The Blood Witch

'I do'

I wake to cold and empty arms.

Ash is gone. Disappeared into the crystalline blue of a pre-dawn sky. My back is stiff, whole body aching with the loss of the warmth and weight I had eventually fallen asleep with last night.

The lingering tannins of red wine saturate the inside of my skull agonisingly. How in the Abyss had Ash managed to rise for morning prayer before even a blood witch could?

As if summoned by the very thought, there's a ear-splitting knock at the door that drives yet another invisible nail into my hung-over brain. Emity starts awake with a terrible snore and stomps her way over to answer it.

"We're not doing Dawn Prayer," she snaps at the intruder before I even have to ask, storming back to bed and collapsing on top of the mattress. Her eyes narrow at me as I return to the bedroom on unsteady feet. "I'm never drinking with you again."

Well, that's certainly true if this all goes according to Ash's plan.

"Poor little Emity can't handle her wine..." I coo back at her.

Clawing my way along the wall for balance, until I finally collapse on the cool tiles of the bathroom floor and let my vision spin for a few minutes.

When the world finally comes to a still, my eyes rest on Ash's straight razor, gleaming softly from atop his vanity. The blade is cool in my grip as I sit, tugging it down towards me, but warms quickly as I rest the sharp steel against the flesh of my elbow.

It's been so long since I've had to activate my blood magic that I almost hesitate before slicing, a shallow cut that just nicks the bulging vein bisecting my forearm..

My head rolls back in ecstasy as the rich scent of blood fills the air and my magic surfaces with an electrifying buzz. Pulse racing, metabolism speeding up, it's not long until my vision stops swimming and the growing migraine fades to a dull ache.

I etch the sigil for drain, feeling my body answer with a shudder as it empties the remaining alcohol in my body out through the cut in my arm. It's one of the first spells a conscripted blood witch learns, usually for hang overs, but very rarely in the most dire of circumstances - treating a vampyre bite before the curse spreads.

Head clear at last, I turn to the enormous bathroom mirror and inspect myself for one final time. I look no less feral than I did when I first stepped foot in here.

Despite Ash's best attempts with every manner of cream and elixir brewed to shrink my pores, redden my lips and make my skin shine as bright as the Father himself.

It's going to take more of a last minute fix than I anticipated.

I leave my thin lips alone for fear of making them as asymmetrical as my chest, instead fleshing out my cheeks until they're as bright and round as Ash's. Try to remove the evident history of breaks in my nose that had taken it from hooked to crooked to splayed across my face within the space of ten years. I soften my jaw line too, feeling the strange ache of shifting bone as I try to remove the years of worry from my face.

When I finish, the face returning my stare is still my own, but despite the beady gaze and sneering mouth, something has shifted imperceptibly. My front profile is slightly prettier, unassuming and far gentler on the eye.

For a final touch, I mould the flesh above my collar bone into the dark, rough patch of birthmark I've seen poking out under Ash's barely-laced shirts. For all the scrutiny Queen Ilyana and the Ivruthans can afford, this at least should make it hard to disprove my identity on looks alone.

All I really need to do is keep my mouth shut in order to sell the role. That's the hard part.

I heal the cut on my elbow with a lazy sigil, mop up the blood as best I can on Ash's bathrobe and heave a heavy sigh. Now comes the part I've truly been dreading.