Chapter Text
Raelle was killed a total of three times.
The first time, she took a knife to the heart because of the Camarilla, and it took down Abigail with her. It had been quick, and she had been reckless enough to let her guard down then, but the Mycelium had saved her. It had saved them.
Still, a ghost feeling often swept through her senses at random moments. She would be sitting in the hall with Abigail and Tally, the three of them discussing some event or another, or theorizing about Alder and how Tally was still somehow connected to her, and Raelle would feel the puncture of the knife slicing through her skin, ripping her heart in half.
Brief as it was, the feeling unsettled her, and she would gingerly press her hand against the existing wound, fake a smile if any one of her friends so much as glanced her way, carried on with her day as usual.
It happened in training too, when hand-to-hand became a little too intense. Raelle was never known to back away from a challenge, and pretty much like Abigail, she was stubborn and headstrong. She would fight tooth and nail to survive, and whoever was partnered up with her knew it well.
That is until, as M was making their way toward her, Raelle flinched and was caught off guard, tackle to the ground nearly mercilessly; or as much as training allowed it to be.
The very breath was kicked out of her lungs, expelled as she crashed down on the mattress, her hand clinging to her chest in a matter of seconds. M hovered above her, a puzzled expression upon their face, but yet again, Raelle pushed on. She sucked in a deeper breath, feigned heartburn, and sparred again.
The ghost feeling began to fade after a while, even if the discomfort lingered. No one had noticed, except for the casual words of worry, and Raelle praised herself for not showing her pain.
But then things took a turn for the worst after she was kidnapped. Two times she actually died, a third, nearly.
When the knife cut the skin of her throat sloppily, the blood ran amuck across her body. It filled up in the wrong holes, blocking her breathing, everything in her mouth tasted like iron. She lost consciousness in a matter of seconds and died a minute later.
The Mycelium welcomed her briefly before evicting her again, yet this time Raelle carried with her the vivid images of what lay in the mushroom. With a gasp, she awoke from her daze much to the glee of the Dr.
Then came the boulder which slowly crushed her to death. This time, she could feel every bone in her chest breaking into tiny bits and were she not connected to the Mother, were she not a witch, there would not have been a way to save her. The pain reached unbearable heights, and she looked over at the children, wanting to plead, wanting it all to stop. Not just the pain of the rock, but the entire war. Silently, she prayed for it all to end. Something Raelle rarely ever did.
She woke up in the Mycelium, heard its whisper, and woke up in silent agony. The children had been spared, which set her mind at ease, but her chest flared as her bones were being sewn back together. Her lungs, previously collapsed under the weight of the boulder, were gently being filled back with air. She was still chained to the table, unable to move.
A part of her wanted to fight back, to show them that they were messing with the wrong person. But the pangs of her different deaths were starting to take a toll on her, and Raelle had never, ever felt so tired.
The Witches Plague was by far the worst. It was a combination of drowning, suffocating, breathing fire, and her entire body just flaring up as the dark webs took hold of her. This was something the Mycelium could not fight back. Raelle could not fight this back.
She would die here, for good, away from her family, away from her sisters, away from Scylla.
That would be it.
That should have been it.
And yet, here she was again, breathing, alive, and with a heartbeat. Scylla gazed down right upon her.
Raelle faded quickly afterward.
Having barely returned to the living world after Hearst’s several attempts at killing her / experimenting on her and the Mycelium, Raelle did not have much time to sit by herself and think.
She was grateful for the distraction, wanting not to be stuck in her head and reliving every excruciating moment which killed her. The knife to the heart had been quick, and nearly without much pain. Its ghost feeling had faded away in a matter of days, but even after she had woken up in a neat bed, tucked away in a Spree safehouse in Pennsylvania, even after she saw Scylla and felt like a piece of her had been returned – she would not say that just yet – Raelle was miserable.
Her chest hurt, and with each inhale, it was as if the boulder was crushing her still. When she spoke, her throat itched, and she fought the urge to scratch at it, to make sure that the incision lines were not there still. When she moved, her limbs painstakingly burned, muscles wanting to refuse to work were it not for sheer willpower.
Scylla had told her to take it easy. There was no way for her to know what had happened with Raelle, but she still urged her to take it one step at a time. Abigail debriefed her, and then Tally showed up, and then it was on catching Batan. Raelle forced herself into overdrive mode because she knew of no other way to protect her sisters than this. If the Mycelium was protecting her, Tally, Abigail, Scylla, and all of the other witches did not boast of such protection.
The mission tested her body and her ability to keep up with the others, yet with its success, Raelle proved once more that she was just fine.
Scylla knew better.
Batan was driving the bus which had served only a work ago as a ride to prison, joined by Khalida, Adil, Quinn, and Scylla.
Raelle retracted towards the back of the bus after catching up with Quinn, wanting, no, needing to know that her father was okay. They would drop off Quinn at the next stop from where she would make her way to the Cession. As far as the world was concerned, she had nothing to do with any of them, and hence would be fine.
Scylla joined her seconds later, the expression on her face indicating that whatever discussion she had had with Batan did not go as expected, and somehow Raelle was not particularly surprised.
When Scylla took her seat beside her, Raelle curled their fingers together. “Everything okay?”
“She’s just a stubborn bitch, that’s all.”
Raelle smiled. She’d terribly missed her girlfriend’s fiery disposition.
“I have yet to meet a witch that isn’t.”
“Tally,” Scylla was quick to say, a little smirk curling her lips.
Raelle chuckled, sparing a glance at her friend who sat a few seats ahead, unaware of them. She seemed more intrigued by something else, though what, Raelle had no idea. A seat beside her, Raelle caught Abigail’s wary gaze. Her brows were frowned, peering at Scylla.
“I don’t blame her,” the brunette said as if she could read Raelle’s mind.
“What?”
“Abigail. I understand why she would be on edge. Logic says that all of you should be, considering you have two terrorists on board with you.”
“No, don’t…don’t say that. We’ve all made mistakes, Scyl.”
A faint smile tugged at her mouth, but Scylla was unconvinced. Her sorrowful expression only made it harder for Raelle to not forgive her, though she supposed that wiping the slate completely clean was something that would require a bit of time. But their love was stronger, and despite it all, Scylla had saved her in more ways than Raelle could count.
“Hey,” said Scylla, rubbing small circles on Raelle’s hand. “Are you okay? You look a bit pale.”
The Fixer shrugged, a grimace paining her expression. “I’m fine, fine. It’s just that a lot’s happened in such a short amount of time. I’m just tired.”
Scyalla adjusted her position to turn fully to Raelle, ignoring Abigail’s disapproving looks as she cupped her girlfriend’s cheeks, rubbing her thumb in the spot just under her eyes. Raelle leaned into the touch and closed her lids, a shuddering breath escaping her.
“Rae…talk to me.”
Letting out an exhale, Raelle held back the tears which had been threatening to fall for a while now. She could not afford to break down in front of Batan or Quinn, even when the rest had seen her on her darker days.
She pressed a kiss to Scylla’s palm, nudging her, smelling her. “Later,” she promised.
She was thankful when Scylla did not press her further on. Instead, she nodded, kissed her deeply, and nuzzled in closer so that their bodies were practically entwined. Seconds later, Raelle had dosed off into a deep slumber, her lips slightly parted as she puffed out air from her mouth.