Chapter Text
Douxie panted heavily. Why had he stayed? After the plague. After the black cat hunting. After everything. Why was he still in Europe? He was lucky. As a man he managed to avoid most suspicion. Archie however, he was in a lot of danger. Yes he was actually a familiar but that didn’t mean he was a bad omen. Fortunately, pulling the royalty found black cats lucky seemed to work sometimes. Thank the heavens for King Charles. It didn’t mean that people didn’t notice odd things. Like Douxie not getting sick. Not ageing. Not changing. And if a witch-hunter came into town, well the finger was pointed to women or him. He was an obvious choice. Young but eyes older than the rest of him. Black cat. Could actually use magic. Douxie tried to breathe. He’d been caught out. Someone had noticed him doing something. He wasn’t sure what? Maybe the scams or the anti-ageing. Still being chased out of town was a bother. A nightmare actually.
He’d seen witch tests. Witch burnings. The drownings. Well at least you couldn’t hear them screaming. The gurgles were bad enough and if they somehow floated, usually due to something other than witchcraft then he got to witness a burning. Douxie could block out a lot of things. Could forgot things he didn’t want to remember. But the screaming of innocents. The screaming of kin as they were burned by flames. Wizards and witches could incant if they were focused. If they had the emotional control. Flames inching towards you violently, catching your feet. Searing your body inch by inch as the flames crept closer and closer. The horrible ragged breaths of smoke that crippled their lungs. Douxie could see it and hear it all. Seared into his mind like the horrible scalding flames that surrounded people he’d known.
So he’d run. At the first sign of trouble he’d flee. It didn’t mean he got away clean every time though. One particularly vicious witch-hunter had chased him across the continent. He still had the burn scar from when they nearly got him. If Archie hadn’t managed to snap him back to reality, he would have been burned alive. He would be dead. It was a horrible thought.
“I think it’s time to move on.” Archie said one night, while they were hiding in a cave. “Get off the continent.”
“And go where?” Douxie asked, stoking feeble flames.
“I’ve heard rumours that the Trolls are planning on jumping on the Mayflower.” Archie said, adjusting his glasses.
“The Mayflower?” Douxie asked. “What the heck is that?”
“It’s a ship. It’s travelling to the supposed ‘New World’ soon.” Archie told him. “We need to get out before someone cottons on to us.” Douxie thought about the burn on his lower back. The screaming and pain.
“They’ve already worked out who we are.” He said miserably. “Maybe leaving is for the best.” He didn’t want to leave Europe particularly. It was familiar and comfortable. The closest he’d come to Camelot, the closest he could come to Camelot. But at the rate he was going, people would work out who he was. He wasn’t just some fun rumour or hearsay. He was becoming known.
“So we’re going.” Archie said. Douxie nodded. They were leaving. Departing for the ‘New World’ with a bunch of Trolls.
Sometimes, when he was alone. Douxie could hear the screaming. Could remember the smell of burning flesh. He’d wake up in a cold sweat feeling the heat of flames and the horror of watching friends burn alive.
Sometimes he’d wake up burning and breathless and screaming.