your soldier with a knife (caos | prudence/sabrina, lilith)

[fiachairecht]

your soldier with a knife. chilling adventures of sabrina, prudence/sabrina, lilith. the days before the feast of feasts, or: there is more than one meaning of consumption. 1.4k words, rated m. for technicolorrevel in darkestnightex 2020.

Cannibalism - Ritualistic Cannibalism
Magic - Witchcraft
Body Horror - Flowers growing out of bodies
Weather - Semi-sentient mists and fogs
Gore - Dream Vivisection

The idea of death gnawed at Sabrina from the moment she left the church. Its teeth fit around her wrists, its breath laid heavy on the back of her neck, and she saw its shadow flit across her eyelids every time she blinked. With it came a restlessness, not entirely unfamiliar but definitely uncomfortable, that had her tossing and turning all night while Salem watched with unblinking eyes every time she looked over and caught his gaze.

Something was going to happen, warned the pressure building up under her ribcage. Prudence was going to die. Prudence was going to die and not only did no one care, everyone thought it was fine.

And, Sabrina reasoned with herself the next morning as she stomped through the wooded shortcut to Baxter High, it wasn't even like she hadn't wanted Prudence dead before. Prudence with her taunts and trials and hexes and other assorted ways of making her life miserable or nonexistent — Sabrina had dreamed her dead more times than she could count, and usually was disappointed to find it had been only a dream. And if she could see that the Feast was barbaric, well, what was everyone else's excuse?

She kicked as many rocks as she could, letting the dull thuds as they were flung into tree trunks and other boulders fade under the constant loop of her thoughts, and never even noticed the mist that spilled from the indentations left behind.

The restlessness faded somewhat at school. It was easier to preoccupy herself with classes inside the walls, and, specifically, with the silvery cloud of magic that hung around Ms Wardwell. Motes of dust filtered through it whenever she moved past the window and the November light caught on her hair, giving her a faint glow of warmth — of safety.

So thoroughly did she succeed in distracting herself that she didn't notice class had ended until Ms Wardwell's hand landed on her shoulder.

"Someone's a bit lost today," she said.

Sabrina flushed, jumping to her feet and scrambling for her bag. She hadn't even heard the bell, and when she forced herself to meet Ms Wardwell's eyes, there was such concern there that before she could even decide to say something, she blurted out, "What do you know about the Feast of Feasts?"

"The Feast of..." Ms Wardwell trailed off, eyebrows climbing towards her bangs. "It's one of our most important rites of devotion," she said, and Sabrina's heart sank.

"You're just like them," she said bitterly. Why had she held on to that hope, when even Aunt Hilda hadn't protested? But Ms Wardwell was supposed to be different.

"Like who?" Ms Wardwell asked. "Sabrina, wait — why do you want to know?"

Sabrina stopped, staring at Ms Wardwell's reflection in the warped glass window in the classroom door. "There's to be a Feast," she said, and, to her horror, she found she was about to cry. "I'm the Handmaid, and Prudence is—"

Going to die, and I'm going to eat her. In the dingy mortal classroom, it sounded too fake to even say aloud. 

But Ms Wardwell's eyes in the glass were alight with magic, and in the reflection's window, mist was gathering thick and shimmering. Sabrina took a deep breath, and, with a steadiness that surprised her, said, "Prudence is the Queen. The coven will eat her "

"Oh, Sabrina," Ms Wardwell murmured. Sabrina never saw her move, but she was there at her back, stroking a gentle hand through her hair. "The only people who believe that is a true Feast are cruel, unimaginative High Priests with a deep hatred for one of their witches."

She should protest, Sabrina knew — it was there on the tip of her tongue, Father Blackwood isn't like that.

Was he?

"You know your new High Priest better than I," Ms Wardwell said. "But the Feast is about you and Prudence, now. Show her the true meaning of consumption."

Her reflection's smile had too many teeth. Sabrina opened her mouth to ask, how, or maybe, but I don't even know, but Ms Wardwell's gentle hand on her back was pushing her forwards. "Time for Algebra, Sabrina."

*

Prudence's arrival at the mortuary brought all of Sabrina's fears back with a vengeance, this time with new doubts, and a new thread of excitement. She sprawled on Sabrina's bed, dripping milk from the bath all over the sheets, and sipping languidly at the tea Hilda had brought them while Sabrina paced, feeling like an intruder in her own room and wondering how much trouble she would get in if she threw her own mug at Prudence's stupid Queenly head.

"You can't possibly be okay with this," Sabrina finally said, when the silence was too much to bear. A branch scraped across the window like a knife against a throat, leaving a deep clear slash through the condensation collecting on the glass, and Sabrina shivered. "You can't be okay with dying," she clarified, when no answer was forthcoming. "Prudence, they're going to kill you."

Prudence rolled over lazily, and despite herself, Sabrina watched the thin fabric of her nightgown as it slid up her thigh. What would it be like to lick, to bite, to sink her teeth into Prudence and taste blood?

"It's not death," Prudence said, enunciating each word as if she was talking to a child, and Sabrina shook her head as if it was that easy to get rid of the image. "And I can't believe you're reading the Mabinogion in translation. No wonder your marks are so poor."

Any other day that would have annoyed Sabrina to the point of response; today, she skipped right past it. "Killing and eating you means you die, Prudence." There was an edge of desperation to her voice that she hated herself for.

Staring at the mist gathering outside past the paths the branches had traced over her window, she missed the flicker of emotion that crossed Prudence's face. But she didn't miss the arcane command underlying Prudence's words when she said, "Finish your tea, Sabrina."

She could have fought it, Sabrina would tell herself later. She was no simple child, to do what Prudence said just because there was magic involved.

But then Prudence said, "I want to show you something beautiful," and, Consumption, Ms Wardwell's voice echoed under Prudence's words.

Sabrina obeyed. 

When she opened her eyes again, she was under the mists, the smooth cold dirt at her back broken only by the occasional crinkling of fallen leaves. Prudence knelt over her, eyes replaced by blooming black roses. "You've been missing all the signs," she said.

Sabrina tried to sit up — to reach up, push her away — and found that she couldn't. When she looked down, there were irises sprouting from her hands, and the longer she stared, the more she was able to feel the roots crawling downwards from her palms, the tearing where skin and muscle had pulled aside to make way for the stems. When she opened her mouth to scream, the mist flooded in, and no sound came out.

"Are you dead, Sabrina?" Prudence asked.

Dreaming, she wanted to say, but she knew trying to speak would be useless.

"Am I dead, Sabrina?" Prudence asked.

Should be, she wanted to say, but the flowers in Prudence's eyes were too alive.

Prudence reached over and snapped the head off an iris, and when she lifted Sabrina's hand, it came away from the ground easily. And yet still Sabrina could do nothing but watch as Prudence brought her hand to her mouth. Kissed each fingertip in turn and then bit down with teeth that had never been so sharp before.

"Is this death, Sabrina?" Prudence asked, her mouth full of blood and bones.

Will be, she wanted to say, but she knew, with the worst clarity in the world, that that was the wrong answer. Her hand was aching with emptiness as Prudence chewed thoughtfully on her mouthful of fingers, but when Sabrina looked down, all she could see were the dead heads of flowers peering up through the mist.

"I won't die," Prudence said, and against her own horrified will Sabrina began to cry. "Oh, none of that," Prudence sighed.

The mists parted as she sank down onto Sabrina's lap and, for the first time, Sabrina realised that in the dreamscape, they were both naked. Prudence drew her mouth down to her bare breasts. "Show me a Feast to remember," she whispered, and though Sabrina couldn't see her face as she drew Prudence's nipple between her teeth, she knew she must be smiling.

She couldn't decide if that was better or worse.