Changeling Witch

(S2) Changeling Witch

Hunter stared at the space where Luz had been, his whole body going numb.

She'd always felt familiar. He never thought much about it before, couldn't place it, just wrote it off as her getting on his nerves. Because that had to be the explanation.

But it wasn't. And now he knew.

Because the curve of her face, her choppy, feathery dark hair, the way she so fiercely stood up for what she believed in, how she never took shit from anyone—all of that was from Camilla Noceda.

And her optimism? Her bravery? Her oddities? Her heart, hidden beneath the unhinged persona?

They were living reminders of Hunter's dad.

And now...

"You killed her," Hunter said, voice shaking.

"Oh, no, she's quite alive," Belos corrected. "And don't worry, I'll let her out eventually." He wrinkled his nose. "Really, though, of all the times she could have found out, it had to have been a week before the Day of Unity, didn't it? I'll have to fix her memories on top of everything else."

Hunter whipped his head towards him, forcing back the tears. "I'm going to tell everyone about the Day of Unity, fuckweed," he snarled. "I'll tell them that you've been lying to them for years, tell them who you really are—"

"Yes, I will admit, this has gone on longer than I'd have liked it to." Belos raised an eyebrow, looking down at Hunter like he was a bug that landed in his morning tea. "But enlighten me, please. What am I, exactly?"

"Are you serious?!" Hunter shouted. "I heard you! You're a fucking witch hunter! And you're not even from here, at least not fully—you're a Wittebane descendant, just like me, I know you are—"

Belos started to laugh, jarring Hunter out of his spiel completely.

"Oh, Hunter," he sighed, lifting a finger. "So close, and yet so, so very wrong."

A portrait frame rose up from the ground a few feet away, flicking through images like a photo reel...

Images that, with a sinking heart, Hunter recognized.

No.

"His pretty little words should make pretty good kindling..."

"Yo, assholes, that's not yours."

"No, no, this is what I actually look like—this is gonna sound crazy, but—"

"Astounding! I thought I was the only one who used picto-glyphs!"

"I know what they do to witches in your realm—what makes you think they'll treat YOU any different?"

Hunter shook his head rapidly, a panic attack starting to settle in. "This isn't—no—no, no, no, no, NO!" He fell to his knees, covering his head. "You're BELOS! You're just BELOS! You're not HIM!"

"Come now, Hunter," Belos said softly, tilting his head to the side. "Do your uncle a kindness, and call him by his real name, won't you?"

I looked up to you.

I read your diary, I read your lies, and I believed all of them. I thought you were good. I thought you were different. I thought you were like me.

And all the while, you knew...

"I..." Hunter's voice cracked. "I can't."

"Pity, that." Belos—not Philip, he wasn't going to think of him as Philip, he couldn't think of him as Philip—ran his fingers along the frame of the portrait. "It does feel good to hear someone else say that name. I had to change it after Philip was run out of too many towns."