PUBLISHED: 5/25/18
EDITED:
The three of them, writhing around against their bounded restraints, stare back at their deceiving reflections. They flinch at the abruptness of the change in lighting, taking a moment for their faces to adjust. My shoulders drop in relief at their fairly unharmed appearances, especially at Jo's, thankful that she is alive. Her wide, attentive eyes, furious from being overpowered and captured, meet mine, weary yet tumultuous. She traces down my shadowed face to the chains hanging from the shackles around my wrists. And by adding in the three witches prancing around my chair, I can already tell she's ready to kill every last one of them. You and me both, sister.
Sam twists against his bound wrists, mumbling into the cloth wrapped around his mouth. The witch impersonating him frowns, pouting his lips in a childish manner, which causes Sam to snarl back at him. Dean, on the other hand, stays perfectly still, his dangerously lethal gaze locked onto the monster wearing his skin for fun.
"All right, I said knock it off," I call to the Dean clone, drawing him away from the negative field of energy between him and the hunter.
The witch slowly spins on his heel in my direction, tilting his head as if I had just spoken out of turn. "Complaining already?" He authoritatively walks forward, spinning the blade in his hand. "Sorry to disappoint you, princess, but you don't run this show." The tip of the knife presses into the back of my hand, twisting and turning with added pressure. I grit my teeth, sucking in a breath, which brings him abhorrent comfort.
"But I must thank you all," he pulls the blade out with a smile and turns to the three seated on the floor, "for making this part so damn easy. Especially you three." His hand gracefully drags the weapon out in front of his eyes, pointing them all out. "You've kept her on her toes. Without each of your estranged opinions of her, she wouldn't be as malleable and, quite frankly, absolutely vulnerable as she is now."
The witch shuffles forward, mindlessly picking at his nails with the blade. His gaze only lifts to sparingly address each of the hunters, shooting bullets into his skull. He starts with Jo. "You want to protect her." The blade then drifts in Sam's direction, wildly spinning about as the witch ponders the connection between the hazel-eyed hunter and me. "You want to...like her. And you," he finally rests on Dean, who still hasn't moved a muscle, "You want to kill her."
"It's all too beautifully edacious for my little heart to handle."
At the mention of the life-supporting organ, I scan over his body to see if he even actually possesses one, given his insensitive tirade. But as I half-heartedly glance his way, my senses discover something else within him – like the flame of a candle being swallowed by a shroud of darkness. The realization washes over me, prompting a knowing smile and even a light snicker.
"Mind telling me what's so funny?" He drops the playful façade, sending me a frightening glare meant to scare me into submissiveness. But I'm far past keeping my mouth shut.
My lips curl into a coquettish smirk as I lift my face into the light. "Your wilting soul." As the room grows quiet with the witch's enraged silence, I look around to find them all boiling in the same pot. "You're Borrowers, all of you. Talk about heartbreaking."
At the mockery of his own choice of words, the lid atop of Dean's clone's head almost blows completely off. "You insufferable..."
"Out of all of us in this room," I cut him off, shifting to a much more comfortable position in my chair, "who willingly sold their grimy, little soul to get their hands on some ruby slippers? Hmm? And I'm the one in the chair."
He slams his hands around my forearms, squeezing tightly, and jerks the chair forward. "You don't know my story." The heat and fury bubbling in his eyes leaves traces of Dean, lingering in the pools of green, but it's nowhere near as frightening as the hunter himself.
"Nor do I have the time or patience to care," I whisper back, fearlessly leaning forward to shrink the already dwindling gap between our faces.
A long, strenuous breath seeps out of his flared nostrils as his grip strengthens. Then he abruptly pulls away. "Lena." Another witch that had been hiding off to the side dumps the duffels that Jo and Sam had snuck in onto a table, the weapons that had been tucked inside now haphazardly strewn about. 'Dean' then reaches into his back pocket and pulls out a pair of bewitched gloves.
"Ooh...are you gonna hit me?"
He ignores me and straps the gloves over his hands, flexing out his fingers for the correct fit. Once he's done, he straightens out his shoulders and rolls his neck. And then his eyes flash up at mine.
A swift blow streaks across my face, the skin along my cheekbone effortlessly splitting apart. Another hits me again in the same spot but even harder. The next with the ridge of his knuckles. I lift my aching head with ease, unwilling to give him any satisfaction towards the pain he's inflicting. A snarl curls his lips under, forcing him to grab the back of my chair and pummel his fist into my stomach.
"You worthless," another punch, "ungrateful," and another, "little bitch."
I groan over the side of the chair, feeling my organs collapse against the back of my spine. Lena, donning an identical pair of gloves, hands 'Dean' a blade from the bag, replacing the regular one that he had dropped upon his fistful fury. An arduous cough rattles my chest, causing a dribble of blood to splatter onto the ground.
"And what makes you any different?" I manage to force out, despite the thick red coating my teeth.
"Me?" he points to himself with the blade, careful not to touch even the fabric covering his chest, "Oh, where to begin..."
The weapon suddenly hovers over my skin, ghosting along my forearm. He takes the cuff of my denim jacket, along with the sweatshirt underneath, and slices through, exposing my forearm to the frigid air. I tense up, quickly turning my arm over, and then he smiles, because he knows exactly what I'm hiding.
"You were born with this destiny." He flips back the sleeve and tucks it underneath my arm, the blade held close by.
"Just like Sammy." The other witch, disguised as Sam, whispers into my ear, startling me half to death. He snickers at my apprehensive reaction, letting his fingers trace down the side of my face. They trail under my jaw, curving over my neck and down to my exposed collarbones. An uncontrollable wave of shivers rolls over my skin from the repulsive sensation, but I remain still, despite my brewing defensive instincts.
Aggressive shuffling suddenly fills the room, or more so comes to my attention, since I had been a little preoccupied to pay any mind. My eyes shift straight ahead to see the real Sam seething with anger, yanking at the restraints around his wrists with such vigor that the storage shelves might even collapse from the brute force. He doesn't look back at me, though – only at his own reflection.
"What are you gonna do, pretty boy?" the long-haired witch taunts, roughly placing his hand around my cheek and jaw, "You gonna come over here and take my hand away?"
Sam snarls, chewing back at the fabric between his teeth. He grumbles something to himself, at which his brother sends him a concerned glance out of the corner of his eye.
"Keep his name out of your stupid ass mouth," I warn through my teeth. The witch grips my face and abruptly pulls me over to him.
And with one final taunting glance in Sam's direction, the imposter smirks at me. "But he sure likes it in yours."
Without hesitation, he firmly presses his lips against mine. The roughness of the kiss, layered with the distaste of the foreign idiot on my mouth, makes me want to throw up. I cringe as he tries to prolong the staged intimacy, holding onto my lips with the pretentiousness of a college frat boy. If it weren't for the chains holding me down to the floor, I swear I would have already clocked this poser. He finally pulls away, his delighted face strung with a cocky grin. But it's suddenly wiped clean off once my head forcefully collides with the bridge of his nose.
"Bitch!" he screeches, stumbling back as he cradles the bloody mess. "Sh-she broke my nose!" Nobody moves a muscle, as if the witch's exaggerated hollering has aggravated their tempers in the past. "What are you—you're not doing anything about it?!"
'Dean' slowly exhales, closing his eyes before glaring at the incessant persistence of the lanky witch's outrage. "Am I the one who decided to make out with her?" Bloody Baron next to me then frowns, jutting his jaw in an immature pout.
"Would you like me to kiss it?" I lovingly ask, earning a hard grimace from the witch.
"You'd probably just bite it off," he sneers, narrowing his eyes.
"Don't tempt me."
'Jo' shakes her head, tossing him a semi-clean handkerchief for him to wipe up his face. "You're being such a child," she mutters agitatedly. He glares at her, dabbing at the split across the bridge of his nose. But 'Dean' doesn't seem as engrossed in their little exchange as everyone else does, for his attentive eyes are far more concerned with reading the tiniest twitches of my body.
I shift under his intense gaze, feeling as if my thoughts are been quickly sucked out of my brain and into his. The corner of his lips quirk up even before I speak because he knows exactly what's rattling around in my head. His words planted it there.
"What do you mean I was 'born with destiny'?" I ask, trying to swallow the dry lump in my throat but failing miserably.
He takes in a deep breath, running his hand down his chin as his eyes roll up to the ceiling. "They thought you'd be smart," the witch snorts, shaking his head, "They thought you would be this...this symbol of power that would bring the supremacy back to our bloodline.
"For years, demon and angels have dominated the hierarchy of supernatural beings, with their childish bickering over who controls what. And because of that, witches have been tossed to the side – thrown in with the disappointing grunts of the 'monster' world. Every once in a while, witchcraft offers certain use to either side, bringing a token of redemption in our favor. But...there are always hunters that get in the way," he breaks off to raise a brow at Dean, Sam, and Jo, "which you so eagerly joined."
Flashes of hellhounds enter my mind -- claws ripping apart squirming flesh, hot breath billowing against my face, sharp barking piercing into my eardrums. It all was there, displayed out across my parents' bodies like a damn buffet of decomposing skin and tissue. There was no way I was just going to sit in the dark and let their deaths go unnoticed. "You say that like I had a choice."
"Because you did!" he shouts, thrusting the blade out to the edge of my face.
I hold my breath, waiting for him to push it closer, but he just holds it there at the tip of my nose. As I shakily exhale, I keep my gaze firm along the blade, all the way back to the witch's thundering eyes. "Like you have any say when it comes to morality. Selling your soul to a demon for some magical powers doesn't exactly make you a prophet."
His nostrils flare as he bites down on the inside of his lower lip. "You wanna know how we're different? I'll tell you," the weapon lowers from my face down to his side, "For one, I don't kill my own kind."
"Then what do you call this?" My wrists forcefully jerk upright, but the weight of the heavy chains slam they back down against the arms of the chair.
"You're no witch," he strides up to me, whispering in my ear, "You're just some girl they picked out of a crowd to arouse a big scare. And once they finally realize that your very existence amounts to absolutely nothing, the greats will have no choice. We will take back our rightful places that they so selfishly stripped from us."
Shivers roll down the side of my neck, but I keep my face hardened, eyes locked on the shadows deep into the building. "Who's 'they'?"
But his next words send an eruption of chills all over my body, squeezing my lungs until there's nothing left. The air grows thin, forcing my heart to work harder, beating even faster to make sure I'm alive. A throttling weight sinks into my chest and drops into the pit of my stomach, and everything hits me all at once.
"The Grand Coven."
'Dean' ascends to his full height, eyeing me with an amused smirk. His wicked words linger in my ear, echoing loud enough for everyone else to hear. I resist the urge to look to my fellow hunters, knowing that the panicked expression on my face will do nothing to free them from their bounds, let alone my own. This is all too much. First I find out that I'm a witch and now I'm being sought after by the Supremes of the Coven. I told Crowley that I needed to learn offensive and defensive spells. I told him this would happen.
Best thing I can do is put on a brave face. Fake it 'til you make it, right? "I'm not going anywhere," I bravely affirm, trying to hide the hint of terror in my voice.
"And now," a hand firm grasps a bundle of my hair, forcefully yanking it back, "you act like you have a choice. 'Gifted with unimaginable powers that could take down an entire army', and yet you can't even break yourself out of these chains." I grunt as his grip tightens, allowing him to trace along my exposed neck with the tip of his sharp blade. "That doesn't, however, excuse the overwhelming body count that will follow you to your very grave.
"And it all started with your parents."
An infuriating shock of rage rattles my body at the spiteful utterance of my tainted memories. My vision grows cloudy. "Shut up," I spit through my teeth.
He chuckles, pressing the blade into my skin. I hiss as a dribble of blood rolls down my neck. "You've racked up quite a list. Took a whole lot out of that shack of a bar you called the 'Roadhouse'."
At the mention of the once harmonious sanctuary, filled with so many memories, my eyes dart over to Jo. That's where I had met her. It was the place where we would wash dishes with REO Speedwagon blasting on the jukebox. I would always complain, telling her there were other songs in there. And she would always say that it wasn't her fault that the near broken music machine picked the 'best band'. It was the place where she and Ellen patched me up for the first time. She had held my hand and coaxed me through the stitches that Ellen had sewn into my wounds. After a long day of hunting monsters or being out on the road, it was the place that we knew would always be there, waiting for us. I see it all in the tears of her eyes – the good, the bad; everything that's now gone.
"That was her home," the witch hisses in my ear, following the connection with the other female hunter, "You took that from her." The blade slides over the curve of my shoulder, dipping down to my flayed jacket sleeve. I tense up, the scarred tissue on the underside of my forearm sizzling in fear. A wave of nausea hits my stomach. "You took her only sanction of safety and comfort and ripped it right out from under her!" The weapon tears into my deformed skin, splitting it open to release the sea of blood. An anguished cry rattles my throat and pierces the cool air. "Or, rather, blew it to pieces."
He pauses for a moment to listen as my whimpers fall into line with the muffled cries of outrage behind him. His head slowly turns as he singles out one particular voice, belonging to the long-legged hunter violently scraping his bound wrists against the metal pole. "And this one? Well, I'd very much like to see how this pairing tragically falls apart before your miserable faces."
The witch grabs my other arm and quickly flips out over. Not wasting any time, he rips apart my sleeve in a similar fashion. He smirks down at the mutilated skin, the violent phrases from the demonic hex bag still clearly legible. But something about the words changes him, for he suddenly frowns and scoffs to himself. He raises his hand as he mutters in Latin, causing sigils all along his glove to glow in gold. The lines etched into my skin begin to bubble with heat, like behind held above a fire. A film of sweat forms along my brow as steam pours out of my nose. The witch hones in on me, narrowing his eyes at my reluctance to give in to the intense pain. I grind my teeth, forcing myself to keep quiet as I glare back at him. He lets out a noise of distaste, flaring his nostrils. The sizzling lines break through the surface tissue, burrowing deeper into my arm. Red hot flames burst all over my skin as the imaginary knives carve into my muscles, raking against my bones. I hiss through my teeth, short breaths squeezing out of my lungs, as I try to hold on as long as I can. But then it's too much and I lose control, my locked jaw unhinging to release an agonizing scream. My head drops from the sheer power of my cry and the pain subsides. After a moment's pause, filled only with the sounds of rustling movement, the witch feels the need to inflict even more.
"Did you know that he reeks of sex?"
The thrashing noises suddenly surrender to a startling halt. An avalanche of shame bombards my paralyzed form, singeing my burning ears. I had had a feeling, but everything in me had pushed down the reality of it. I knew something had happened right when she opened that damn hotel door, yet I was still desperate enough to fall into his arms. Because every time I look at him or even think about him, something within me pulls me closer, like I need him. I so pathetically wanted him to feel me, to see me as I see him. But why do I have to feel so stupid every time I try?
I hardly even notice the witch wrap a strand of my hair around his finger. "It doesn't smell like you though." The piece falls back in line with the curtain shielding my face. I don't move to pull it back. He then saunters off ahead, but I don't watch, forever stuck in a horrific trance. "Tastes awfully like a demon to me," he announces, licking his finger that he must've swiped across Sam's skin.
My jaw clenches as an imaginary fist strikes right into my gut. I don't want to look up. I don't want to see his face. Because it's everything she has, and everything I don't.
"Does that bother you?" the witch asks, but he doesn't get a response. I'm not going to play this stupid game while I'm already in one.
A dab of blood leaks out from my lower lip as I firmly bite down on the inside of it. Every piece of me is falling apart, drifting away against my will, and I don't know how to keep it all in place. I don't know how much longer I can keep dancing around this raging fire as if my feet aren't already burned.
At my unwillingness to fuel his desire to break me, he moves over to Jo and drops to her side. She flinches away from him, but he grabs her face, roughly bringing her back. His lips hover right above her ear. "Do you think it bothers her?" he whispers, tangling his fingers in her blonde hair. She whimpers as he tugs harder, placing his blade along the curve of her chest. Over on the other corner, Dean growls, watching helplessly as the impersonating witch pulls the muffling fabric from her mouth.
A burning heat rises into my chest, feeding out into my arms and legs. I jump out of my seat, but another witch pulls me back down, slamming me against the chair. With a low snarl, I kick the chair back at them, standing to my feet as I yank against the chains bolted into the ground. "Get your hands off her!" I aggressively shout at him. He smiles and rises up. "I swear to God, I'll kill you where you stand."
"Seems we've finally struck a chord," he teases. Without blinking, he swiftly cuts a red line along Jo's cheek. I charge him but am only yanked back, completely ignoring the throbbing ache around my wrists. "Not by the looks of those chains, you won't."
"Take them off, then, and we'll see who lives," I snarl.
He leans forward, his gaze hard and cold as he stares me dead in the eye. "Do it yourself."
I grit my teeth, grinding them as he continues to smirk at me. "So, this is your well-thought out plan? Strap me down like an animal and kill me, so you can look all high and mighty in front of the Big Wigs? Ever thought they kicked you out because maybe you're just stupid?"
Without hesitation, the witch rears back and launches his fist, bluntly striking the side of my face. The momentum from his punch throws me onto the ground, jagged pieces of dirt scuffing my palms from my fall. "You took everything from us!" he roars.
Leaning on my shaky hands, I steady myself as more blood trickles into my mouth. His boots shuffle against the pavement with agitation. "We've spent our entire lives trying to prove ourselves worthy in the eyes of the Grand Supreme," he leans down, hovering his menacing tone just above my ear, "And then your name pops up like a goddamn rat race trophy and suddenly we all have to focus on retrieving you."
Hoping to catch him by surprise, I sweep my leg around to throw him off balance. He falters a bit, allowing me the chance to throw a punch in, but, just as I had thought, he was expecting it. As I raise my fist, a sharp pain stabs me in the stomach, forcing me to pull back. I collapse onto my side as the invisible knives continue to twist and turn, grinding up my insides. It grows and grows, rising up into my chest and throat like hot fire. The tormenting sensation blocks my airways, building pressure on my lungs. As an unrestrained cough forces its way out, my eyes fall to see that in the pool of my own blood are pins and needles.
"'Find her before Lucifer conquers the Earth' – like you and Wonder Boy over there could stop it from happening." The bottom of his boot collides with my temple, splitting open the skin along my brow. A staggering throbbing jolts into my head, through the nerves and tissue trying to hold my jostling brain in place. I think I have a concussion. My eyelids slowly flutter open and everything is contorted in a hazy mess. As I try to regain my sight and sit myself up, a confounding energy fills up my chest and lungs. It filters out to my limbs, drawing my eyes to the shackles around my wrists. The sigils etched around them are just like the ones I had studied with Crowley, but, for some reason, they seem a bit different. They follow the same pattern, indicating the same sort of magic, yet one of them is...
It's wrong. The binding spell is wrong.
My face falls blank, erasing any form of shock or fear that is jostling around in my head. W-what do I do now? This means I can break free, but what happens when I do? I might just...I'll be uncontrollable. And they will all see. But staying here like this isn't going to solve anything. I just need enough energy and power to shatter these chains. The problem is Crowley never told me exactly how – without harming myself, that is. And that leaves me with only one solution.
"Even if you had the powers they say you do, you still wouldn't be worthy of its gifts."
I quietly scoff, spitting the last of the blood onto the ground. "I'd say you're pretty underqualified to be the judge of that."
He roughly pulls my head up off the ground, holding it into the bright overhead light. "I didn't ask for you to speak your disreputable opinion on any of this."
"Didn't you?" I narrow my eyes, challenging the argumentative witch, quickly steaming from my sardonic smirk. "Sure seems like you really went out your way, disrupting your very busy life – no doubt – to throw a temper tantrum and draw attention to yourself like an insubordinate egotistical child."
A spark ignites in his fiery eyes, widening with incorrigible wrath. His hot breath streams onto my face as he grits his teeth, trying to hold in all of his anger. But I know what's coming. The witch's quivering hand moves its way up just along my jaw, tightly gripping around my face with unrelenting determination. Gold sigils light up once more all over his leather gloves as a powerful force emits from his fingertips. I can feel the nerves and veins glowing hot red all along my face. And with it builds the flicker of energy swirling around inside of me, waiting to be released.
"Yeah, you care about what I think," I manage to choke out, never breaking eye contact with him, "You want to hear me scream and beg for my life and apologize for every inconvenience that has been thrown your way."
My face heats up even more, like being boiled under the rays of the sun. And soon enough blood begins to seep out of my strained eyes, dripping down my cheeks and lips.
"Ona!" Jo shouts, probably realizing my stupid yet only plan available. But I'm not going to let up. I need to try, for their sake.
He squeezes even harder, prompting the desolate rattling of my chains to echo throughout the barren storage room as I reach up to grip his arm. "You want the satisfaction of knowing that you're right even when you're not. That's your sole purpose – proving people wrong and getting what you want in the end. Because without that, you have nowhere else to go."
The cosmic force intensifies, pulsating in my temples and digging into the backs of my eyes. And with it builds my own – rearing up to blow his ass to smoke.
"Ona, stop!"
"You're nothing without your precious title!" I yell in his face, "Nothing!"
My body uncontrollably shakes, struggling to withhold the adrenaline begging to be unleashed. Suddenly a few boxes above the boys' heads unexplainably tumble off of the shelves and crash on the floor with a loud thud. Startled, 'Dean' loses focus, whipping around to place blame to the suspicious activity. But when there's no valid explanation, given that the other three hunters have yet to rip free from their bonds, the witch turns back to me, narrowing his eyes in disbelief.
It's so close, the power quickly boiling up to the brim. I can sense him trying to evaluate everything in his head – every miniscule movement in his face changing with each passing emotion. My fingers tighten around his extended forearm, beckoning him to give me that final push over the edge.
But instead of giving in to his own fury, he flicks his other wrist, bringing on a different form of magic. Within seconds the chains sprout out of the ground, growing even longer, and tightly constrict themselves around my torso, pinning my arms to my sides. He simply releases me as the weight of the chains drop me to my knees. I writhe against the smothering metal links, crushing my stomach and lungs like a giant serpent. I was so damn close.
"You've slaughtered dozens of our kind," he fiercely spews, twisting his hand to tighten the chains even more, "and have the nerve to believe that the consequences don't pertain to you. Maybe the Coven wants you to stand trial and lock you away for all of the chaos you've caused."
His vicious eyes, ablaze with pure vengeance, drop down to my neck, dismissing the darkened indentations from his fingers. Appalled, he lets out an unamused scoff and brutishly rips off the only thing that had given me some sort of security in all of this, the one thing that has the power to control my own combustion – the iolite pendant.
"You're gonna wish you had that option," he sneers.
My heart erupts into a beating frenzy. Without that stone, there's no telling what kind of damage will ensue. I could kill every single person in this room. "You don't know what you're doing."
A knowing smirk falls across his features. "I'd say you're pretty underqualified to be the judge of that."
"You talk of protecting the Coven against Lucifer, yet you only stand for yourself. Seals are breaking as we speak and all you care about is redeeming your stupid name. Like any of you would lay your ass out on the line to stop this!"
This suddenly sparks something within him, causing him to glance at the rest of the witches, staggered around the room. They all laugh, the mordant symphony of amusement heating up my agitated face.
"Oh, because you did?" 'Jo' joins in, "Well, guess what? Those incoherent demons still managed to slip through your clumsy fingers."
Then out from behind one of the pillars appears the witch using his voice, close, yet so distant. "I'm sure your 'death' was a noble sacrifice." I flinch away from his words, chills erupting all over as flashes of that dark night flood my mind. I remember how cold it was as I laid there, slumped up against the fence as blood poured out of me like hot syrup. And he was there, crouched over me, panicking as my life was slipping away before his eyes. The warmth of his urgent, trembling lips against mine, our salted tears melded together in that fleeting moment. I had given my life to protect him and he had clutched onto me like he didn't want me to go.
As I suck in a sharp breath, our gazes unavoidably meet. I can see the events of that day flash before his glossy eyes, as if reliving every blood-stained and heart-wrenching moment like it were his last. He was the last person I saw before I succumbed into the darkened realm of emptiness. And no one knew where I was except for him. Now I'm left wondering who really died that night...
"Oh, yes, we've heard that pitiful joke of a rumor – your 'resurrection.'" 'Dean' uses air quotes to accentuate the relative phraseology that he believes to be exceptionally fabricated.
"It wasn't a rumor," I angrily counter, grudgingly scowling up at him.
"Really?" he heartedly chuckles, "Let me ask you this, then. Was anyone there when you died?"
I stiffen, my body freezing up, just like it had when Jake plunged that knife into my abdomen. The direct mention of that moment before my death coerces me to look back over at Sam, breathing heavily through his nose as tears well up in his hazel eyes.
One of the witches snaps her fingers and the fabric that had been tied around Sam and Dean's mouths vanish into the air. "Come on. Speak up, now," 'Dean' coerces the three of them like a kindergarten teacher, "Did any of you see the light leave her eyes?"
I never leave Sam's face nor he mine. I wanted to run to him, once I heard Dean scream out his name. I want to go to him now. I want to nestle myself within the confines of every part of him that I so desperately wish to call mine. But he's so far away.
"No," I mutter. No one was there.
"And you thought I was the Drama Queen," 'Dean' snidely whispers in my ear. "Well," he abruptly claps, spinning on his heel to face the rest of them, "then today's your lucky day."
My heart pumps into overdrive once I realize what he means. But it's not the fact that it's going to happen that scares me. It's seeing their faces once it does.
"What?" Jo whispers, the color draining from her skin, "W-wh...No...Ona?" Her eyes frantically flit between me and the witch, confidently taking his place behind me.
This is what he's been waiting to do for so long and there's absolutely nothing stopping him. My body shivers as I feel his breath on my neck. His hands gently coral my hair off of my shoulders, gathering it behind my head like a waterfall in disarray.
"Consider this a favor," the witch declares.
"No...No. No!" Sam desperately pleads, thrashing so vigorously, "Stop this! No! Please no!"
Dean sits there in shock, but he doesn't need to say anything. That once sense of security, the feeling that lit up his face when he knew he succeeded, washes away without a trace. It's all happening at once. He can't even look at his tear-stained brother, for he had known that at one point this day would come. You just never expect it to be today.
"Ona..." Jo murmurs in disbelief, blinking as a tear runs down her cheek.
My heart shatters upon hearing her voice break. I release a shaky breath, trying to hold myself together. But the thought of her even trying to comprehend being alone, without me there to protect her...
"It's okay," I whisper, offering a small smile despite my trembling lip.
The witch's hands descend onto my shoulders. Sam's eyes grow wide in terror as he struggles to get to me, choking through each labored breath. "It's all gonna be okay," I say to him.
"You would have killed them, anyway," the sadistic creature mutters once more as if to theatrically have the last word. But there's one thing I'm counting on that he doesn't know about.
And then my neck snaps.
I slump to the floor, the side of my face crashing hard into the concrete. Everything is pitch black, completely empty and silent, save for the muffled screams from beyond.
"No!" Sam roars, growling as he cries in anguish over my lifeless body. More boxes fall off the shelves onto the ground.
A witch chuckles. "You wail over this pathetic creature?" A foot nudges my side.
Sam's voice deepens to a dangerously venomous tone. "Don't touch her!"
Then the sound of rope fibers finally splitting apart break the air, followed by enraged yet focused breathing. It's Jo. She flips her pocketknife out and blindly charges forward, the pounding of her boots echoing in the emptiness of my mind.
"Jo, stop!" Dean shouts, but she doesn't listen.
"You killed my sister!" she screams as her knife swipes through the air.
But within seconds, the movement stops and her weapon clatters to the ground, sliding further away. She begins choking, struggling against presumably one of the witch's grasps, wrapped tightly around her fragile neck.
Suddenly my heart flutters alive, beating once, like a singular pound on a hollow drum. And then again, harder, stronger. The draw to the darkness dwindles, no longer swallowing me down the rabbit hole of endless desolation. A force within my chest revs like an engine, spreading out to every nerve and muscle in my body, and the light returns. My fingers twitch, sliding around in the tiny particles of dirt. Then a chain moves and every other sound ceases to exist.
"Schmidt. Was that you?" 'Dean' asks, loosening his grip on Jo as her feet touch back down to the ground.
"No, Greg, why would I mess with the chains?" 'Sam' sarcastically banters back, "She's already dead."
"Then why did I hear them move?"
I listen as the edge of Sam's boot gently guides something closer to him. From the sound of the sharp metal, I can only assume it's Jo's knife. The ongoing bickering between the witches masks his movement, but it doesn't take away from my own.
The engine revs again, sparking even more fire and jolting my limbs. A low rumble emits from the earth, vibrating the floor as the escalating power flows from my form. With a surging thrust, my hand slams onto the ground, sending a shattering crack deep into the concrete through a clap of thunder. The pounding in my chest accelerates with immense ferocity, bringing intensified feeling back into my body. An electrifying force swings my shoulders forward in a hunched position as my other hand sends another crack of thunder into the ground. With a grunt, I snap my neck back into place and roll it around in discomfort. The chains creak with taut resistance as I try to stand, but within seconds the ends snap clean off from their floor-mounted bases, permitting me to rise fully to my feet like the sun making its entrance into the sky.
"Oh my God," the witch imitating Jo mutters under her breath.
[A/N: Skip to 0:45 of song]
From under a hooded gaze, shadowed by the strands of hair framing my face, my darkened eyes flash up with a sinister flare. Slowly turning my head in her direction, I stare at the flabbergasted witch, shaking in her knockoff boots.
"Why the dumb look on your face?"
She stands frozen, unable to comprehend the miracle before her. But just as I take a step in her direction, the chains still wrapped around my arms and torso suddenly tauten, pressing firmly against my bones. The rest of the witches, despite being frozen in shock, collectively hone their magical energy in keeping me bound in place. Once they realize their efforts aren't quite matching up to my own, two of the witches, out of complete and utter fear, scramble to grab a hold of the dangling ends of the chains, securing their feet to pull me back. I growl as the constricting sensation only stirs the power in my body, reaching its breaking point. My skin starts to heat up, travelling down through the chains and into the burning hands of the witches. And then, like a star cosmically exploding into existence, the chains and shackles burst into hundreds of tiny pieces, hurling the two unfortunate witches into the neighboring walls.
I stretch my shoulders back, letting the dust and rubble fall off of my tattered clothing, and clench my fists. "So," my body trembles as my fingernails dig into my palms, "which one of you geniuses messed up the binding spell?"
No one speaks or even dares to move a muscle. Listening to the heartbeats in the room, my ears hone in on one in particular, pumping as if he only had seconds to live. I turn my head towards him, causing a ripple of fear to domino down his body.
"I'm guessing it was you."
Panicking, he grabs a blade and hurls it at my face. All within a blink of an eye, my reflexes heighten to an impossible level, allowing me to promptly grasp the handle of the blade midair. I glance at the tip of the weapon, mere inches away from piercing my cheek, and then back at the witch.
"That was your second mistake," I snarl, launching it back at him. He nearly dodges it, the blade lodging itself into the wall.
"Imperium!" he shouts, throwing his hands out towards me.
An invisible shield, radiating from my frenzied, power-hungry form, blocks the spell with incredible ease, leaving me completely unharmed. I half-heartedly snort, glaring back up at the timid witch, hands shaking out in front of him. "That tickled."
But as I start to charge the puny being, a pair of hands roughly slam down onto my shoulders. "Imperium!" the other witch, Lena, commands, trying to weave her magic through my inherent defenses. I grit my teeth, combating the much more powerful force. She's a lot more experienced than he is, but that's not really saying much.
Armed now with an iron blade, the male witch marches over to join Lena in taking me down. With the others just standing around to watch, it obviously seems like this has turned into an elaborate test for these two to prove themselves. I don't plan on making it easy for them.
As he comes within close range, I reach behind me, grabbing two handfuls of Lena's shirt, and push off of her, sending my feet right into the male witch's chest. Once he staggers back, practically falling onto the ground, I lurch forward, slipping out of my sweatshirt and jacket, and wrap the sleeves around Lena's face. Grabbing the ends of the fabric, I secure them tightly enough, causing her to become disoriented, and jostle her to the ground. The male witch's footsteps become clear again, having recovered from his fall. Even with my back turned, I can sense the blade in his hand, gripped firmly in his magical gloved hand. I spring up from my crouched position, feeling his close presence, and grab the iron blade. He freezes, staring at my bare hand squeeze effortlessly around the edge of the weapon – the weapon that should be burning my skin like it would his. With his shocked state giving me the upper hand, I twirl the blade out of his hand and plunge it into his heart. His body drops with a thud, beating to the rhythm of the adrenaline pounding against my chest.
The other two witches, whom I had initially sent flying into opposing walls, emerge from the rubble, clearly not amused from their bleeding scalps. One of them grabs the duffel off of the table and charges me. He tosses it at my face and, before I know it, the sharp end of a knife pierces through it, nearly missing my face. I pull the bag down, ripping a giant hole down the middle. Coming up behind me, the other witch grabs the ends of the bag and pulls them against my neck, securing me in a headlock. The blade then finds itself pointed threateningly in my direction.
Angered by the arm tightening around my neck, a surge of energy flows through my elbow as I jab him in the side. The strike to his body rumbles like a beat against a large drum in slow motion, forcing his grip to loosen. With implausible speed, I spin inwards out of his hold, twist his arm behind him, and shove him forward, right into his partner's outstretched blade. The remaining witch watches the life lift from the other's eyes in horror, slipping the weapon out of his burning chest as he falls.
Blood drips from the tip of the blade, firmly held in his clenched hand. Armed with a menacing snarl, he reaches out, reciting an incantation. "Attenuati sunt in terra!" A translucent film of magic seeps from his fingers, clouding around me like a poisonous mist. It presses against my defenses, weighing down into my bones.
"Attenuati sunt in terra!" Lena repeats, now conscious, ripping my jacket and sweatshirt turned inside out from her face.
My body tremors with gritted persistence as one of my knees reluctantly drops into the concrete. Seeing me struggle against the more complex spell, I hear Jo slam her arm down in the crease of Greg's elbow to break out of his hold. She manages to cut loose, throwing another jab at his chest, but she's left there only with her fists – no weapon to truly defend herself with. And that puts her right back where she was.
But, luckily for her, he doesn't quite get that far. An overwhelming rush of energy shoots out of my hand like a whirlwind of ice, rendering him completely frozen in place. The two witches, gritting their teeth, stare at one another, wide-eyed at my impossible ability of bypassing their powerful spell and unknowingly performing another.
"What did I say about putting your hands on her?"
My fingers shoot over to the side, sending Greg's body flying into the shelves stacked with remaining boxes. Luckily, Sam had just finished up breaking himself, along with Dean, free. The two of them stagger back out of the way, flinching as the metal beams and shelves crash into one another from the massive impact. They then scramble for their pistols, armed with witch-killing bullets, and part of me freezes with anticipation. I lock gazes with Sam, staring down the barrel of his gun, pointed near me. Is this how it will end? Quickly accepting my inevitable fate, dying at the hands of someone close to me, I shut my eyes and wait for those bullets to strip me of my life.
Few shots are fired, whizzing so close to my ears. My lungs freeze up as I hold my breath, but I'm only met with the sound of two bodies dropping to the floor – not my own. In a state of confusion and somewhat relief, my eyes flash open, frantically blinking as I stare down at my unscathed chest. Blood pours out of the holes punctured into Lena and the other witch's heads, seeping into the knee patch of my jeans touching the floor.
"Ona!" Jo rushes over, pulling me up to my feet. "Hey, you okay?"
Her words are slightly muffled from the shock still ringing in my ears and I'm unable to answer. My senses catch Sam lowering his pistol, earnestly examining every inch of my body through the hazel pools of his troubled eyes. Dean's jaw clenches, his gun still firmly held in my direction, but he doesn't shoot. He just stares at me, occasionally flitting over to Jo as she anxiously takes my face between her shaking hands.
"Some aim you got there." Schmidt appears from out of the shadows, signaling to us all that there are three other witches that have yet to die – myself not included. "You missed her."
Jo's touch suddenly vanishes as her body is sent straight into the nearby wall, pinning her against the rigid structure. Dean and Sam whip around, about to fire at the witch, but then their hands start to shake and their guns steer toward one another.
"Sam!" Dean alarmingly shouts, trying to point his loaded pistol away from his brother's heart.
"D-Dean?"
The witch smirks, a strand of his hair – or should I say, 'Sam's hair – shrouding his face. My stomach squeezes as a strenuous breath is forced out of my lungs, drawing his attention to me. His eyes slowly trace up my body, revoltingly lingering in certain places at his own leisurely pace. A spark of power shoots out of my chest, livening my pounding heart.
"Hands...off," I growl.
"Oh, c'mon. That's no fun," he mockingly whines, stepping out into the light, "I thought you liked it when I touched you."
The drum beats wildly, ferociously against my ribcage, like an animal viciously clawing at its enclosure. And that animal wants nothing more than to rip this prick to shreds. "I'm gonna break your face."
"Promise?" He cocks his head.
The fire within me roars ablaze, sparking embers flickering in my eyes. I clench my teeth with such force that I feel as though they might shatter at any moment. Without a word, I raise my hand and gently curl my index finger, daring that son of a bitch to try me. And with a wicked smile, he steps right into the trap of his ultimate demise.
A burst of energy shoots from his outstretched hands, hitting me across the face. He charges with another, shouting the Latin phrase as if he were proclaiming it to the whole world. The three strike combo ends with the magic pummeling right into my gut, prompting me to double over at the intense blow. But my body says otherwise. An unbelievable force, one that could even rival a fiery beast, pulsates through every fiber of my being, causing my form to shake from the overflowing energy. As my head lifts to pierce a deadly gaze into the nonexistent soul of this piece of utter filth, a strange film washes over my eyes, causing them to glow...purple.
My hand springs out in front of me, whipping a leash that snaps as it wraps around his neck. He chokes on his breath, causing the whites of his eyes to emerge even more so. With the clenching of my fingers, the tips of his boots skid across the floor as the power shooting out of me drags him right to me. My fist grasps a handful of the front of his shirt, pulling tightly to assert my dominance in this matter. The witch doesn't make a move to fight me, though, quivering under my fluorescent stare that shines in his own.
"Y-your...Your eyes," he stutters, trying to swallow the lump in his dry throat.
My lips twist upward in a mischievous smirk. "How kind of you to notice."
Like a crack of lightning, my knuckles beat across his face. He slumps to the side, thrown off balance by the force of the punch, but I grab both edges of his collar and pull him up. One after another, my knee collides with his ribs, senselessly breaking down that enormous ego of his until its melts into a puddle at my feet. I grab a fistful of his hair and he groans as I pull his face up to mine.
"Take off the mask, you coward."
He chuckles, blood still seeping from his broken nose. "Why? You adore this face. You wish you could look at it every day, among...other things."
My jaw locks at his incessant teasing, enjoying himself as he riles me up. He smiles, scrunching up his nose as he playfully snarls, snapping his teeth. A sensual fire spurs in my stomach, building with intensity as I sparingly glance at the Sam – the one whose presence holds the true source of these carnal feelings. The hunter nervously swallows, eyeing the rough manner in which I handle his copycat, and then looks to me, releasing a deep breath. The witch snickers at my expected behavior, hoping to distract me long enough for him to weasel his way out. But there's no way in hell I'm letting that happen.
"Ipsum revelare!" I slam my hand down onto his chest, peeling away his façade. He writhes around, gritting his teeth, as Sam's face washes away from his true identity. I tilt my head, smiling, as I pat him on the cheek. "There you are."
Before I know it, my fist knocks him back, splitting open the cut across his nose. And another. Again and again and again. The power just builds and builds, unleashing itself under the will of my own justifiable pronouncement. Thinking about him watching me, studying me, waiting for the time to lure us in...putting his putrid mouth on mine. I can't stop.
Out of nowhere, a gust of wind hits me, knocking me upside the head. I grunt as the spell confuses my senses, forcing me to release the beaten witch from my bloodied hands. An uncontrollable swarm of rage pulsates through me at the audacity of these imbeciles. My hair, having been tousled by the remaining female witch's magic, covers my face like a hood, intensifying my glowering stare. I slowly turn to her, snarling my teeth as I feel the immense power flow through me. Without even thinking, my hand shoots out and the witch disguised as Jo becomes engulfed in flames.
I lose my breath, watching the flares of orange and red swallow her up. Her vibrant, torturous screams rake against my eardrums as her skin bubbles, frying before our very eyes. My outstretched hand shakes and I'm left standing there, dumfounded and utterly terrified.
Overhearing some sniffling, I look to see Schmidt with tears in his eyes and a face made of steel. His chin trembles as he swallows, but his desperate eyes never leave mine. "You'll pay for that," he threatens, raising his arm towards Sam and Dean, loaded guns still pointed at one another.
"No!"
The bullets fire, like two loud claps of thunder in a blackened sky. The remaining bits of oxygen seep out of my lungs, weighing down on my shattering heart. But the tiny fragments don't collide or pass through any flesh. They just freeze in midair, hovering right above the barrels of each gun. The brothers are paralyzed in shock, holding their breath as they stare at the levitating bullets.
The witch frowns, his back turned to the startling scene. He had been waiting to hear the pair of bodies drop to the ground, but the only sound he hears is the venom in my voice.
"Hold these for me." I clench my fist, yanking my arm down with an arduous cry. The bullets fly out of the boys' way and straight into the back of Schmidt. His spine arches, eyes doubling in size, as the pain quickly percolates into his dying frame. His knees drop down onto the floor, and, within seconds, the rest of his body falls forward, slamming onto the concrete.
I suck in a breath and clutch my chest, overwhelmed at having unexpectedly but thankfully dodged the boys' immediate demise. The spell, brought on by the now dead witch, disintegrates into the air, allowing the brothers to drop their weapons out immediate firing mode. Jo slides down off of the wall, feet safely touching the ground.
"Holy crap," Dean whispers.
"Indeed," his magical counterpart states, groaning as he pushes himself out of the metal and cardboard mess. Greg, still wearing Dean's skin, massages his jaw, a certain spec of curiosity twinkling in his resolute stance.
"How did you do that?" I don't answer, afraid of what might come spewing out. At my silence, he smirks, sensing that I am not too confident in this subject matter. "Who taught you?"
"No one." I bite down on my lip as my clenched fists twitch against the sides of my legs. Six dead bodies, but it's not enough. This entity, thrashing around inside of me, wants more. And he can see that I can't control it.
"You expect me to believe that?" He takes an affirmative step forward but freezes once he hears the cocking of two distinct guns. The witch indifferently glances over his shoulder, waving his hand at Sam and Dean as if asking them to shoot him now. They don't. "The one we thought couldn't possibly be a witch," he sidesteps a puddle of blood, veering closer to me, "just somehow manages to take out my entire infantry? I killed you."
"Yeah, well," I bring my head up, gently unraveling my bloodied hands, "look where that got you."
Something suddenly hits him, like an epiphany entering his mind clear as day, and then he smiles. "This is about your parents, isn't it?"
My fingers halt in their movement, allowing the blood to dry in the cracks of my knuckles. I nervously lick my bottom lip, swallowing hard on his abrasive words. The beating of my heart echoes in my ears.
"Trying to find out why Mommy and Daddy bit the dust." I can feel them all staring at me and I hate it. He's trying to distract them, get them to see me wreak havoc at the mention of what a disgrace I've become. In his last desperate act, he's trying to get them to turn against me.
"How ridiculous," he mutters, rolling his eyes and shaking his head.
And I see red. "Shut up." My fingers suddenly flex, splaying outward like a skeletal fan. The witch's face contorts in controlled pain, baring his teeth at me. I twist my hand, crushing his insides into my palm. He finally gives in and drops to his knees, doubling over as his body suffers under the dominance of my strength.
"You won't find them," he chokes out between short breaths, "the answers you're searching for." A splatter of blood spews out of his mouth and hits the ground, permeating the already sin-ridden concrete. He then lifts his face, donning a wide crimson-stained grin. "Not here. Not anywhere. You'll be lost in the dark forever."
My boiling temper dangerously wavers with his incessant mockery. Without any real direction with this flipped interrogation, I curl my fingers like a clawed panther, forcing him to shriek in agony. "What does the Grand Coven want with me?" I vehemently press.
"It doesn't matter now," he chuckles despite the pain, "Lucifer's gonna walk all over you."
The way in which he so casually consolidates Lucifer's arrival raises goosebumps on my arms and the back of my neck. Do they really think he will be released from his cage? He never tears his eyes away, watching the fear wash over my face with amusement. And that's when I lose my patience, or, more like, my powers lose the ability to wait any longer.
Claws rake down his chest, slicing into his skin and flesh. This façade quickly fades as I quite literally tear it away. He drops onto his hands, blood pouring out onto the floor. Strangled wheezes squeeze out of his lungs as he takes his final breath.
"Tell him we said, 'Hi,'" I seethe.
And the final perpetrator sinks to his death in a puddle of his crimson sin.
Sam and Dean keep their pistols pointed at the witch, despite the evidence that most clearly indicates that he is no longer with us. My hand instantly flies to my mouth, covering it to suppress a mortified gasp. I just brutally murdered these people without hesitation, albeit in self-defense.
"Ona...?" Sam slowly lowers his gun. Another terrified whimper seeps out of me. What have I done?
As more sounds of horrified trauma exude from my chest, I begin to realize that it's not only out of fear of my actions. A sharp pain enters my stomach, filtering out into every nerve and fiber. My knees buckle, causing me to stumble back in confusion. An uncontrollable vibration rumbles through my muscles, compelling my hands to tremble before my eyes. Suddenly a darkness fills my veins, sprouting black ink like a virus on the hunt for my heart. My powers are shutting down, and my body along with it.
"Ona!" Sam races over to my side as my legs collapse out from under me. An arm buckles itself around my waist, while one of his hands slides across my cheek. "Hey. Hey, hey, hey. Ona, it's okay. It's okay. I'm right here."
Tears fill my eyes as the pain intensifies. I grasp onto his shirt and jacket with both hands for he is the only thing holding me up. "It hurts, Sam," I whisper, "It hurts so much."
A look of empathetic despair and remorse embeds itself into his worrisome features. His eyes glisten upon seeing the sorrow within mine. He threads his fingers in my hair and holds me close, placing my face in the crook of his neck. I can feel his heart thumping wildly against my cheek.
"Just breathe, Ona."
But what if this excruciating feeling means something worse has yet to come? What if this is just building up for me to explode in a fiery blaze? And end up killing everything in my path...
"Sam," I manage to choke out, "I-I could hurt you." They can't be near me. I didn't know what would've happened if I was able to come back from...death. And that risk has blown to a level that I have no idea how to get back under control. This could be catastrophic.
But he doesn't flinch at the thought or even move. His arms stay intertwined around my torso and face, smoothing the strand of hair by my temple with his thumb. "Just breathe."
Despite the jet black roots painfully sprawling up my arms and chest, I melt into his touch, placing my tremoring fingers against his warm, yet clammy skin. I shut my eyes and focus on keeping my body from shaking so damn hard. He responds to my attempt by squeezing me tighter, hoping to absorb the erupting earthquake.
"Please," Sam mutters to himself, practically whispering it into my hair, "Please, please, please..." A teardrop trickles down, falling onto my cheek, but it's not one of mine.
My teeth begin to chatter and I know I'm coming too close to this. The after effects of whatever is inside of me is so extraordinarily overwhelming that I don't even feel like myself. I don't even think I did when I was killing...I just reacted upon hyperactive instinct. This power is going to destroy me. It's going to destroy everything. And all I can do is succumb to its overbearing rule over my unrestrainable body. Because there is nothing that can stop this bomb from detonating.
"Dean, what're you--"
Suddenly a sharp object pierces into my side, heightening the aggressive motors on their last plug. But my defenses are down and there's nothing separating me from that blade. It sizzles as it cuts through, drawing a bit of blood. I cry out in burning pain, realizing that iron has now entered my system.
"Ona? Oh my God!" Jo shrieks, "Are you insane?!"
Sam pulls at my face, trying to keep my eyes open and attentive, but I'm numb. The pain is no longer searing through my body. Now, it's just...shutting down. "Ona? Hey, look at me! Ona?!" He panics, frantically gasping as he tries to cover the wound. My body almost slips through his trembling fingers as he turns to his older brother, infuriated beyond belief. "Dean, what the hell?!"
Jo's arms slip around my waist and uneasily pull me out of Sam's grasp. My heels drag along the concrete as she sets me down up against a standalone beam in the middle of the room. "Okay, okay, okay," she repeats to herself, compiling a quick plan whilst trying not to freak out. Crouching down beside me, she strips out of her shirt from under her hoodie – a true talent that I really need to commend her on.
She bundles up the fabric and presses it firmly against my side. Within seconds, I can see the splotches of red appear on the surface, almost touching her hand. "Um, Ona, just..." she gingerly cups my face, her face bombarded by streaming waves of a desperate frenzy, "just stay with me. Everything's okay."
The abrupt clang of the iron blade dropping onto the ground echoes in the hollow room, followed by angered mutterings heatedly spewing from the mouths of both Winchesters. One of them vigorously shoves the other, their voices escalating, and then he's slammed up against a wall.
My vision splits into two, blurring together into undistinguishable blobs of muddied colors. I can't see anything. "Guys, we have to get out of here," Jo presses, witnessing my eyes rolling into the back of my head. The fighting doesn't stop and I'm slipping further and further away. "Now!"
The sounds of their acrimonious altercation ceases upon the urgency of Jo's tone. Their voices begin to blend together, but I can't quite make them out anymore. The emptiness that I had felt before floods my senses and I just hear silence – absolute silence. Is this death? Or this another cruel fantasy from the sardonic minds of the wicked?
Am I becoming a monster of my own creation?
☽||☾
Holy Shmoly, folks. That was a lot of writing. Roughly about 10.7K words. Whew. Glad I finally finished it.
QUICK GAME ===>> Hunting for Symbolism: if you can find one of Iona's true fears that develops into some foreshadowing of her future nature...
[hint hint: It sprouts from a statement that is made before she dies and then develops from her following actions.]
Then y'all get 40 points towards your Hogwarts house. If you're not a HP geek, then you get a whole pie for yourself. Confer with your fellow students in your common rooms below:
GRYFFINDOR
HUFFLEPUFF
RAVENCLAW
SLYTHERIN
NON-HP PIE SEEKERS
The house that raises the most points gets a 'Sam' of their choosing...
Think hard, my friends. Bonus points available for certain references. I'll announce the winning house in the following chapter or so to give people a chance. Happy Hunting!
Wham_Bam_Sam