Work Text:
Must Be Broken To Be Mended
"… I can't believe them, after all I've done."
Odalia Blight was many things: intelligent, ambitious, powerful, and dare she say quite lovely, but she didn't mumble under her breath when agitated … at least, not around others.
But now, in her own home, after her husband and youngest child turned their backs on her and her elder children refused to speak to her and snuck out sometime the night before? She felt she had a right to vent her frustrations.
"Why can't they see the bigger picture?" she wondered aloud as she gathered documents for Blight Industries. A voice in the back of her mind whispered that she'd have to find a competent and innovative maker of Abominations soon, but who could hope to match Alador in either way? Living like royalty in the new world would be nice, but she wanted a way to keep up her usefulness.
"Everything I've done, I've done for the family," she muttered bitterly, fingering her brooch with one hand. "For them. Why can't they see that?!"
She sighed and rubbed her forehead. All of this was giving her a headache. And on the Day of Unity, too. She only stopped when she registered a faint tingling on her right forearm. She arched a brow and rolled up the sleeve of her shirt to find her Oracle Coven sigil faintly glowing.
"What in the world?" she murmured. Perhaps it was a side effect? Her sigil was the same as any other oracle's, after all. Perhaps there was a low-level blanket effect before Belos's bargain would shield her — and Alador — from the worst of it?
Deciding a break was in order, she gathered a lawn chair and set it up outside to watch the eclipse. As she settled down with a glass of chilled tea and watched as the moon slowly covered the sun, she mused over how melodramatic her family was being over this draining spell. Kill everyone on the Isles? Oh please, that was foolish!
If Belos planned to kill everyone, who would be there for him to rule over? Who would be there to work, and to tax, and to govern in the name of the Titan? The spell may drain their magic, but that wasn't necessarily fatal. People would almost certainly be weakened, but they'd recover. And they'd do so in a paradise ruled over by the Emperor, the coven heads, and the family Blight.
Odalia's confident smirk faded at the last words she'd traded with half of her family. I am never speaking to you again. - Also, I quit. - Fine, I've been meaning to find a more competent business partner, anyway. And you won't be getting your severance package.
A flicker of regret licked at her heart, but she forced it to the back of her mind. They'd be back, of course. When the new world order settled and they needed protection, they'd return. They were her family; what else would they do?
Odalia hissed as the tingling of her sigil grew more pronounced. Why was she suddenly so sensitive to it? She looked up as the moon drew ever further over the sun, nearly completing the eclipse.
"Oh, Mother, if you could see me now," she said gleefully, focusing on her vindictive side to drown out the pain. Just like old times. She'd spent her entire adult life shutting out the words of that vile woman. Even so, they had railed against their cage and pushed her to succeed, to prove her mother wrong about her. And about Alador, whom she'd never met. She shook that thought away.
A change in her sigil made her examine it again, the glow fading. Was she finally being excluded from the drain? Or … could the spell be failing? No, it had to be working properly. A few minutes later and the glow grew even brighter than before. A kink in the ritual, no doubt ironed over.
Get that ironing done, you foolish girl! Can't you do anything right?!
Odalia growled at the brief memory and shoved it back into the cage in the back of her mind, along with its fellows. That woman was dead, her husband, too. And Odalia's only regret was that she wasn't here to see this triumph of her new family. Her real family.
Finally, the disk of the moon covered the sun. The ritual was complete! Odalia laughed in triumph … before she grimaced in sudden pain.
Her sigil … it was shining now! It sparked and wisps of pure magic arose from it to rise and waft toward the Titan's Head, where the circle of the eclipse was blazing with stolen magic. Violet tendrils traced up the flesh of her arm, crawling maliciously past her elbow and shoulder, horrific cold marking their progress.
"What?!" she gasped, the awful chill driving her to her knees. The draining spell was killing her! But he said-! Belos, he'd promised-! A Blight always upheld their end of a deal! But as the cold rot spread even further over her chest and her eyes, a separate chill ran up her spine at a sudden bout of clarity.
Belos was no Blight. He had never intended to keep up his end of the bargain.
Odalia bit back a shriek as the tendrils burrowed into her heart and bile sac, the cold of sapped magic permeating her body. And yet her arm felt as if it were burning, the magic flowing through it like runnels of fire contrasted against the cold. She groaned and collapsed onto her side, her vision blurring as she looked toward the eclipse and the Head.
A sudden image of Alador writhing on the ground in the same agony as herself crossed her mind's eye, and the pain grew worse. Her eyes were burning with tears at the imagined sight of her husband of twenty-five years — over half of their lives! — the genius behind their company and the father of her children screaming in pain.
As the intrusive thought was swept away by the rising tide of searing cold, more of the thoughts followed. The image of her preteen twins holding each other tight in fear as she snarled at them for acting out. Six-year-old Amity's terrified grief as she was forced to break her friendship with Willow Park. Alador's exhausted gaze as he shivered and sneezed flames over his work table from his recent bout of fire flu.
And what did they all have in common?
Her. Odalia Blight.
You good-for-nothing girl! Why couldn't I have birthed a son? Or even a competent daughter?!
Odalia squeezed her eyes shut as another memory floated to the fore of her mind, the worst one of them all. It was a few years after she'd joined the Oracle track Hexside and she'd been trying to clean her mother up from her drinking.
"It's gonna be okay, Mom," sixteen-year-old Odalia assured cautiously. Ever so cautiously.
She was dressed in her Hexside uniform, the sight of her mother, Morgana, splayed out over the couch in their small apartment the first thing she saw when she got home. Father was out working himself to death to support them — well, to support Morgana, at least — and he'd probably be drunk out of his mind too when he wandered home in the middle of the night …!
Odalia swallowed thickly and brushed a damp rag over her mother's brow to clean up the cold sweat. She nodded and got a shoulder under her arm to try and heave her off the ground and toward her parents' bedroom. With their separate beds.
She dared not use magic to move the woman. Doing so would set off her self-preservation instincts. Not to mention piss her off.
They made it only a few steps before Morgana blindly stumbled over an empty apple blood bottle and the clattering noise brought her to her senses. "…What?" She glanced down at Odalia and lurched unsteadily away. "Get away, you clumsy girl!" she slurred.
"It's okay," Odalia said calmly, hands up in a placating gesture. "Maybe a nice nap would make you feel better? You've earned it. And perhaps a cup of tea …?"
"Don't patronize me, brat!" Morgana snapped. "And don't you dare tell me everything's alright!" Her words were still slurred from the apple blood. "Nothing's ever alright with you in the world!"
Odalia tried to let the words roll off of her, but they still stung. "I just wanted to help …"
"Help?! Help?!" Morgana laughed harshly. "You could help by getting a job to support the family." Not that Morgana would stoop to getting a job of her own. "Or, while we're dreaming, you could help by making it big, like a dutiful child and paying back for all the blood, sweat and tears I've put into you!" She put her fists on her hips. "But we know that's never gonna happen."
"Th-that's not true!" Odalia said, her eyes welling.
"Yes it is, and you know it!" She rubbed her eyes with the back of her hand. "You good-for-nothing girl! Why couldn't I have birthed a son? Or even a competent daughter?!"
"I can make it big, Mother!" Odalia shouted. "I-!"
Pain sliced across Odalia's face as she was knocked to the ground. She crashed against the wooden floor and tapped her fingers to her cheek, lifting them away to reveal faint hints of red.
"Don't you talk back to your mother, Odalia," Morgana said quietly, intently … dangerously. She placed a hand to the brooch at her throat and summoned a phantasm with long, narrow claws. "You know what happens when-" Her eyes rolled into the back of her head and she collapsed onto the floor, snoring heavily as the phantasm dissolved into magical energy.
Odalia didn't think, she just ran. She ran to her tiny room, really a large closet with just enough floor space for her bed, and bolted the door before diving onto the quilt atop it and weeping bitter tears. She'd have to talk to someone in the Healing track tomorrow about the scratches; offer a favor in return for no scars.
How could she get a good husband — Alador …! — if she had scars?!
As the tears continued to pour, she balled her fists in the quilt and vowed to prove her mother … No, to prove Morgana wrong. She would make it big! She'd scrape and claw and connive her way to success and show even the Titan that she was worth so much more than what she had been born with!
And when she had kids of her own, she'd make sure they knew that success came only with sacrifice!
Out of seemingly nowhere, an image of her friends from her Hexside days appeared before her sight. Her dear Alador, Darius, Perry Porter, Raine Whispers, Lilith Clawthorne … even Edalyn Clawthorne. They frowned and turned away, showing her their backs as they faded into nothing.
Her family's faces drifted across her mind's eye to replace them, all of them glaring at her not with anger or hate … but with disappointment. That same horrific, frigid, distant look that Morgana would only ever show to Odalia. Like she was the ruination of everything …
And as the cold crept slowly and inexorably deeper, she realized with an unmistakable flash of clarity that only she was to blame. Her family had turned against her, all of the same mind because she was the problem. Her mother's words had stoked the fires of her ambition … but that ambition had blinded her to everything good that she might have had, and the fires had burned everything she might have cared for to ash.
"What have I done …?" she whimpered, her heart breaking under the weight of such a realization. Of the guilt and shame that emerged from it.
And for the first time since that day so long ago, Odalia Blight wept. Tears rolled over the bridge of her nose and the corner of her eye. She hadn't even the strength to roll onto her back. As her vision began to tunnel into darkness, she focused for a few long moments on the visage of the Head of the Titan.
"Please …" she begged. Part of her might have railed at the mere idea of begging anyone for anything. But she was in too much pain to be proud. "Please, I-" Her throat was burning. "I h-have to make this right. Please …" Even her tears seemed cold, now. "Please, I beg you, just one more chance. One more …"
Odalia's eyes lowered shut and she sighed.
And then the glow faded from her coven sigil. She gasped as warmth trickled back into her body, harsh coughs wracking her frame. She rolled onto her back and panted as if she'd run from the Head to the Toes as she grasped for the strength to move. When she felt like she might be able to sit up, she turned her head on the ground and saw the moon moved away from the sun.
It was impossible, a miracle. It could only be …!
"Thank you," she whispered toward the massive skull of the Titan.
She sat up with a groan and stumbled to her knees and then to her feet. She wobbled and nearly fell, but grit her teeth and steadied herself with her hands on her knees. She stiffened as something tickled the back of her neck and she reached back to feel strands of hair. Her bun must have been mussed when she was thrashing on the ground.
She sneered at herself and tore the hair tie away entirely, allowing her hair to flow freely outside her house for the first time in … how long? Years, at least. While she was at it, she discarded her petticoat, too, leaving her only in her dark slacks, violet button-up, and heeled boots.
"Now, where are you all?" she wondered. She placed the tips of her first two fingers against her brooch — inherited from her mother as the only gift she had ever been given, even if it was post-mortem — and tapped into the magic stored within. Her bile sac was assuredly drained to dangerous levels from Belos's spell, but an advanced piece of Oracle magic allowed witches to store a reserve of magic within their implements for emergencies.
Her mind's eye opened wide and she Discerned the twins Emira and Edric in a bedroom with another witchling in a Hexside uniform, a girl with brown hair in a messy bun, bright green eyes, and … was that fish hook in her ear?!
"No, Odalia, they're safe," she growled to herself. She focused again and Alador's beaten form appeared, collapsed on his back against the base of a tree. He was breathing, in obvious pain but very much alive. The remains of dozens of Abomi-tons were spattered around him and all over his prone form.
"You foolish, brilliant man," she scolded, tears leaking from her eyes and further ruining her unsalvageable makeup. "I'll be there soon. Now, for Amity …" A pause as the spell settled … and then white-hot pain seared into her skull, like a burning dagger plunged right between her eyes!
"What was that?" she wondered. What had that been?! She hadn't caught even a glimpse of her youngest! Fear tried to wrap its cold fingers around her heart and bile sac, but she snarled and physically pushed it away. She would figure out where Amity was later, no doubt with her human girlfriend and those other friends she'd gathered.
Wanted criminal or not, Luz Noceda was formidable. And the others Amity had drawn to her were just as strong, even Willow. She'd seen that with her own eyes not twenty-four hours ago.
Amity would be fine. She would be! She was a Blight.
Odalia shook herself to focus and wobbled to a spare airship in the backyard, preparing as fast as she could for travel. As soon as she was in the air, she turned the wheel to make for the Head … that wasn't there? Odalia gaped in utter shock at the floating remains of the Head that seemed to be reforming into something else. Was that … a house?
Did it matter?
Her husband was on the way to that floating house, and her youngest daughter was almost certainly in the thick of it. She pushed the lever for the throttle and held the steering wheel in a death grip. She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand to remove the lipstick, then the other across her eyes against her smeared mascara. They weren't important right now.
Her cheekbone tingled where Morgana had scratched her all those years ago and she embraced that phantom pain as a reminder. Her mother had called her incompetant, good for nothing … and she was proven right. She had proven herself a poor excuse for a wife and mother.
No longer.
Odalia Blight swore to herself that she would find her family and protect them with every drop of magic and strength she could bring to bear. She would beg their forgiveness, and if they didn't give it … she would accept that pain on her heart to match her cheek. She looked forward and imagined the Head still intact, the face of the Titan who may or may not have given her a second chance.
"It's a deal," she muttered, her lips pressed into a determined line. "And a Blight always upholds their end of a deal."