Chapter 8: Chapter Seven: And With Her Rode Every Evil Thing

(Kairliina)

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Episode Seven: And with Her Rode Every Evil Thing

(Moonsilver)

Here we stand, all over again. Two witches, hair blowing in a slow cold wind. Two pairs of blue eyes, two glaring and two wide, fraught, afraid.

But here, today, I am the frightened one, and Carrie Rider is dominant, powerful, feeling a hundred times higher than her height.

(Carrie)

"Hannah, I want you to step away from that woman."

(Hannah)

"Carrie... Mero... but she... I..."

(Moonsilver)

"I'm not going to come between you and your girlfriends. Go on. I'm a big girl. I can handle my own consequences."

(Carrie)

"So that's the angle you're taking, Amaranth? The penitent manipulator. Just so good and gentle to everyone around her."

(Moonsilver)

"Hardly. Look, I deserve that, but... hold on..."

My nose catches an unusual scent, out here in the liminal realms adjacent to the City. Under perfume, flesh, faint hints of perspiration... a little body odor.

"You're still human?! You? I'd have thought you, of all beings--"

A snarl of jade fire drowns out my words. The elder succubus, Merovingia, cutting across my words with her power. What a grim mirror this day has made for me.

(Merovingia)

"She will be whatever she desires. And if you desire to have a problem with that, then you'll be a dead woman."

(Moonsilver)

"I don't have a problem with it, I'm just surprised."

(Carrie)

"Human is what I am. Why would you be surprised?"

(Moonsilver)

By way of illustration, I extend my arms and unravel them. Pale skin and silver blood slough away from black metal bones, glittering in the absent sun's light.

(Carrie)

"What did you do?!"

(Moonsilver)

"I became what I always was. Look... I'm sorry for the way I treated you. I'm sorry I didn't respect you as a fellow witch. I'm sorry I was a shitty person. If I had the power take back the woman I was back in '22, I would rewrite myself in a heartbeat. And yes, sometimes she still tries to claw her way back into my mind. But I have made some strides. I am better than the woman I was. Not good, but better. I'm not going to throw that away to perform remorse for anybody.

Not even you."

(Carrie)

"So what's actually changed, huh? You're still refusing to yield an inch of ground to me."

(Moonsilver)

"The ground we fought over last time was the meaning of witchcraft. That belongs to us both. You had every right to seize your place in it. But now the ground we're fighting over is who I am. That's ground I must defend. What do you want me to say? If you want to believe I'm still the same wretched bitch, well... like I said, I deserve that. I don't blame you. But I won't play this game. I won't pretend there's anything I can say that will force you to change your mind."

(Carrie)

"I guess whatever you've gone through must not be too bad. You're still fast enough with a speech."

(Moonsilver)

"Carrie, I'm scared of you. I was scared of you then. I'm scared of you now. You realize that, right? Of course I'm quick to talk. While we're talking you're not hurting me."

(Carrie)

"Scared of me like you were scared of Hannah?"

(Hannah)

"What happened? I thought... when we talked about this after it happened, you said you felt sorry for her! What changed?"

(Carrie)

"I got over my trauma. It took me a long time to stop playing the doormat. More than one abuser, more than one bad habit. And I'm sorry for being distant, Hannah. That's what I've been working on. You have the right to whatever feelings you have about her, but she hurt me. And since chance brings us together again, I intend to--"

A rasp, a rattle, a clatter of ceramic fingers on a shining grip. The clatter of doll-feet on wavering dreamscape pavement. Trembling hands bring a shining barrel to bear.

(Moonsilver)

"Showpiece. Sweetheart. Give me back my gun."

(Showpiece)

"She intends to hurt you, mistress. Look at her eyes. I'm not going to let her!"

(Carrie)

"I don't see what's changed, Moonsilver. All this time, and you're still using vulnerable girls as your foot soldiers."

(Showpiece)

"DON'T CALL A DOLL ANYTHING OTHER THAN A DOLL!"

(Moonsilver)

"Hey, hey, stay out of this, hun. This is witch's business. I promised I'd protect you."

Show's smooth, familiar fingers rattle under my grasp. They're fastened, rigid, on the gun.

"I promise I'll do what I can to protect myself too, okay? Just please... please don't get yourself broken trying to protect me. Be a good doll and let Mistress fight her own battles, okay?"

And the revolver settles into my fingers, and I return it to its holster with the safety still on. My eyes find the present moment, and Carrie leaning towards Merovingia. The elder succubus presses her mouth against her witch's ear. Soundless movement, a hand obscuring the shapes glistening lips make around shining fangs.

And Carrie, having heard whatever her succubus advises, begins whispering urgently to herself. Rhythmic, sharp, syllables casting fractured and disordered echoes.

(Moonsilver)

"Ahhhh. So, you use incantations, but you've cast a permanent spell on yourself so the sound-waves emerge jumbled? That's impressive, Carrie. I'd doff my hat, but..."

The sky splits, seams of smoke, fire, and bloody rain pouring down on the vagary of Americana surrounding us, and Carrie's eyes, pulsing with all the colors of the visual spectrum, fix on me with deadly radiance.

(Carrie)

"Keep your poison words sealed in your treacherous husk of a heart. I want no acclaim from a creature as debased as you, Amaranth Dawson."

(Moonsilver)

"And I suspect if I ask you to refer to me as Moonsilver, you'll tell me burning would be too dignified an end for me?"

(Carrie)

"You suppose correctly."

(Hannah)

"Carrie, you better be fucking careful! You're toeing a line that's real fucking close to--"

Hannah glances at me. I give my head the slightest shake.

"--to something I'd need a long time to forgive you for!"

(Carrie)

"Hannah. Listen. I understand how good Amaranth is at playing pitiable. I know exactly how beguiling she can be. But it's all an act, and while your guard is down feeling sorry for her, she's keeping track of every weakness she can exploit, later."

(Moonsilver)

"She's correct. I still have those skills."

(Hannah)

"Have you... have you used them on me?"

(Moonsilver)

I make a show of squeezing my wrist while I contemplate my answer. Is this acting, or honesty? Am I showing my real emotions or am I just aiming for pity points? Damn me, I don't know. I don't know what it means to be genuine, all I know is how to imitate a human girl! What a landmine of a question. Have I? Have I manipulated Hannah with my remorse? I don't think so. I think I was reasonably direct when I met her in her practice.

I hope. I really hope what I'm about to say isn't a lie.

"Nope. Most recently I've used them was to bait some extra pay out of a client."

(Carrie)

"You miserable, manipulative vermin."

(Moonsilver)

"A client in sex work, Carrie. Who wanted to fuck bareback. Who I had to go along with since that was a real shit week, and it was that or go hungry to make sure I could pay rent."

(Carrie)

"You're a little late to ask for slut solidarity."

(Moonsilver)

"I'm telling you my reality. Any feelings that inspires in you are your own business."

(Carrie)

"Don't think you can repackage my words and--you know what? Enough. I'm not doing all this again. I gave you chance after chance after chance. I'm putting you in your place and I'm taking these girls away from you before you hurt them anymore."

(Moonsilver)

The profound silence in the echo of Carrie's words is the kind of silence I could never describe, not really. You only know a silence like that after you've lived it. Into that silence, Hazard's whimpers intrude: Worsening, as it hides behind me, clinging to my arm.

"Carrie. Please stop talking about the dolls as people."

On reflection, I choose my words very poorly. Heat of the moment, concern for Haz and Showpiece... whatever the reason, I'm only stunned for physiological reasons when a glowing cone of force smashes into my jaw and blasts me skidding back in a wake of silver blood.

Carrie looks rattled for just a minute as I stagger upright, as she witnesses what that kind of force does to a roughly-human body outside the fiction we grew up on--the ragged, mangled lumps of torn flesh and warped metal skeleton gushing silver blood where my lower jaw's been torn away. She pauses, at least, long enough for me to regenerate.

Still. I won't heal from too many more hits like that.

I know now that she's never used her magic to hurt someone and she doesn't have the stomach to like it. That would be an advantage, if only I couldn't tell already that she's so far ahead of me in magic I'll never touch her. My portal trick would be pretty neat, but I'm afraid I can't take the risk of holding that back.

Oh. And, of course, now's the moment when strange, thrumming warmth spreads through all my limbs. I've felt this once or twice before, as though I'm about to burst out of my skin, as though I'm about to slip free to somewhere else.

A shockwave of pink rays and white fire burns away hair and mortal flesh. A vapor-trail of bubblegum pink coalesces to a writhing mane, replacing the locks lost to demon-fire. The gown I wear is streaming smoke and ash-flakes. Supple skin, blue like the threshold where cloudless sky spills upward into space, plated in rosy scales on forearms, haunches, joints.

Any other time, I'd take a moment to enjoy the extra heft of my curves, to play with the spines on my tail, to see what I can bite through with my black metal fangs... to find a certain handsome mage and get him to grab my horns while he skullfucks me.

Six horns, two pairs aimed back and one aimed forward, all like scythe-blades. In second-sight I make for a fearsome tableau, for a moment, as I spread my arms and my wings.

Here she is: Moonsilver of the horned sisters. This should be a joyful moment. But in my heart, I've always known how much this universe hates the joy of succubi.

"Of course now would be the moment the seal breaks. I'd hoped for pleasure, I'd hoped to bloom in lust and fire and a lover's sigh, but... I suppose, if we're doing this, I want this to be the moment. This is fitting, in its twisted way. C'mon, Carrie. Do as the old witches did. Put the wayward sister in her place."

Carrie has the grace to waver in the face of my words. She glances to Merovingia.

(Carrie)

"Mero, is that true? Did they do that?"

(Merovingia)

"You mustn't heed her, Carrie. I regret to admit that not all succubi are good people."

(Moonsilver)

Listening to those words, I know I should restrain myself. I fail. That restraint's gone, it's burned away, the last legacy of the human shapes I wore to keep some continuity of my human facade with me. I'm free in full. All the conditioned responses that used to trammel my instincts have been blasted to loose skeins of spectral radiation.

So instead I flex my talons and lash my tail and I make things worse, once again.

"Not all succubi? Damn you, Carrie, you're smarter than this, you're fiercer than this! I deserved your condemnation, but this, this devil--she's a traitor, don't you know that? She sold the woodland brood to slaughter!"

(Merovingia)

"Be quiet!"

(Moonsilver)

"She bought safety for the witches who worshipped her, with the forest demons as the price! She is the one who taught the Christians how to bind our sisters of the wood, how to break them, how to--"

As satisfying as this scathing tirade is, let's be realistic: Merovingia has the advantage of two years with Carrie, of the mind-distorting potential of love. It's between the demon of her heart and the closet succubus who panicked and tried to destroy one of her own sisters. Of course Carrie snaps her hand across and vaporizes my pretty, newly-horned head with a screeching wave of kinetic distortions.

The sole satisfaction I gain is bitter. As I skid across the ground, I know that Merovingia regrets nothing. Over a thousand years have passed, if the auras of these astral realms yielded truth to my touch. If Merovingia broke down crying, and confessed, and screamed that she wished she could take it back, then of course I'd have to believe her.

To do otherwise would be condemning myself.

But look at me. However beautiful my form, I'm still a fledgling. Still weak. Why would she ever choose grieving before me over the power of her witch?

(Carrie)

"You will be silent."

(Moonsilver)

A triple burst of red lightning bolts blasts the outer layers off my form. I'm put oddly in mind of reading, once, about how sometimes stars will jettison their shells. Was that during sueprnova? My memory fails me.

(Carrie)

"You two. C'mon. I know you're afraid she'll punish you, but look at her. She's weak. She's always been weak. I can protect you from her, I promise."

(Moonsilver)

"Haz, Showpiece... I'm sorry about this, dolls."

Unravel the emptiness between my mind's-eye image and the bedroom, unravel the emptiness around the dolls, eat the space out of the way and let the rest fill in behind them as they're whisked away to Metronome House.

I'll take this victory. It's the one that matters.

(Carrie)

"Amaranth! Whatever you did--I swear by death, I'll--"

(Moonsilver)

A small winged form darts between us. Hannah, it seems, has made a choice too.

(Hannah)

"Carrie. Please stop. Stop calling her Amaranth."

(Carrie)

"That's her name."

(Hannah)

"That's a name to hide behind. If you use it when she's manifest, you're... you're burying what she truly is. Please. Please stop using it when she's wearing her horns."

(Carrie)

"Hannah. That woman is dangerous."

(Hannah)

"All demons are dangerous. So? She's my sister.

(Beat)

Carrie... please..."

(Carrie)

"Hannah. Listen to me. She already showed us she can shapeshift. I know it hurts, but she is not a succubus, she's a grifter, she--"

(Moonsilver)

It's not a slap, not really, the noise that Hannah's arm makes in whipping past Carrie's face. It's harder and shorter and ever so slightly liquid. The blood gouges left behind shock us all into silence--Hannah too. Into this, the traitor speaks.

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(Merovingia)

"Perhaps the fledgling might agree to be bound to our power? There. A clean resolution."

(Moonsilver)

"I will die before I kneel for anyone, ever again. If you try it's a death pact between us, you understand? I will hate you until the end of eternity."

(Merovingia)

"Oh, spires of pain... I should have known. She is abyssal."

(Carrie)

"What does that mean?'

(Moonsilver)

"That I will be free. I will fly my own course, whatever it takes."

(Merovingia)

"It means that she's a liar, a cheat, and a manipulative parasite. Small wonder she was born to an American mother."

(Moonsilver)

"All succubi are abyssal! You can betray and posture and flee behind as many wards as you want, Merovingia Konalakt, but you'll never belong in a universe of pacts, laws, and order, and you know it!"

The way her eyes widen at that... one clean hit. Only one, but by scorn, I'll take it.

"And I'll thank you, oh sweet sister, to let me speak about my own nature in the future."

(Carrie)

"Hannah..."

Hanna smacks Carrie's hand away.

(Hannah)

"No, we... we're done! You can't take back what you just threatened to do, Carrie Rider! Even if Moonsilver believes the rumors about Mero, so what? So you've never fallen for a lie? So you're perfect, you're infallible? But... to threaten to take her horns away... Carrie, you don't understand. You don't understand how much it hurts."

(Beat)

"We're done. And-and you can't call dolls people either, okay? For fuck's sake, Carrie... I'm right here. I've been living in the city for years. I know that you don't trust Moonsilver, I understand that, but you could've asked me... am I... did you only start dating me to get back at Moonsilver?"

(Carrie)

"No! Hannah, I'm sorry, I..."

Credit where it's due, the blond witch falls silent. In that regard, she still outstrips me. Then she whirls neatly in places, marches to Merovingia, and slashes a portal open with a whip of red lightning. She seizes the traitor succubus by the wrist without a word, and departs.

Then there's little speech for a long time.

(Moonsilver)

"I'm sorry, Hannah."

(Hannah)

"Yeah. Me too."

(Beat)

"Moonsilver... I need space from you too, I... it's... two years is a long time to just throw away, even if... even if there's no way I can forgive Carrie for that."

(Moonsilver)

"Yeah."

Listless impulses. Chaotic notions, associations flickering through my mind: always two or three, always one woman orbiting another, spinning past crowds of faceless figures, and breaking apart, to be surrounded by facelessness only.

"Hannah, um... Metronome House must take demons, or it wouldn't have taken me. A-and Lisbet was able to get a room, so, it's not just for witches! There are other tenants, whole groups of beings I've never met, you, um..."

A shrug, my wings rather than my shoulders.

"If, you know... if just friends, sound nice to make."

(Hannah)

"Just friends, huh...? Yeah. Yeah, that's worth trying. Thanks, Moonsilver, um... I'm sorry things turned out like this."

(Moonsilver)

"Yeah. Me too."

And she's gone, with a crack of her wings, and it's just me and the black-shrouded figure of Tandra in the discolored, bloodsoaked Americana.

"Alright, Tandra... if you're going to betray me, could you please hurry up, and..."

She hurries closer, rustling down beside me, and starts to pull bands of black fabric from the air. She wraps them with black-gloved fingers over the torn spots on my form, and they're so soft and soothing. Warm, as though she'd just been wearing them.

(Tandra)

"I can't keep this up. This veneer of superiority, this snide rival act. Look... Moonsilver... my only power is Weaving. I'm not combatant, no great shaper of dimensions. And, well..."

(Emotional)

"Somebody ought to be nice to you. When you first came to us I thought you were some sort of dread arch-witch, the way Hue spoke of you, and... I m-mean, it's not that I think you're pathetic, but you're... you know? You were trying so hard and they didn't care, I can't just stand there, and..."

(Sniffle)

"Well, anyway. I can bandage well enough. I know you can heal on your own, but I hope this shall make it easier on you. Your dolls are very sweet. Let's try not to give them a fright when they return, shall we?"

(Moonsilver)

"Yeah, uh... Tandra, sorry, question. You're absolutely certain you're a witch, right? Not a closet succubus or some other manner of demon?"

(Tandra)

"Oh, absolutely! On the contrary, I at first thought I wanted to be a demon. It wasn't what I really wanted, of course, so it seemed like less pressure and that made it easier to imagine."

(Moonsilver)

"Right, yes, that's exactly why I started out by becoming a witch! Well, um... that and..."

(Tandra)

"Was it your mother?"

(Moonsilver)

"Yeah! God, my mother was such a fucking bitch."

(Tandra)

"Mine too!"

(Moonsilver)

In her excitement, the witch's veils part all the way, and I see that the head inside her labyrinth of ragged fabrics is just another mass of layers. Within it, there's nothing.

"Oh. Weaving, witch of cloth... that makes a lot of sense."

(Tandra)

"You'll, um... you'll understand if I confess it's because, er... look. Victorian women. We do not... did not... have healthy relationships with our sexuality, and... um... so I used to steal my older brother's clothes. And I used to smell them while I... you know."

(Moonsilver)

"Forbidden sex demon knowledge: Tandra, incest is just hot."

(Tandra)

"Still not healthy though."

(Moonsilver)

"Well, sure. For humans, with their human genes, and their human inbreeding consequences."

(Tandra)

"Oh. Oh! Well, damn... now I wish I knew where my brother's soul drifted off to."

(Moonsilver)

We take a moment to draw our respective breaths of relaxation: two horrid, depraved monster-femmes, each reassured to know that the other is equally depraved and immoral.

"Okay... so... help me back to Metronome House so I can recuperate, and then maybe we gather the dolls and see about tackling something we can actually handle? I'm getting very tired of stronger beings handing my own entrails to me."

(Tandra)

"That... that hasn't actually happened, has it?"

(Moonsilver)

"No, but this is the second time I've been all but destroyed in front of the dolls I swore to protect by an immeasurably superior opponent who threatens to kill me by mashing me back into species dysphoria."

(Tandra)

"But... but that's abhorrent!"

(Moonsilver)

"Yeah, and if creatures like you and I know one thing, it's that abhorrent people always win out over virtuous monsters."

(Tandra)

"Too right. Gods of bone and blight, though! We're out of Earth! We're supposed to be past all this nonsense! I just wanted to buckle in and have a stupid slice of life adventure with you, you know? You'd teach me about friendship, I'd try to contribute but... well, anyway. I suppose this will do."

(Moonsilver)

"S'pose so. Alright... may I borrow the strength of your linens?"

(Tandra)

(Tittering)

"Oh, goodness, st-strong, you say, um--oh, right, yes. A little of that poetical American humor?'

(Moonsilver)

"Something like that."

Tandra's glove-hands wrap my clawed fingers and pull me to me feet. The noises I make are dramatic, but then, having the energy to play up my exhaustion is its own little victory.

"Right... okay. Time to apologize to my dolls."

Weight settles in my belly. Condensing heavier, and heavier, and heavier. What an oddity. Cowardice, that inspirer of selfish flight, always feels so heavy.

Also funny how having a Victorian woman in my company makes me think like one. Succubi are, I suppose, creatures of our context. Chameleons of the psyche.

With that thought, I grit my fangs, swipe emptiness aside, and open a pink-trimmed portal back to my bedroom. I pull Tandra through and spin, sweeping it aside, and only then turn to face my dolls. They're nestled together on my bed, frozen in shock, Haz's face streaked with tears of paint and Show's streaked with something like mud--clay? Clay tears.

"Hazard, Showpiece... I'm so sorry--"

Hazard hurls itself off the bed and into my arms, knocking the wind and apologies out of me.

(Hazard)

"You're alive! This one was so worried! This one thought we'd lost you!"

(Moonsilver)

Showpiece comes crashing into me right alongside her, and any words I might've said are lost in the tears of my dolls and my best efforts to soothe them. I guide us back to the bed, offering Tandra a sheepish smile, and draw the covers around them until their tears ease.

"It's okay. It's okay. Still here. Still in one pieces."

(Showpiece)

"Mistress... your horns... you just got them and this one's already broken..."

(Moonsilver)

"It's okay. It'll regenerate. I got you two out. We're still here. And I've made a new friend, maybe... though, uh, Tandra, all that support and affection would've been nice to hear before Carrie kicked my ass. This isn't a codependent thing, right?"

(Tandra)

"No, no, sorry, I... I'm a bit of a wallflower, I'm afraid. I've had my share of heroine-fantasies, but come down to it, I, er.... I favor saving my own linen, as it were."

(Moonsilver)

"That's just fine by me."

(Tandra)

"You're not angry?"

(Moonsilver)

"What? No! If anything, I'd have been angry--that's right, Show, it's okay, you can drop if you need--I'd have been angry if you insisted on throwing yourself into a fight where you were just going to get hurt, just to make yourself look good. I've always hated that. What kind of miserable loser wants her friends to get chewed up just to prove their friendship?"

(Tandra)

"A narcissist?"

(Moonsilver)

"You know what, Tandra... I think you and I might just be able to get along."

(Tandra)

"I should surely hope so. It's going to be a very boring apocalypse if I've got no one to talk to."

(Moonsilver)

"So you've been to Earth? It's ending."

(Tandra)

"The humans, and those otherkin allied with them, are trying to stop it. But as far as I can see, no one has a plan to build a new world. They're trying to resurrect the old one, and, well... the only future left in a decaying thing is one of rot and bacteria. A virus or two, maybe."

(Moonsilver)

"Yeah. Hm. Makes me wonder where my mother got off to..."

(Tandra)

"I suppose we'll all have to decide how we're going to make an end of it, aren't we? The lives we lived on Earth. Our history. Seems so backwards. I was raised to know how to make a good death for myself. I... I don't know how a planet can die a good death, Moonsilver. It makes my heart hurt to think of."

(Moonsilver)

"We've got time. We'll find our own answers. For now... rest sounds nice."

And I do. I cuddle up with my dolls, and I sleep. My dreams, for all the strain of the day, all the humiliation of defeat... my dreams are sweeping and flowing and free. I soar on scorching clouds under a sun that sear mortal skin, and to me, it's only pleasant. Every ray its own cascading kiss. I cavort with other horned figures, soaring circles. I wake bright-eyed with my tail making happy swishes under my covers.

Again, feeling the need to wander Metronome House just a little, I unravel away from my dolls and slip into the quiet morning corridors. So it is that my steps carry me to the atrium I entered the day I came to Metronome House, where Hue's golden face regards a mismatched pair of figures: a tall elven woman with hair of black roots strung through autumn leaves, with double-irised golden wolf's eyes, with a red dress and spongy mushroom-like skin from her pink face to the fingers ending in stained glass claws.

And beside her, a voluptuous woman in a lacey black dress who looks human but I know, the instant I look upon her, is anything but. I know it from the way my horns vibrate. I know it from iridescent ripples in the sweep of silken black hair tossed over one of her shoulders, from the oily way her curvy hips shift to an effortless contrapposto, the way one hand instinctively presses her narrow waist, from the quirk of black-painted lips, and the heart-shaped window full of netting exposing her pale, too-good-to-be-true cleavage.

(Jamie)

"Oh! Hello! It's good to see a succubus again, I, er... I've been facing many a question I'd hoped a demon's dowry might hold answers for. But I'm ahead of myself... my name's Jamie Underhill O'Fallows. And this, er... creature... of a necromancer is... Arisa.

(Moonsilver)

The eyes of the necromancer are large, violet, and glowing. They feel like asterisks.

(Arisa)

"Ah, and here's the moment of prophesy at last. Dear Moonsilver... it's so good to finally meet you in person. That's Arisa Carver, but you can call me Ari, as you like."

(Moonsilver, dubious)

"Uh-huh. And what's your angle, Miss Carver? What're you looking to gain?"

(Arisa)

"A necromancer must know when to aid death instead of fighting it, mustn't she? My plans for the future are quite simple, oh demon dear.

I want to make sure the apocalypse goes off without a hitch."

(End)

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