◤ 𝖈𝖍𝖆𝖕𝖙𝖊𝖗 𝖔𝖓𝖊: ❛ self-made
tragedies ❜ ◢
✧
NOW AND THEN, IN HER DREAMS WOULD CREEP UP A VISION – A WHISPER IN HER HEAD TELLING HER TO ACT, TO WRITE, TO BECOME. There was ghouls plaguing her dreams, screams and the cold drip of blood against her body, down and down the liquid would stream. Sometimes there was a beautiful vision, like the couple dancing under the moonlight with smiles on her faces and the stars twinkling in the sky – a full moon among it – until she looked down at her own arms and saw her veins turn as black as the night before her.
She never found herself afraid in the nightmares, a common occurrence for so long in her life that she had succumbed to the numbness, hearing the whispers in her head telling her to write down a new spell in her grimoire until finally the ink hit the page and her neat print was creating a new spell that she was sure to be useless in another life. For somebody else that was not her.
The creatures in her mind never scared her either. She had seen the darkest of magic surrounding her, isolating her from warmth. She had seen the deadliest face, the fastest movements to herself. She had seen the eyes of a beast, the cry of the wolf, the inhumanity in its bones. There was no terrifying her through these dreams; they were just visions of the future, of a spell she would create to save someone else in another life that was not her own.
However, some dreams stood out to terrorize her days. They made her jolt at sudden noises, look around in paranoia that the dreams would become real and attack her. She always saw an alter, three witches around it, chanting as the brought down a knife to slaughter a child, she continuously saw the slaughter or a kind, the death of an era, the burning of buildings, which chilled her bones for entire weeks after the visions occurred.
This one, though, was much different. She felt terror because it seemed so real, like for a moment this was not another life but her own, that the hands covered in blood were her own and the body was that empty of life had been done so by her own self. That the power that was riffled through her dreams would riffle through her own skin, into her veins, and flow through them as if they were her original magic.
And when she awoke, there was no spell to be written, no whispers in her head repeating the chant until it was in ink on the paper forever, charmed to never burn, charmed to stay there forever in her bloodline. No, there was just terror.
Her eyes first fluttered to the flower pot she had blooming in her room, right on her bed side table, and how it was seemingly wilted during the night. It was not an unusual act, often times when the visions took over her dreams – especially those more violent and chilling – would make her magic react in the real world and kill every living item in her room. It was why she had the privilege of having her own room when her youngest sisters had to share; her parents could not bear the thought of their eldest daughter killing the others during a dream.
She lifted herself up, resting on her right arm, and brought her left hand to the plant and muttered a quick spell that revived it, the plant blossoming in the wake of her actions. Even though her heart felt heavy from the dream and a headache was stirring, she smiled at the innocent plant – it was affected by her nonsensical nightmares yet it was free from the knowledge of it.
Somehow, she wished that it was the same way. Her youngest sister never remembered her dreams, didn't even remember the feelings she had during them, while the middle child remembered her terror or happiness but not what occurred. She, though, was cursed with the knowledge of all that occurred in the lives that she would never even see happen, for she knew that she would die before those came true.
The day was most unusual as well. She went through all the motions; getting dressed before going out to see her family for breakfast, helping tend the garden with her sister before going to help set up the ball which would occur that night in Jeremiah Bridge's house. Every month, the night before the full moon, the town held a ball to celebrate the peace between the wolves and witches of the town. Seeing as her mother was preparing a marriage between her and Jeremiah's son, Nathan, she helped them prepare for the ball every month.
However, through these motions, there was a whisper in her brain – much different than the voices that repeated spells. These were dark, every time she got near another human telling her to commit the tragedy she had seen in her dreams, the nightmare from the night. It called to her, pleading with her and pushing her to just use magic and watch as their brain melted, or grab for a blade and plunge it into their chest.
By the time she was home again and dressing in her finest gown, with her mother behind her placing the necklace Nathan had gotten her that day around her neck, she already felt the need to escape – to claw out of her skin and leave. She knew that she couldn't, so she stayed and smiled.
"It's a nice present, isn't it, Marisol?" her mother asked her, in the tone that implied they were not speaking about the gift but Nathan himself.
She had no problem with Nathan, he was a nice boy only two years older than her, much better than Gregory Milkovich who lived three doors down from them who was her exact age. He was cordial, entertained her in conversation, but he was much too dull. There was never a true spark between them, and Nathan liked to talk about the books that he read but when Marisol asked if she could borrow them for her own pleasure, he was quick to refuse her.
She knew that in other towns it was not common practice for girls like her to read. It was strictly prohibited and even though that was not true for their community, witches always needing to read their grimoires no matter race, those values bled through. Gregory never cared when she asked for his books, but that had to be the only good quality about him.
"Yes, it's very nice," Marisol agreed, seeing the pleased look of her mother through the mirror.
"Good," her mother pulled back, "Bring your sisters in half an hour, I have to arrive early for a short meeting."
Marisol nodded, sensing what her mother had to discuss with the Bridge family. "I will," she told her mother, watching as the woman left her room before letting out a sigh.
In half an hour's time, Marisol and her two sisters arrived at the Bridge residence and walked in, another group coming after them. The three stayed together before her youngest sister, Circe, went off when she saw her best friend.
"He's looking at you," Ophelia, her other sister, told her after the ball had been gathering for an hour. Marisol looked around to where she was staring to and saw a young man she had never seen before, obviously a merchant by the state of his clothing, and she was quick to look back at her sister.
"There's no serious future with him," she told her sister, sipping at her drink, "He's just a traveler. Look at him, Ophelia."
Ophelia rolled her eyes, "I never said it had to be serious. You can just dance the night away with him. Have some fun for once."
"I'm already promised to Nathan, it's not going to happen," Marisol waved off the thought. She was sure that the merchant would regale her with tales of his travels but she had no interest in the them. Traveling had never been an interest of hers. "But obviously you're interested, so have your wondrous night with him."
Ophelia looked away and Marisol frowned. Ophelia was the energetic one out of the siblings, always looking for the spice of an adventure. She was the one who tried to convince the others to see the wolves shift during a full moon, though she was soon talked out of it since it was too dangerous. Her looking away, not jumping up at the offer, was different and Marisol was concerned.
"Are you alright?" she asked of her sister, who just nodded her head.
"Fine," Ophelia smiled, though it was much more forced than normal, "I just don't feel like dancing tonight, Marisol."
She continued to look suspiciously at her sister, but Ophelia huffed. "Stop looking at me like that, I said that I'm fine. Now go find Nathan if you're not up for an adventure with the merchant."
Marisol was taken aback. It was usually Circe who snapped back at her, never Ophelia. She wanted to ask more questions, to help her with her problems, but it was clear to her that Ophelia was not interested in seeking a word with her. "Fine, if that's what you want," Marisol said before walking away.
She saw Nathan talking to Gregory and another woman and stopped. The way he was looking at the woman was obviously more flirtatious than friendly and she frowned. Marisol knew nothing was official between them, she was not yet promised to be his wife, but he had to be aware that it was closing in and yet he was flirting with another woman. He was not her claim but he was as good as it, and she felt an anger burn inside her. The whispers in her head practically screamed for her to mutter an incantation now and set him ablaze, though her self-control burned through in the end. She could not create such a seen as that – not here.
Though, if he was alright with flirting with another woman when they would be promised to each other before the end of the night if she was correct about her mother's meeting with Jeremiah, she should be fine to dance with the merchant. It wasn't like he was staying in town, nothing could truly happen between them.
Just a night of fun, an adventure under the candles, for one night. She could afford that. The merchant was still where he was before when she approached him. "Passing through for the night or staying for a while?" she asked before any introductions.
He immediately smiled at her, "Well, if I can see you tomorrow, I will definitely have to postpone my plans."
Marisol blushed at the compliment, "Charming man."
"Beautiful woman," he said back to her, "And does this beautiful woman have a name?"
"Marisol," she told him, "Marisol Bigora."
"Beautiful name, fitting for your appearance," he said, "And will you not inquire for my own?"
She shook her head, "You'll be gone tomorrow, I have no need to know your name. It has no value around here."
"Blunt woman," he said, surprised and taken back by how upfront she was.
"I see no reason for politeness in this issue," she told him, "Would you like to dance with me?"
"Very much so," he brought out his arm for her to take hold of, leading her onto the dance floor where she began to flow with the other couples around. "So, tell me, Marisol Bigora, why are you the rest woman to approach me tonight? Surely someone else would be free."
"We aren't exactly welcoming to visitors," Marisol explained to him, "Though you aren't impolite to them either."
"You seem very welcoming to me," he pointed out to her."
"Only because I saw how you were staring at me earlier," Marisol corrected him, "If my mother had seen you, you would have to run."
"Betrothed then?"
"I will be by the end of the night," she told him, seeing no reason to lie to the stranger she would never see again after the night.
"Well then I'm a lucky man for coming now and not next month when I originally planned, otherwise you would not be mine to have," he smirked at her.
"I'm still not yours to have," Marisol slit her eyes at him. No one had a claim over her, she was not married and she certainly would never be his wife.
"For tonight, I'd like to think you are," he said and Marisol had to refrain from rolling her eyes at the man, "And for tonight, I'll treat you as such. Tell me, Marisol, what is the most beautiful place in town."
Before she could stop herself, she answered him with, "The clearing in the woods. It's a beautiful meadow, the prettiest flowers bloom there."
"Well, would you do me the honor of showing me exactly where this clearing is?" he asked, and it felt like when she told him this, she was placed in a trance. The voices were controlling her every move as she nodded, taking his hand, looking around the room, before escaping through the kitchen.
There, she hadn't even realized the blade she had grabbed. He seemed none the wiser as well. They walked to the woods, through them, until they reached the clearing.
"You are right, this is beautiful," he agreed, "Clear view of the moon and stars."
She felt her legs move forward towards him, but her mind and body seemed so terribly disconnected. She felt as though she was in her dream again, seeing herself approach the man with no face and standing over his body. And before she could even recognize what she was doing, she grabbed him harshly and turned him around, plunging the knife straight into his heart, eyes connecting with his and the terror the held until the life drained from them.
His body collapsed onto the ground, blood splattering onto the grass and the pretty flowers she had complimented earlier. Then the voices were gone and her mind reconnected with her body and she looked at what she had done, his body on the ground and blood covering everything around it. She dropped the knife and brought her hands to her mouth, covering it as it opened as she stared at the tragedy she had just created – at what her mind had been screaming for her to do all day.
Terror was inside her, covering her bone and flowing through her veins with her blood. She had murdered someone – she had committed this tragedy, she had created a monster inside her. She collapsed down onto her knees, hands going to her side as she looked upon her self-made tragedy.
Then, the terror that was flowing through her was replaced with power – a raw before that she had never experienced before – a magic inside her. She felt so in control, a rush through her, and instantly his body caught fire from her thoughts. She laughed, no longer scared but smiling, a crazed maniac as she felt the raw, unimaginable magic inside her bones now.
This power did not come from the earth, from the cycle of the moon or the bones of her ancestors, but from the tragedy she had created. From stealing his life, she had created so much magic inside herself.
But again, she changed as she felt herself unlocking another piece of herself. Something new, hidden so deep inside she had never even known it had existed. The power, the magic through her veins, seemed so broken and disconnected from her again as she felt a shift from within herself. Her hands were brought to the ground as she cried out, bones bending slightly as her eyes changed color to a glowing blue and a growl left from her mouth.
Her bones broke before mending themselves again, teeth growing before disappearing back into her mouth. She collapsed fully onto the ground, beside the burning body of the merchant, as she cried out again. She muttered a spell but nothing happened and she cried again, tears streaming down her face.
Her magic was gone – her connection to the earth disappeared – the power from the merchant vacant from her bones. But she knew that she was different, no longer a witch but a wolf. No longer was she Marisol Bigora the wonderful spell creator, but Marisol Bigora the wolf. The girl who had to run because her mother would disown her now that her magic had disappeared, now that she had become a murderer and would shift.
She stood up shakily, looking down at her tragedy one last time before running back through the woods and to her house. She rushed to her room, flying through the house as she grabbed a bag and began to fill it with her clothes and everything else she could think of to take. Unaware that there was someone else in the house, she packed with a fury and no attempt to be quiet, only stopping when she heard the small voice of Ophelia.
"Marisol?" she sister called her name, and she tensed before turning around to see the wide eyes of her younger sister, "What are you doing?"
What could she say? She was a wolf now and she had to leave; she had murdered someone. "I have to leave. Tonight," she told her sister before turning her back and continuing to shovel all that she could in her bag.
Her sister raced in and grabbed her hands, stopping her from continuing. "No," Ophelia said firmly, "You can't leave. Did something happen with Nathan?"
"Nothing happened with Nathan," Marisol told her, the memory of him flirting with the woman so far gone in her mind, so unimportant now after what she had done. "I just – I did something and now I have to leave,"
"Take me with you," Ophelia pleaded and Marisol stopped to look at her.
"No," she said instantly, "I can't take you with me, you belong here."
"You have to. I can't stay her, mother won't let me if she knows," Ophelia told her carefully, and upon Marisol's face of confusion she looked down in shame, "I slept with Maverick Jameson and now I'm pregnant. Once she knows she'll kick me out."
Marisol blinked, unable to believe that her young sister would sleep with Maverick Jameson who was already married with two children. "What?"
"He said that he would take care of me, that it would be alright, and I was too scared to tell him no so I let him lead me to bed. But now...now I'm pregnant and I don't know what to do, Marisol," she explained, Marisol filling with sympathy and sorrow for her sister.
"Alright, you can come with me, but once your child is born you have to return," Marisol told her.
Ophelia frowned, "And won't you come with?"
"What I did will never allow me to return," Marisol told her before saying, "I killed the merchant we saw earlier. It was an accident, I wasn't even aware what I was doing until it was done, and now...now I'm a werewolf. Mother would never allow me to stay if she knows I have no more magic, and my engagement with Nathan will surely be over."
"Oh, Marisol," Ophelia placed her hand on her sister's arm, "We'll be alright. We just – we must go tonight. The ball doesn't end for another couple of hours, we'll have time to escape."
Marisol nodded, "Just let me change. I have blood on my dress and no one would be willing to help us if they see it."
Ophelia nodded, leaving the room, and Marisol began to strip. She slipped on another dress and looked around her room for one last time, seeing her bed and the flower on her bedside table – wilted again. She had no time to fix it, to save the little flower, but she frowned for it anyway. She grabbed her bag and went into Ophelia's room to help with her own.
After, they left the house only for her to never return. A monster was created, replacing Marisol Bigora the witch – the daughter who would never come back, beginning a new life full of lies and torment on herself.
author's note
hi, so i know that it's her characterization might not be exactly accurate for the time, it is more modern, but in her town it's normal for girls to learn how to read and write just because they're witches and they need to know the spells and everything. also, she's just a bit more brave but that doesn't mean she carries modern values (at least not right now) because obviously she isn't a modern character.
also, on a personal note, i have been OBSESSED with the mammia mia soundtrack lately so there's that.