TW: Tyranny, Blood, Transmutation, Baneful Magick, Emotional Manipulation, Toxic Mindsets.
A.N. - Do you ever write emotion in such a way that you feel it yourself?
Boisterous cheers filled the tavern as a band of villagers flooded inside from the rain. Various patrons flocked to the new arrivals with eager hands, and piles of gold coins landed in their clutches. Jewels seemed to fall in torrents from the ceiling, decorating the tattered garb clinging to starved figures in radiant hues. When half the inhabitants lifted arms stocked with riches, curious whispers turned to uproarious laughter.
Spirited souls began to lock limbs with one another and skip around the inn. The stench of wet dogs and rusted iron permeated the air, yet it failed to dissuade the rebellious euphoria of the burghers. Howls reverberated through the flimsy walls, the cries of a turbulent nature providing a backdrop for their songs. The taste of fried eggs and turnips lingered in every word.
Downing a glass of water, you turned your back to the festivities. The seat beneath you grew uncomfortable, urging your body to fidget with the notion that the villagers' bravery was a mask for their stupidity. The riches would have been welcome by any other method, but their faith in your rulers' ignorance courted tragedy. You had grasped the handle of your wicker basket and were approaching the door when a gemstone was tossed inside the container.
A raucous chortle prompted you to whirl around. Leagues of emaciated villagers surrounded a smiling duck, who was flinging an array of jewels towards any visible faces. The glossy veneer of the rock beckoned to you, glistening amongst the leeks and radishes coated in dirt. Bobbing your head in frustration and glancing around the room, you aimed to cast the stone into the hands of the duck.
Black tendrils seeped into the tavern, filling the crevices in the door and spilling onto the floor like a broken dam. Jagged claws grasped the lumber as if they were a tremendous beast seeking shelter. As the door swung ajar, the whistles of vicious winds coalesced with monstrous roars. Flying shadows invaded the building in a cyclone of rain and crimson eyes. Their lower body had morphed into a tail, and their arms seemed to graze the floor even when they glided to the ceiling.
Two dark figures emerged from the mouth of the storm, hands intertwined. Bursts of purple flames sailed into the tavern and stripped multiple burghers of their lives. Piles of ash permeated the air as screaming devolved into bleating, and their remains were dressed in the gold they had worshiped moments earlier. Jewels shattered as the owners who had neglected to flee lost their arms.
“We gave them quite a scare, didn't we?” Giggling collided with a sinister tone in a cacophony of taunts, the shadows vacating the entrance. Light from the chandelier shone down upon the twin silhouettes to reveal Poe and Magica De Spell. Magica peered at each soul with a malignant grin, volatile enthusiasm embodying the wave of her hand. A quiet determination governed Poe's slow sweep of the throng, and his yellow eyes gleamed at the sight of your gem.
Retreating with a shriek, a villager attempted to dash towards one of the many busted windows. Magica lunged at them and yanked their quaking form to the ground, threatening to unleash a variety of curses. Shadows swooped to their side and seized their limbs in robust grips.
Poe lowered his gaze to the jewel before looking at you with a sedate expression.
Sobbing flooded your ears as any patrons who had failed to dive behind the bar or leap through a window were herded against the wall like livestock en route to the slaughterhouse. Arm beset by tremors, you tore the rock from your basket and presented it to Poe. A surge of feminine cackling spurred you to lurch forward and hold the stone closer to him.
The sorcerer crinkled his eyes and tilted his head, flashing an inquisitive smile. He raised a hand to his chin and tapped his cheek. “Impeccable instincts.” Poe slid a finger around the girdle of the gem, tugging it closer with agonizing patience. His gaze was static and unblinking.
This unwavering focus drew gales of discomfort from your gut, but the duck leaned forward before you could thrust the treasure to his chest.
He raised a finger to the end of his beak and curled it, smile gaining a mischievous quality. “I trust this is our secret?”
A sharp yell echoed in the tavern. “Poe!”
The sorcerer recoiled and cast a glance over his shoulder, gaze acquiring a flicker of worry. A swish of his wrist brought the jewel to the rear of his tailcoat, and he spun around with a supercilious smile. “Yes, dear sister?”
Magica was idling in front of the villagers, arm outstretched and palm facing their quivering forms. A thin strip of purple light enveloped her hand, but it failed to evolve into more than a spectral glove.
The cries of the burghers were oppressed by a malevolent silence as they quailed and prayed for benevolence.
Clenching her fist and scowling, the sorceress turned her head to glare at her twin brother. “Come here!” Impatience adorned her tapered gaze. “I can't turn these worms into frogs by myself.”
A layer of frustration lingered in her voice, one that drew a vigorous chuckle from Poe. He pressed a hand to his brooch and sauntered towards the motley of blubbering peasants. “Forgive me, I found myself preoccupied with the local attractions.”
Purple flames consumed your vision, reflecting in your eyes as they were peeled open by involuntary panic. The brilliant light dazzled your retinas but could not prohibit the devastation from etching itself in your mind.
Where feathers once grew, horns burst forth in painful tides. What used to form hands stretched into the wooden legs of chairs. When you searched for a pair of eyes, you found only the bulging pupils of frogs. There was no sign of the villagers. If you had not watched them descend into animals and common household objects, you would say they never existed.
The thump of the door reached your ears as a clone of your throbbing heart, a noise so constant it became irrelevant. The sorcerers passed by with an apathetic gait, and Poe greeted you with an eerie smile. “Bring me something nice, won't you?”
* * *
Dirt clung to your fingers like glue as your arms burrowed into the earth and hurled clots of soil in desperate swipes. Your clothes stunk of damp fungi and worms, bits of mushrooms and pebbles dangling from each sliver of tattered cloth. A tired stiffness sunk its teeth into your body, and your lungs begged for an end to the frantic breaths striking your ribcage.
No rational thoughts broke through the wall of terror oppressing your mind, only the belief that finding a jewel might save you from becoming another wild animal doomed to toil amongst former colleagues.
Just as your limbs began to quiver and your vision grew hazy, a glint of white light peeked out from beneath the mud. Your heart shuddered as if it were about to explode. You pressed a finger to the source, and a cold pain punctured its tip. A weak gasp left your lips. The dirt felt frigid and dead under your touch as if the soft glow imploring you to unearth it was the sole piece of life.
The stone held no warmth, and for a moment, the glittering crust coveted by so many seemed worthless. It was a bargaining chip, a plead for you to keep your life one day longer. There was no tangible value except for what little the twin sorcerers decided to bestow. Expecting this rock to lift you into a world where food was not a question meant kneeling to a delusion.
The disparity between the elation you anticipated and the dull solace you received was frustrating, and a loose impulse said to chuck the gem into the river. Drowning the suggestion in images of villagers receding to beasts, you staggered to your feet and clutched the jewel to your chest. Flares of stinging prodded your swollen knees as if there were a swarm of bees assaulting them. Your hands and feet were strewn with scrapes and bruises, each one deeper or wider than the last.
Blood had begun to ooze from the various scratches, but you could no longer differentiate between the sanguine fluid and the dark earth embedded in your flesh. The threat of infection was too great to overlook. Despite your fears of gangrene and subsequent amputation, the situation allowed no time for healing. It demanded that you risk your life now to sacrifice it later.
The trek to the castle was exhausting, and the grim whispers shelling you on every side procured no comfort. Your weary gaze followed the talons of the bird in front of you, discerning the myriad of scars embracing them like splints. Sympathetic glances were cast in your direction. The owners examined their baskets of offerings and viewed your solitary stone with pity, eyes dry.
“What goodies have you brought us today?” The giddy voice of Magica spurred you to pause at the entrance to the throne room. Both twins were seated in their respective thrones, but Magica was itching to welcome the nearest peasants with a spell. Poe scanned the crowd with supercilious indifference, elbow propped on the arm of his chair and head resting on his knuckles.
The jingling of gold coins resembled melodies as villagers poured sacks of recovered fortunes and fresh produce onto the mounds of wealth. Shades of orange and red bled through the vast windows bordering the flank of the castle, drenching the glories in murky tints. Magic seemed to comprise the atmosphere as inexplicable chills lashed your back. The oppressive climate confused your senses and encouraged you to lift your head for a deep breath.
Every set of eyes in the room were directed at you. The villagers who had functioned as veils between the twins and yourself had migrated to either side of the hall, enabling both sorcerers to spot the gemstone in your grasp.
Magica stared with puissant avarice, and Poe shifted to the edge of his throne. They reached for each other in an abrupt motion.
Oxygen seemed to forsake your lungs as waves of cold sweat draped your forehead, the rock feeling twice its size.
Poe had begun to raise his hand when Magica sprang from her throne and unfurled an arm, shoulders bobbing with jubilant giggling.
A purple mist shrouded the jewel and yanked it from your grasp. The pointed edges slid across your palm like blades, flesh erupting in sharp pains as if impaled by needles. You winced and clenched your fist to stifle the blood leaking from the fresh lacerations.
Magica beamed as the cloud of energy plopped the gem into her clutches, eyes widening in awe. She returned to her ornate chair and relinquished her grip on Poe to lift the diamond to her beak.
A whimper threatened to spill past your lips, but you funnelled the noise into sparse grunts.
Poe regarded his sister with a tight frown and leaned the side of his head on his palm before sending a curious smile your way. “Have one for me?”
Your gaze rose with a sluggish timidity, eyes flitting between the diamond clasped by Magica and the expectant stare of Poe.
His humour dulled. A modicum of disappointment fanned his countenance as he shifted to an upright position, fingers curling into a fist. Minimal tension expressed itself in the gesture, yet the discontent pervading his figure advanced to mild annoyance. “Now, we can't have that.”
Dread swelled in your stomach like a balloon, a wave of frigid air crashing over your body. Soft breaths turned to fractured pants. Memories of villagers returning to town with slimy green skin and cloven hooves assaulted your mind. The wails of feral animals had plagued the night for weeks, and you were beginning to see yourself joining them.
A hand grasped yours, delivering a respite from the spiral of anxiety blurring your senses. The clatter of vegetables and yucca fibres introduced a villager approaching from behind. After offering you a kind smile, they stepped forward and extended a gold nugget towards the pair of thrones. It was a small clump, barely covering their palm, but it shimmered underneath the evening light.
Poe observed them with an impassive frown, a glimmer of malevolent amusement seeping into his yellow eyes. A chuckle devoid of joy rattled his shoulders. “That won't do at all.”
The villager lowered the gold piece and stood motionless, a look of surprise and bewilderment infiltrating their visage. They blinked and began rummaging the collection of turnips and cabbage occupying their basket. Horror entrenched itself in their gaunt figure as nothing but loose straw dangled from their knuckles, and fearful murmurs permeated the crowd.
“I have a better idea.”
Following a cackle from Magica, Poe presented his right hand to her. She lowered the jewel to her side and accepted it with a wicked smirk. Bright flames reminiscent of an amethyst encircled his left hand, and a beam of light was propelled in the direction of the generous burgher.
Vegetables plummeted to the floor and bounded across the stones like a herd of deer. A scream ascended their throat, but the flesh lining their neck mimicked the jagged exterior of a rock. Bones tapered to the pointed edges of a gem, eyes acquiring a polished veneer. Muted gasping shook their body as it twisted into the shape of a diamond and shrank to complete the imitation.
To an oblivious spectator, a precious stone had been abandoned. It bumped the overturned basket as if acknowledging its past reality.
Many villagers averted their eyes and swallowed howls of despair, while some stared in hushed terror.
Magica flashed a sneer and plopped her treasure on the arm of her throne. “Allow me!” She raised a hand, but the purple glow enclosing her limb dissipated.
Sensing the baffled gaze of the sorceress, Poe proclaimed, “They've come so far. Why not let them go a little further?”
Ferocious tremors twisted and shook your limbs like a toddler swinging a toy. Your knees threatened to collapse, and any muscles gained the density of a cracked twig. Every step had a chance to drain the last drop of strength from your body, lungs growing unresponsive to your need for breath. White dots pervaded your vision.
When you crouched to collect the diamond, you worried that a single finger skimming the ground would mean death. Clutching the jewel was akin to sticking your hand in a bucket of ice, and you wondered if the villager could see your anguish or feel your quivering touch. Stumbling to your feet required a broken pant. The steady gaze of Poe bore into your form, imparting a weight that you feared would drag you to the floor.
Your journey to the foot of his throne was marked by askew breaths and erratic strides. As you kneeled and raised the stone above yourself, a hand lowered to the top of your head.
Poe exhaled a quiet sigh as he looked down at you, eyes harbouring a curious yet pleased gleam. “What a beautiful gift.”