, at least she didn't try to talk to Gemma much. Supposedly. Morgause's brood (she had never been able to tell them apart, nor had particularly cared to do so) were mostly sick as well, but they'd gotten the bright idea that it would be a good idea to put the sisters together. In the old cell that had once served as their bedroom, too. If Greg hadn't been so concerned with the rest of their family, it wouldn't have happened. As it was, Greg was preoccupied, worried about their niece and Odelia. She couldn't blame him for such, but she was his wife, and where was he when she was so inconvenienced? Winning the Uncle of the year award, hopefully.

She gave a huff, pulling her robe tighter around her as she crossed to the narrow opening that passed as a window. It was sweltering hot, fires roaring high and only amplifying the old charms on the broch. She needed air, she needed--

"Tell me," her voice was hoarse from coughing and vomiting, from lack of use. "'Gawse--" the rarely-used childhood name leapt from her throat, and Gemma didn't catch it in time to correct it. "I'm making things up. I'm hallucinating. We're in no fit state--"

Her sister leveled a glare at her back, one that prickled the hairs on Gemma's back. "Don't call me unless it's important."

If she'd had her magic, if she wasn't sick, Gemma would have forced the torchlight to flare in the room. better yet, she wouldn't be here during the worst parts. "Morgause Anna MacFusty, I swear by all that is magical, if you don't pick up your bloody arse off the bed and tell me if I'm wrong there might not be a bloody An Caillteanach for you to lounge around in."

"What's so important that you. . ." Morgause's voice trailed off. "Oh. How did we not hear that?"

"It was storming." Gemma's palms were sweating. The dragon-- no, she didn't know it by name, it had been too many years and she had rather less magic than she would have wanted. The quickest way to subdue it, to drive it away required such, and her own was far too shaky. "How many of your children are here, how many can. . ." she didn't know their names, but that seemed a rather foolish thing to remember with another dragon less than ten meters away. Even trained as Gemma had been, by both family and Ling-Na-Paiste, ten meters was far too close in such a state, when this one seemed near six. She fancied she saw her reflection in this one's eyes. "When were the last time the wards were renewed?"

"Only Nynaeve isn't school-trained." The rest was left unsaid, that Nynaeve was the only one of her children who wasn't ill. Morgause's fists were white. "Grandfather renewed them last month, though it must have been when he was ill. . ."

"Where is she?" Did Gemma have to do everything? It felt like pulling teeth.

"The University, with Cathair." Gemma nodded, pretending she knew who Cathair was. A nephew, a great-nephew, a friend?

"Scáthach's Gambit states--"

"Shut up, Gemma." Morgause's voice was strained. "For once, shut up, and let me think."

Gemma pressed her lips together, swallowing down a cough. "Well, the wards must have been put up when he was feeling better." The dragon was finished circling, and was turning around. "But your Nynell ought to renew what's protecting us."