Archive of Our Own ^beta

The waves crashed harsh over the rocky shore. Cold saltwater and seafoam splashed high towards the dark figure perched on one of the larger boulders, who remained impassive when it sprayed towards her feet.

Moira did not mind the cold. Her spells worked best near the water’s edge, and tonight was a perfect night to dabble. The half-moon hung low, shining into the dark, murky water; an icy grave to any poor mortal who would be swept up in its fury. Fortunately for Moira, she was far from mortal.

Not to say the Banshee didn’t feel things the way mortals did - joy, anger, amusement. Annoyance, although that was for a particular reason. There was a sudden shift in the air, and she didn’t even have to look over to know that an unwelcome presence had returned.  A soft and familiar laugh carried by the wind all but confirmed Angela’s arrival, much to Moira’s ire...both at the witch of the wilds and herself . There was a treacherous part of the banshee that longed for the flutter that came whenever the witch made herself known.

Angela knew this. It’s why she not only returned so often, but ever increasingly alone. Sometimes the reaper would be seen lurking in the shadows, but rarely. The two of them never got along, and so these days, Angela would always arrive on her own.

“Beautiful night,” the witch whispered softly, slowly stepping onto the rocks. Her boots made no sound as she walked closer, a trait she would employ at the drop of a hat. If it weren’t for the aura of her magic, she would catch Moira unaware more times than not. Thankfully that wasn’t the case.

A scoff tore its way from Moira’s lips, and the yellow and purple orbs that constituted her magic dissolved into nothingness. “It was,” she replied dryly, not turning back to look. She couldn’t. Looking into those eyes...could be disastrous.

Angela let out a mock-offended gasp, and then with a casualness that caught Moira off-guard, replied with, “If you want me to leave, you don’t have to be so rude.” 

She didn’t look back, but the banshee could still sense the witch starting to turn away. Closing her eyes and gritting her teeth, Moira finally snapped, “What do you want?”

For a moment, there was silence, and Moira wondered if Angela had actually left. She turned, only to nearly flinch as the witch was now standing right in front of her, having moved so swiftly and quietly it had startled her. The witch noticed this, and a coy smile stretched her soft lips wide, a (far too pleasant) chuckle escaping her.

Angela’s expression softened, almost innocent in ways that made Moira want to simultaneously tear her open with her claws, and clutch her to her and never let go of her. Slowly, the witch reached up, one hand gently cupping Moira’s face. Her gloves had disappeared, and the feel of her soft, warm skin was almost too much to bear. Despite herself, Moira closed her eyes and let a shudder vibrate through her.

“All the others come to me. The reaper, the dragon, the scientist. I even gave the gunslinger his arm back...for a price.” Her other hand slid up, brushing some of the banshee’s hair from her face, leaning in closer. “But you refuse, time and time again. It hurts me.”

Moira did not believe that, but she humored her with a slight shrug. “I know the cost of being your ‘ally’, witch. I am not a servant to anyone.”

A gentle laugh made its way into Moira’s ear, the witch’s breath warm against her skin. “Oh, no, my wicked banshee, I would never dare enslave you. A creature like you deserves to be unchained.” She pulled back, fingers running over Moira’s cheeks as she stared deep into her eyes with an intensity and fondness that made a knot form deep in the banshee’s gut. 

“Think of all we could do together,” she whispered, her voice husky as she slowly leaned up, lips brushing against Moira’s, as if testing the waters before parting her lips, kissing her with a soft sigh.

The groan that tore from Moira’s mouth would have mortified her if she wasn’t so wrapped up in the feeling of Angela pressing against her, and the way her tongue danced along her lips before slipping past them to rub against her own. She finally moved, hands clutching Angela’s shoulders, claws scraping at her skin through her dress before tugging her close, arms moving to wrap around her and hold her, wanting to keep her all to herself.

Only there was nothing. Moira blinked and opened her eyes, only to find them empty, no sign of Angela. She spun around, eyes darting frantically, beginning to wonder if the entire encounter was either in her own mind or one of the witch’s illusions.

That was when the wind picked up, and with it, a wicked laugh followed by, “A taste is all you get. You know where to find me if you want more…” And then the wind died down, and the sounds of the night returned. The crickets and seagulls, ships in the distance, the waves crashing. All was normal once more.

Eyes clenched shut, Moira spun towards the ocean and screamed in frustration, practically kicking up a tidal wave as she unleashed the full power of her voice.

The water crashed back down, and Moira slowly inhaled as the anger left her. She took a step towards the ocean, hesitating, before spinning and stalking back up the rocks, heading towards the clearing, and, beyond that, the forests, disappearing in a haze of dark purple fog.

No more running. Tonight she was finally taking her fill of the witch of the wilds, consequences be damned.