Chapter Text
The Church of Lilith had been, more or less, established in the mortuary’s living room (an oxymoron, which Zelda had thought hundreds of times and over which Hilda continued to quietly giggle when she believed herself not to be overheard). Those displaced by the fall of the Church of Night were yet to find another suitable house of worship, and so that very living room itself became a sort of sanctuary. A very unholy place, indeed, right in the heart of the Spellman family home.
And befitting, too, for also in that home resided the Church of Lilith’s self-proclaimed High Priestess.
The title was repeated, respected, revered by others but Zelda knew deep in the well of her heart and the fiber of her bones that she would not be truly satisfied until somehow, some way, it was made official. She wanted the real deal, same as Edward had, same as Faustus Blackwood had. To serve as High Priestess was an honor meant to be earned and maintained and cultivated, not simply bestowed upon oneself by default.
She had to seek her Queen’s blessing. Or… unblessing, as it were.
The first successful summoning came to fruition just as the witching hour edged to a close, one cold Greendale night. Zelda Spellman found herself wiping away tears even as she stared, perplexed, at the sight of the woman she knew as Mary Wardwell. The demon registered the shock in the witch’s eyes and assured her, in a voice soft enough to soothe but powerful enough to cause each candle flame in the room to quiver, that this was neither a mistake nor a trick. Bringing back the real Mary Wardwell had not taken her form from the demon but created, instead, a sort of doppelgänger effect. Lilith appeared to Zelda now exactly the way she looked just before descending into Hell; pale skin, large almond eyes, ruby-red lips, long dark hair falling in waves not dissimilar to Zelda’s own. And somehow, that made the whole thing easier. Pleading her case to a Lilith who appeared human was preferable to an alternative Zelda had not even dared to imagine, and that was exactly what the witch found herself doing.
Lilith, Queen of Hell, did not so much as bat an eye while Zelda spoke. From her velvet cloak she pulled a small dagger, the blade of which she used to slice a cut across her forearm. The demon’s blood flowed so dark it appeared black, and Zelda’s words trailed off as she watched it glisten on the knife’s edge. Lilith’s wound began to heal as she pressed the cold steel against Zelda’s forehead, so that her blood left a crimson-onyx smudge just below the other woman’s hairline.
“I hereby anoint you, High Priestess Spellman,” she said, “First of her name, in the Unholy Church of Lilith.”
Zelda dropped to her knees out of pure instinct, deflecting to her Queen as she knew she ought to have done from the start.
“No need for that,” chided Lilith, “You’ve proven your devotion well beyond gestures of formality. Furthermore, no witch will ever need kneel before me. That sort of idol worship is part of what brought down our male predecessors, is it not?”
“It is,” Zelda breathed out, laboring to her feet as quickly as she could. “And you’re correct, we should aim to be more progressive than those who came before.”
The demon’s lips curved into a grin. She wiped her blade clean on the edge of her cloak and tucked it away once more. “We already are.”
That earned from Zelda a similar smile, though she swore her heart was pounding so fiercely it dared to leap out of her chest. Composure was key, she knew, and so she tried to wrangle hers into submission as best she could. She lifted her chin, attempted to tame her beaming grin into a more neutral expression and gave a singular, curt nod. “What, if anything, would you have me do to further the spiritual growth of the coven? I have… concerns, at times, that some of our younger sister witches may not be taking their studies as seriously as they should.”
“Let your instincts serve you, Zelda. You’ve taught before, you can teach again. And you know how fickle young witches can be—-you were once one yourself, after all, and look how well you turned out in the end.”
Blush warmed Zelda’s cheeks; she felt validation same as when Faustus would compliment her, except in this case she did not feel smugly satisfied, just… well, satisfied. And maybe even a little flattered, though that was surely misplaced. Faustus had meant to flatter her, for he had been manipulating her all along and she had fallen for it hook, line, and sinker even when she believed herself to be two steps ahead. What had Lilith to gain from running a similar scheme?
“You think I ought to let them explore at their own pace, then?”
“Yes,” came Lilith’s confirmation, “A little… exploration. Allow yourself a period of adjustment, too.” Her cold hand came to rest on Zelda’s shoulder. “You’ve been through so much.” She drew the witch close enough to press a chaste kiss to the crown of her head, and then she was gone.