Chapter Text
Fog flooded the streets of Paris as dew drops formed on the windows throughout the city. ‘Twas the night of the Spring Equinox full moon; a night most unusual, lest, for those that could tell. A mere three minutes before the witching hour, two pairs of eyes peered down at the street below, watching as twenty-one hooded figures made their way through the town. Quickly, they moved, almost dashing through the alleyways and low-traffic streets. On nights such as these, just as magical and as mysterious as this one, it could only be supposed Fate would aid their way and let the people of the day rest their heads as the people of the night commence the divine and infernal things they do best.
Hard heels pounding against cobblestone from the streets into the depths of the catacombs of Paris. One guided them, much older than any of the rest following and in one of her hands held a rather large grimoire. With the other, she rested it on her side where her satchel laid.
Together, the lot of them lit their candlesticks and stumbled their way into the catacombs, wary of the skeletons that adorned each and every wall and archway. Rumours have it, as well as the darkened ones who enjoy travelling in such places, say that if you’re quiet, you can still hear, just ever so faintly, a tortured soul pleading with Fate for a mere last tasting of a cask of amontillado.
Later that night, a red figure as divine as royalty, if not moreso, halted herself on that very same cobblestone road to pick up an old and worn leatherback book. Dusting it off, she could clearly see inscribed on the cover, Of Parisian Witchcraft and Spellcrafters: The 23rd Chapter of The Hecate Society for Young Witches.
The echoes of the shrill shrieks and screams are their only guide through the twisting winding labyrinth that was the catacombs, long forgotten by the citizens of Paris. Unbeknownst to Lady Magique and Lord Nuit, the skulls of the nameless dead crunched beneath their hard heavy heels.
As they looked left and right, they found a tunnel with a growing light at the end. The toxic odor of smoke and fire was abhorrent and putrid, filling the old tunnels to the brim of the rotten air. With a gesture of his hand, Lord Nuit eradicated the hellbound fog.
Their eyes darted around the room, quickly counting the bodies and finding their pulses. In the corner was the elder witch, shaking, shivering from the horrors that occurred mere moments before. As they came to face her, there was pain in Anarka’s eyes. She grabbed onto Lord Nuit’s hand, sputtering out her recollection. “In all of my thirty-two years of doing this, there has never been a night more devastating than this.” She was not a woman to be fearful of anything in her life, but for once, sheer terror was scattered across her face and burnt the fire within her and tore at the very fabric of her soul. Nevertheless, she continued on, “As the ruckus occurred, a dark shadow emerged from the fire. All that could be seen from its silhouette were its holes where its eyes should have been. We were all taken aback. The hollow glare felt piercing to the soul as hope and joy dissipated from our bodies. Coldness, darkness filled it. It was burning and freezing all at once.
“This night should have never ended like this. It was a rather simple ritual that we’ve done every year. Growing a chrysanthemum, we feed it nothing but pale moonlight and virgin blood which on the night of the Spring Equinox, the God of Spring accepts our offering. We know it has been accepted once it combusts and is devoured in fire, sending it to another realm.
“A strong and healthy chrysanthemum as it always was, tonight, however, was a different story as things quickly went amiss. It was supposed to be the night we initiated three young girls coming of age to join the coven. One had been my daughter’s secret lover that only my family knew about, the other a platonic friend of hers, and the last was an Italian girl who always managed to impress me with all of the things she had done in her life.
“The flame burst, never as it had done before. It grew wild and wicked and intangible; Normally it would die down to a flicker, implode and decease, but no. Just when I thought it would die, it didn’t. It pulsated and grew in wisps, dispersing across the room. Parts of mine own hair are still tinged and burnt from the horrid experience, but I don’t care about that now. Seven of my fledgelings were injured, two murdered, and one was-”
There was a daunting silence that filled the air before Magique and Nuit took a glance at one another.
Lady Magique bent down, closer to the emotionally tortured woman in front of her. “Madame Couffaine, it must be hard with all that you had to have gone through the events of tonight and as much as we apologize for making you have to relieve such a horrid catastrophe, we need to know as much as we can.”
Anarka bit back against the lump in her throat. “Dare I say it? She was possessed!” Then and there, she collapsed, the tears rolling in streams down across her cheeks.
Cat-like as ever, Lord Nuit scrunched his brow as he got down on his knees. “Would you be so bold as to tell us the poor lass’ name?”
Anarka looked between the two of them, unmoving. “I dare not speak her name once more in fear of invoking the demon that has demolished the sanctity of the coven.” Wiping away her tears, she calmed down her vicarious breathing and pointed to the grimoire in Lady Magique’s hand. “Take it with you, my dear. If you speak to it, I will assure you it will give you her name. For now, I must find the rest of the coven youth, heal the wounded and raise the-”
“Raise the dead?” Lady Magique walked over to the still lifeless bodies, one chared to crisp and the other whose fresh blood was still scattered against the wall from their body being thrashed against it. She kissed their foreheads, soon summoning the ladybugs that came crawling from through the cracks in the stones of the floor, the wall, and the ceilings above. Scowering their bodies, the bugs kissed their wounds to begin the healing process. In moments, they were both resurrected. Content with her work, Lady Magique gave a firm nod before curtsying to Anarka. “Thank you, Madame Couffaine, for everything you have done for us tonight.”
As Anarka stood up, she grabbed onto Lady Magique’s arm. “I wish you two the best in the ways that I never could.” Picking up the unconscious witches, she murmured under her breath as the archway in front of her grew dark and foggy, like a threshold to another place and disappeared.