Chapter Text
Sarah Elizabeth Alder is born a beast in human form.
As a child, Sarah had fire in her eyes, an animalistic way about her movements, the wilderness in her veins. She and Abigail would bound through the forests near Salem Town, jumping from tree to tree, bell-like laughter ringing through the canopy as they played hide and seek. Abigail understood Sarah’s ferality, understood in the way only a sister can. Their bond lit up the sky. They were made for each other.
“You have the forest in your blood, Sarah,” her mother would whisper, “a howl in your song.”
“In the old world,” her father said one night, holding Sarah close, “we called your kind 'sensitive.' The Goddess has blessed you with the ability to feel the world around you in a way others cannot. You are special, my girl, you are strong.”
Sarah is born to a full moon, to a forest alight with life around her. There's fire in her eyes as she takes in the electricity arcing against her skin, her nails are too-sharp and her mouth hangs open like a starving wolf, like a predator who's just seen its perfect prey.
Then her parents are killed, and Abigail is hanged next to her, and she unleashes the Seed trapped in her heart from birth, the Seed her parents told her to keep inside at all costs, her Seed.
It is without her choice that Sarah Alder becomes a figurehead for witch-kind. She cannot growl and hiss when confronted with the villagers that killed her family, she cannot run through the woods like a wolf in a pack. She has to be human, to show the civilians that witches are just as sane as they are. It physically hurts to keep out of the forests, she has to place a ward on the tree line to keep herself out, to fight the temptation.
She signs the Salem Accords when she is only eighteen. It’s February 19th, 1692, and Sarah has been through more than she could possibly say. The fire in her eyes is low, tempered. Her nails are dull where they should be claws. She hides her accent best she can, not wanting to draw more attention to herself, not with the looks she gets when her beast is strongest, when she snarls with too much teeth and a bonfire in her chest.
She collects witches everywhere she goes, but only a few of them have the same animalistic urge to attack that she does, the instinct to sink her teeth into the witch hunters’ throats and shake with all of their might. She is singular in that way, she finds. Some come close, but her instincts are stronger than all others'. She learns to keep those questions to herself.
She almost dies in the Cession, and she is gifted the Biddies. She is in her late thirties now, shoulders heavy with age and the weight of the world, the future of all witchkind. Her scars tell a story, a story that the civilian government uses to manipulate her place in the world, witches' places in the world.
Her soul no longer urges her to hiss or growl, to dig her teeth into warm flesh and bite down until she tastes blood. The Biddies take on those attributes and do their best to nullify them. They know that Sarah has to be seen in a certain way, human, and they work hard to help maintain her cover.
Sometimes, when the moon is bright and there is war on the horizon, after her camp has gone to sleep, she runs. The woods are just like she remembers them, the smell of dirt and life and movement flooding her senses until she’s back in that haze of her childhood, chasing after Abigail in the forest while her parents make dinner back home. She remembers catching her sister with a cackling laugh, pressing her face against her sister’s chords and humming out a purr.
These times, these nights when the thrum of her pulse beneath her skin is flaring like a bonfire, heat rushing through her veins, she returns to camp covered in dirt. Her Biddies help her clean up, put her to bed, hum to her and stroke her skin until she’s limp against them, eyes closing as sleep pulls her under.
Fort Salem becomes a witches’ place, the place she sang until the Goddess took her dead coven away and set their souls to peace.
The Camarilla are a formidable enemy. Even with the witches of powerful matrilines by her side, even with the sky in her throat and lightning in her veins, it takes centuries to truly get rid of this hateful group of witch hunters, the ones who infiltrated her village and got her family killed.
There’s peace, for a while. She is no longer remembered for the fire in her eyes, the sharpness of her teeth, now she is only a figurehead in the war against her own kind, the Spree. Witches hate or love her, there is no in between, and civilians see her as the symbol of all that is different in the world, something to be celebrated or persecuted.
The government becomes lax with their display of casual superiority over witchkind. Every President that takes up office uses Sarah as an informant, a tool to win their civilian wars, a weapon to kill her own kind.
That fire in her eyes turns to smoke. Inside Fort Salem, inside her office, she feels her connection to nature fade away. The urges are few and far between, and her Biddies deal with them when they come. So many witches have died, so many have survived, but Sarah is stuck in this office full of still air, longing to feel the wind against her skin just once more.
Time passes.
Anacostia Quartermaine, one of the fosterlings on base, catches her eye almost immediately. She’s feisty and powerful, with an attitude that reminds Sarah of Abigail, that quiet understanding in her young smile and the way she presses gentle hands to the earth like she’s praying to the dirt itself. Young Ana is a perfect contrast to the feral beast Sarah had been as a kid, before the world had her tamed.
Ana grows up, grows into the powerful woman that Sarah never got to see in Abigail, and the world continues to turn.
Life is full of monotony. Sarah watches as a silent spectator, parts of her soul at her back in the form of her Biddies, the witches that have sacrificed their futures for a relic who should have been put down years ago.
She was made for war, made for forests and storms and lightning splitting the ground in two, not this farce of a battle with the Spree, an organization led by someone she called a friend not so long ago.
Three cadets change the pace of her life with a simple confidence in their smiles, ease in their words even as worry resides in their hearts.
Abigail Bellweather. Sarah can feel, deep in the core of her bones, that this girl will change the world, will call storms to her fingertips with only a low hum. She will be the best of her family, Sarah knows. She watches the girl grow, watches as Minerva melds her into a younger version of a defiant Petra, and she waits. Maybe this girl will be the end of the monotony, will take Sarah away from her everlasting life and lay her down in peace. She can only hope.
Raelle Collar, an expert Fixer, just like her mother. Sarah knows that Willa Collar is not dead, that she’s one of Nicte’s now, how could she not when she has lived this long with all these instincts? Raelle, the young Fixer with fear in her heart in the shape of anger, has the Mother in the threads of her Work. Sarah meets the girl on a trip to the Cession a year before she's conscripted, and she knows when she meets those hateful eyes that Raelle will be a force to be reckoned with. Sarah looks forward to that day.
Tally Craven is a surprise. Sarah catches sight of her on Conscription day, tears in those wide brown eyes, and she has to hold in a choking gasp. Her Biddies whisk away the feelings threatening to consume her so she can finish her speech, understanding her need for quiet just this once.
Tally, with her red hair and dimples and endless optimism, worms her way into Sarah’s life without thought to the consequences. There’s a drive in the girl, a need to reach for the truth and pull it close for all to see. Sarah despises this on principle, but her heart skips all the same when that soft smile is aimed her way.
The Camarilla are back, and Tally sacrifices herself to become one of Sarah’s Biddies. The link is like nothing she’s felt before, the girl’s presence in their hive of a mind peaceful and mourning and hopeful all in one, and Sarah has to hold back tears for the first time in forever.
Raelle and Abigail are alive.
Tally is young again, and Sarah can’t seem to push the remnants of their bond away as she knows she should. There’s something different about this bond, this link. She orders Izadora to silence and forces Craven to drink the concoction to sever the link. It doesn’t work, but she ignores it. She has bigger priorities.
Nicte.
Craven follows Petra’s orders. Nicte is brought back alive, full of secrets and anger and things that only Sarah can relate to. They will always be alike in that way, the wild instinct in their bones, in their veins, even as Sarah's are stronger, more all-encompassing.
Tally’s scourge rips through Sarah’s cheek, and for once, for the first time since the weight of the world snuffed out her fire, she feels alive. Her skin itches with arcing lightning, her teeth are sharp in her mouth, her nails built to tear at flesh and rend her prey mute in one single motion.
But before she can truly embrace this new lease on life, she is struck down by the same enemy that she thought died out years ago.
The Mother is warm.
Sarah’s soul is at peace, after so long of being stifled by her human skin, after centuries of pain and humanity. She prowls her territory, tends to the souls who need her help, purrs against the threads of the Mycelium as she remembers all the ones she’s loved and lost in her too-long lifespan. She created this space, it belongs to her. She will keep it safe.
There’s something keeping her tethered to the mortal world, though she ignores it for as long as she can. It digs at her until she knows she has to go, has to pull on that thread until she’s back in the mortal world.
In the Mycelium, void of time and space, Sarah’s heart does not beat, it doesn’t need to.
On Earth once more, Sarah breathes, her heart beats, and she feels her physical form come together. It’s odd, being without her Biddies, being alone in her head. Even in the Mother she had other spirits to keep her company. Now, she’s alone.
Hm, not totally alone. She reaches into her magical core and strokes the golden thread that connects her to her anchor, the thread that allowed her to come back with the permission of the Mother. She knows how, knows why, but she can’t let herself think about that just yet, not when she has a job to do.
She breathes, and her body melts into the ground, connected to the Mycelium network underneath Fort Salem. She has her destination.
The Camarilla are attacking.
Tally can see it all, in the back of her mind where her sight refuses to turn off. Her scourge is heavy in her hand, a Seed hot on her tongue. One of Abigail’s storms is building above the fight, twin tornadoes forming to rip their ancient enemy from the ground and throw them so their bones will shatter with the force of it.
Raelle and Scylla fight back to back as Adil and Khalida keep Camarilla agents as far away from the compound that they can, using their earthwork to its limit. Nicte, Tally watches through her sight, is close to bathing in blood, knife held close to her body as she Windstrikes a man to shreds. The storm is whipping strongly at the trees now, Abigail’s Work targeting any Camarilla that gets too close. Tally slashes out with her scourge once more, slitting the throat of the nearest agent. She grimaces as his blood splatters against her face, but she keeps fighting.
There’s something on the edge of her sight, something pulsing, something gold, but she knows it’s not dangerous. She pushes it aside.
Their number one priority is protecting the safe house that they’ve found themselves at, protecting the witches and civilians inside unlucky enough to be hunted.
It’s been a few months since they had to run, since they were declared murderers, traitors, and they’ve spent most of that time tracking the Camarilla’s movements, trying to figure out where they will strike next. They found this place only an hour before the attack started, but it was enough time to warn the people inside to defend themselves.
A hissed Seed decimates the two agents rushing her, scattering their ashes to the wind. Her throat is starting to hurt, but she pushes through it. A swing of her scourge kills one more.
There are so many, her gift shudders in her chest. They’re outnumbered, they need to pick it up before the Camarilla find a way through their defenses and slaughter the witches inside.
A twinge at the edge of her sight, that golden blur again. She hums, taking out an agent as she uses her gift to reach out and touch the gold. If her sight is bringing it up, it’s probably important. Goddess, she hopes it’s not more Camarilla headed their way, they’re too occupied by the current wave.
A familiar feeling washes over her, a familiar shade of purple, the taste of whiskey on her tongue, dirt under her feet. Her breath catches in her throat.
One of Abigail’s twisters has to catch three approaching agents as Tally drops her scourge, eyes foggy. She’s defenseless, and her sisters pick up the slack. They’ve seen her in a vision before, when she’s stuck in her sight. They'll protect her with everything they have.
Something in Tally’s chest cracks, and she lets out a low whimper.
It can’t be, she thinks, this is a trick, it has to be.
But the purple and gold grows bigger at the edges of her vision, and the ground rumbles with a familiar type of Work, so different from the Tarim Seeds that rock the earth closer to the compound. Black lightning clashes with Abigail’s weatherwork, striking down every Camarilla agent in Tally’s vicinity, and tears come to her eyes. She knows that lightning, that Work, that tone.
She takes in a shaky breath and turns her head, guided by her sight once more. Oh Goddess.
A vision shrouded in gold, Sarah Alder stands with her face tilted up to the sky, her hands palm up at her sides. She’s practically shaking with unreleased energy, and another round of black lightning strikes the ground, blending seamlessly with Abigail’s twisters.
Tally’s moving before she consciously decides to. She can’t look away from this goddess of a woman, can’t tear her eyes from the billowing cloak of white Mycelium thread draped across her shoulders. Tally’s not sure her heart is even beating with the tingling in her limbs, but she can’t bring herself to care.
Sarah is resplendent in her rage. Lightning strikes once more, but even that doesn’t seem to lessen the energy skipping across her skin. She looks like a live wire, and Tally has never been more enthralled. In the back of her mind, her sight tells her that her sisters have stopped singing, that the only Work in the clearing is Sarah’s. Nicte’s magic is restless, but she doesn’t let it loose.
Tally’s shaking with the energy that Sarah radiates, only a few yards away now.
In one smooth motion, Sarah brings her head down to lock eyes with Tally. Oh, those blue eyes, rimmed with Mycelium white, she missed them so much. There’s something in those eyes, something that Tally only got to see a glimpse of through the Biddy link, a kind of animalistic freedom. Sarah smiles, slow and wide, and tilts her head back once more, almost leisurely. She hums low, and Tally watches as all the remaining Camarilla are struck down in one big flash of light.
“Sarah,” Tally breathes. The hoarseness of her voice shocks her, but it catches the woman’s attention, draws those blue eyes back to brown, and everything has been worth it if it has lead to this.
Sarah’s crossing the distance between them in an instant, wrapping Tally in her arms and pushing her face into the redhead’s neck. A low purring hum comes from Sarah’s throat. It isn’t Work, Tally knows that much, but it feels like Work against her skin.
Tally doesn’t question it, just pulls Sarah closer.
They never had this kind of relationship, this first name and touching type of relationship, and the feel of Sarah’s lips on her neck is making it hard to think, but she knows this isn’t normal behavior, even for the two of them. It feels right to call her Sarah though, not General, not Alder. Sarah, informal and casual Sarah.
They clutch at each other as Sarah’s storm slows to a simmer. The purring hum vibrates through both their chests, making Tally smile and tuck her nose into Sarah’s neck, mirroring her position.
“Tally!” Raelle shouts from not far off, her voice tinged with Work. Tally knows that if she looks, Rae’s eyes will be a pure Mycelium white, but she can’t bring herself to let go of Sarah just yet. As if hearing her thoughts, Sarah’s arms tighten around her, (and isn’t that a thought, that their link survived Sarah’s death and resurrection?)
“Tals, what…” Abigail trails off, footsteps slowing as she gets close. “Alder?”
The purr from Sarah’s throat stutters into a low growl, and Tally gets the feeling that something’s wrong, even as her heart quickens at the noise.
“Sarah,” she says quietly, nosing at the woman’s neck on instinct, “you need to calm down. You’re safe, we’re safe, Sarah. Everything’s okay, you saved us.”
The rumbling stops, but Sarah’s grip does not loosen.
Her sisters position themselves as Sarah’s back so Tally can see their wide eyes and bloody clothes. Tally’s sight tells her that Adil and Khalida are staying with Scylla at the doors to the compound, protecting it just in case another round shows up. Where’s… Ah, there she is. Nicte’s scowling face enters her vision, positioned at Rae’s right.
Sarah’s grip tightens almost painfully, and the growl starts back up again, pointed waves of sound threatening violence. Tally closes her eyes, tries to focus against the lips on her neck, and assesses the situation.
Sarah Alder is alive. Sarah Alder saved their lives and killed hundreds of Camarilla agents. Sarah Alder is nosing at Tally’s neck like she wants to mark her, claim her, and Tally is not exactly protesting, even as Nicte’s scowl eases, curiously, at the sound of growling.
“Does anybody know what’s happening right now?” Tally asks, eyes fixed on Nicte. The woman looks like she understands the situation, which is never good.
Nicte licks her lips, a nervous tick of hers, and says, “She’s free.”
That’s it, that’s all she says, and Tally wants to scream, but then her gift connects the dots, and she goes limp in Sarah’s hold.
That glimpse of feral energy she once saw in the Biddy link, the memories she saw before she drank that horrible concoction Izadora made to sever the remaining link, the bright laughter of a young Sarah running after her sister, bounding through the trees with the wilderness in her eyes.
Sarah Elizabeth Alder was born a beast in human form, and now she’s unleashed. No Accords bind her to civility, no Biddies take on her instinctive urges to growl and hiss, nothing is stopping her from feeling everything she’s been suppressing for almost three hundred years, and she doesn’t know how to rein it back in.
“Oh, Sarah,” Tally sighs.
The growl stutters between a purr and a growl, unsure of where it wants to go, and Sarah nuzzles into her neck like she wants to bathe in her scent. A sharp nip of teeth has Tally squeaking, twining her hands into Sarah’s hair and pulling until those bright blue eyes meet hers, sharp teeth bared in an attempted grin.
“No biting,” Tally says, eyes wide and blush running rampant. Sarah follows the blush with her eyes, pulling forward against Tally’s grip to try to get closer to Tally’s skin, tongue running over too-sharp teeth like she wants to sink her teeth into her.
Tally’s not sure she’d be able to stop her if that started, and she’s not sure she’d want to. She knows what she has to do to get the woman back.
“General Alder,” Tally says with all the deference of a loyal cadet, letting her hands fall to Sarah’s arms, setting her own shoulders in a mock-parade rest. “Snap out of it, General.”
No more Sarah , that won’t help her fight this haze of instinct, instead Tally plays to the centuries of military etiquette coded into Sarah’s mind.
Bright blue eyes blink once, then twice, then Sarah’s face is clear of the fog it was under, blinking like she’s been blinded by the sun.
“Craven,” a throaty growl of a voice says, and Tally feels her knees wobble. “Tally.”
She can’t help herself, she pulls Sarah back into a hug, not minding the tension in Sarah’s muscles that slowly relaxes as Tally runs her hand up and down her back. Sarah clears her throat, raises her arms to return the hug, breathes as Tally breathes.
“Okay,” Raelle’s voice interrupts, “what the fuck is happening right now? How is Alder alive? And why exactly was she using Tally as a chew toy?”
Oh, that thought makes the golden bond connecting them thrum with excitement, and Sarah has to visibly force herself out of Tally’s arms, eyes dark with something wild. Her hair is down, long locks drifting down to the middle of her back, and the Mycelium cloak shimmers against the light when Tally looks at it for too long.
“Collar, Bellweather,” Sarah rasps, shoulders back like she’s still the General, and Tally has to suck in a breath full of sadness and something else. “Good to see you all in one piece.”
Her eyes find Nicte’s, and Tally watches as Sarah has to force down a growl, as she puts her body between Nicte and Tally in clear warning.
“Chill out, Sare,” Nicte drawls, lacking sarcasm for once. Her smile is sad, not teasing or arrogant like Tally’s come to expect over the months. “I won’t touch your Red, promise.”
Sarah’s muscles relax.
“How are you alive?” Tally doesn’t realize she’s the one who asked until blue eyes are meeting hers once again. “You died, we saw you die.”
Sarah hums, reaches out a hand to touch the air between them. That golden thread that connects them shimmers into existence, showing everybody what Tally can see with her Sight alone. Abigail gasps, but Tally is preoccupied with swirling her fingers through the strands of gold in front of her. It tingles in her chest as their fingers pass through it.
“We are bonded, Tally Craven,” Sarah says, blue eyes captivating. It should be a shock to hear, but Tally isn't surprised. It feels right. “The Mother preserved me, let me heal inside the Mycelium, but she always knew that I could not stay, that I had to come back to you.”
This Sarah is surprisingly truthful, and it brings tears to Tally’s eyes without her consent. Fuck, she wipes at them, it’s her same Sarah, she knows, it’s the same general that can decimate an army with a single Seed, she's just free now, and that makes all the difference.
“Does my mother know?” Abigail. Her tone is steady, but Tally knows her well enough to see that she’s worried.
“Do not worry, Bellweather,” Sarah cracks a smile even as her eyes don’t leave Tally’s. “The Mother sent a messenger to Fort Salem before I left. Petra will know within the hour.”
Slowly, Tally reaches a shaky hand up to brush Sarah’s cheek, an imitation of what hallucination-Sarah did when Nicte trapped Tally in that Off-Canon Work so long ago (not long at all, if she thinks about it).
“You’re really here,” she whispers.
Sarah grins, catches Tally’s hand and holds it close to her chest.
“I’m here, I’m alive.”
Raelle clears her throat, “Are we really just going to ignore how Alder was growling at us like an animal?”
Red comes to Sarah’s cheeks in a faint blush, and Tally barely stops herself from cooing at the sight. Adorable. The blush increases at that thought, and Tally remembers that they’re still connected, that Sarah might be hearing her thoughts through the golden threads.
“I was confused, Cadet Collar,” Sarah says in a clear attempt to take back control of the conversation.
“Sure,” Nicte smirks, attitude bubbling back up as she catches the red in Sarah’s cheeks. “It had nothing to do with that Soulbond between you two, right? And absolutely nothing to do with those instincts you have running around your head now that the Biddies aren’t there to temper them, am I right? How does it feel to be mortal again, Sarah?”
Sarah grits her teeth and says nothing.
Wait...
“Soulbond? Sarah, does that mean what I think it means?”
Oh, and those blue eyes soften as they avoid meeting brown. Sarah’s side of the bond is muted, fearful of Tally’s reaction, and Tally can’t help but push love back at her, soothing the sadness with warm comfort.
“Yes.”
It’s barely breathed into the air before Sarah is gasping into Tally’s neck once more as Tally almost tackles the woman to the ground. She barely manages to keep her balance, holding both of them up even as her lips trace Tally’s pulse unthinkingly. The bond vibrates with the sheer will power Sarah uses to keep herself from biting at Tally’s neck, and Tally chuckles into her chest. Adorable.
“We should probably get out of here,” Scylla says, tone curious yet strong as she walks up to their little group. “The available Dodgers are transporting everyone to some of the other safe houses, and we can’t be here if the Camarilla decide to attack again.”
They have to leave, of course they do.
Tally pulls away from Sarah, keeping her hands on strong shoulders, and gazes up into blue eyes.
“We’re gonna talk about this when we get to wherever we’re going,” she promises, and the vulnerability in those eyes makes her smile, dimples showing. “I’m not going to leave you alone for a minute, I swear.”
Sarah relaxes minutely, eyes shining with unshed tears, and she nods.
They’ll figure it out, they always do.
They have a lot to talk about; the execution, Sarah’s death, the war that Tally’s been through since she first had to run, this golden bond between them, the instinct to claim and mark and possess that Sarah is repressing for Tally’s sake, the fact that Tally wants more than anything for Sarah to give into all those urges she has running through her mind and body.
But that can wait for a couple hours. Tally’s just happy to have this woman, this goddess, back in her life.
Her gift purrs in her chest. Yes, everything will be alright.