Chapter Text
As far as the world knew, high magic had been a source long since depleted. Drained out by ancestors and their greed for higher power, wreaking havoc in all manners possible; from tumultuous storms in the raging seas, to illness and death conquering bureaucratic rivals. This unrestrained chaos eventually led to demise of incorrigible proportions, studied in history books ever since. When Sir Bellamy led a one man siege into a monarchial estate and left with the blood of men, women, and children coating every surface of his skin, shortly before dying himself.
Or so they say.
Bellamy, it’s told, invaded the household of the wealthiest family in search of their abundant high magic. Years of overuse had made the substance a rarity, one people fought wars for in attempts to claim. But the Anzeray family had managed to keep their claim to it for several generations, and after months of desperation on Sir Bellamy’s part, their demise was sealed in fate. His ensuing guilt, and the sudden power in his hands, drew him mad. He’d taken his own life before he could even be tried for his crimes.
In all the history books and documentaries, this is what is outlined. This is what’s believed. But that doesn’t make it the truth.
The true story is that Bellamy had survived, and hid off in the night, with King LeSander far too ashamed of letting him slip out of his grasp to admit this to the public. Bellamy had fled to distant lands and siphoned off the high magic in secret, falling in love with a farmhand woman, and bestowing the gift to her and their children once he passed. The bloodline grew and grew until it was untraceable aside from Bellamy himself.
There were seven families, located in the remote town of Ilvernath, all who chose to stay sanctioned in the secluded town for secrecy’s sake.
Despite the solidarity in knowing the importance of their access to high magic, none of the families got along. Hundred year old rivalries were thick as blood between them, and even the youth were not spared from grudges. Though it was not unheard of for any members to forge a bond, it certainly was rare, and more often than not ended in fury.
Isobel Macaslan and Briony Thorburn were prime examples for this in the newest generation of high magic wielders. Former childhood best friends turned sour by bitter misunderstandings and pride. None of the others had even made attempts to interact outside of necessity.
The Lowe brothers, Hendry and Alistair, barely even had the opportunity to do so with the leash of solitude their family kept them tied to. Whilst most of the others had friends of their own in other circles, the brothers truly only had themselves. Gavin Grieve hadn’t even been that lucky, with the outcast lifestyle he was stranded in.
They were a unique bunch, each family, with quirks and talents that individualized them from each other distinctly.
The Thorburns were healers through and through. Herbalists, who surrounded their estate in a range of ivies and other plants. They were respectful, but bold, and headstrong. Or stubborn, according to Isobel, who regarded the hero complex rooted in their blood with disdain.
The Darrows were a gentler bunch, with eccentric personalities and unwavering loyalty. Carbry was one of many children in the family.
The Blairs were intelligent, and mediated well. Finley Blair was no outlier to this with his studious manner and generous behaviour. Always ready to volunteer for all matters of things.
The Grieves were a lowly group, with little to say for their name. Though they had high magic, most lacked the care for learning how to properly use it. Alcohol was a better friend to them, and for this Gavin resented his namesake’s reputation.
The Macaslans were a slimy group of freckled folk who spent their time gathering raw magic–another less common substance, from the most desperate of circumstances. Isobel chose not to associate herself with them unless necessary.
The Paynes were cunning, and brash. They thrived in the spotlight, but were dangerous to trust and lacked little remorse for things they did to benefit them.
But nobody was more wicked, more dastardly, than the Lowe family. Marianne Lowe, matriarch of the reclusive family, was a vile, cruel woman. Tales whispered through the town of the family, rarely ever seen in the public eye. Children made horror stories of them, painting them with cheshire grins and sunken in skin, pale as a ghost in the moonlight, and as spindly as branches reaching out to grab you. Nobody had accumulated more high magic throughout time than them.
Although the rest of the world perceived high magic as an extinct form of power, years had seen to it that whilst that included the other residents of Ilvernath, the spell and curse makers were exempt from this under the circumstance that they were useful.
Even members who married into the family were only told after the wedding was complete, and were then forced to keep the information secret from the rest of their family, essentially abandoning their prior identity to take up a new one in the seven families.
Reid MacTavish thought this was all rubbish. Seven greedy groups of people with power most of them only used for their own benefit. He couldn’t stand any of them, and despised the alliance his late father had formed with them in the spell makers guild. His passing meant Reid was now the one forced to provide deals to the crimson crew–a name much deserved due to how much blood was spilled for high magic to be reserved for them.
The Thorburns were, while not great, the only people he could tolerate doing business with. The elders were more respectful than most of them all. The Grieves he thankfully had not dealt with at all, as the last thing he wanted was them bringing down his reputation. But the Lowes were his least favorite family to deal with. Their entitled nature made his blood boil, and if he could strike down matriarch Marianne without repercussions, he would have done so long ago. They’d cornered him into too many transactions for him to be comfortable with, most for their youngest grandson; the revered Lowe boy who would take Marianne’s place one day. He’d only ever seen the kid once during his first--and only since, council meeting, but looks alone solidified his hatred for their bloodline. From Marianne to Alistair, to the late Alphina Lowe, and Rowan and Moira and on, he hated them all.
Which was why the eldest grandson, Hendry, walking around his shop one early morning in all efforts of casualness immediately set him on edge.
He’d walked in not ten minutes before, his hands stuffed in his pockets, and shot him a greeting grin and simple “hello”. Since then, he’d scanned the shelves aimlessly, picking up spellstones, knick knacks, journals… Reid would have to use a Simple Sanitize spell the moment he left.
“What’s this?” Hendry asked suddenly.
It startled Reid, who looked at him with the utmost of bewilderment. Hendry turned around to look at him upon the silence.
“It’s a pinecone.” He stated, though the answer was clear.
Hendry let a small laugh escape him. “No, I know that, but what’s it for? Is it enchanted or something?”
Reid lowered his brows. “No it’s not a magic pine cone. It’s infused.”
“With?”
“Smell it.”
Hendry lifted the pinecone to his nose and breathed in the scent of citrus and pine, earthy and fresh. He smiled at it.
“They’re also meant to symbolize enlightenment, resurrection, etern-” Reid paused. “Why am I telling you this? Why are you here?”
The Lowe put the pinecone back down into the bowl it came from. He crossed his arms, looking starkly more closed off than he did when he first entered. “Am I not allowed to go shopping?” He muttered.
“I can assure you that the magic your family possesses is naturally much stronger than anything I have on these shelves.” It wasn’t a lie. Though Reid was confident in his skills as a curse maker, he was also far too intelligent to leave his most dastardly things out for grabs by the most ordinary of customers. “So unless you’re here to strike a larger deal-”
Hendry cut him off. “No. No, I was simply curious is all.” Whatever joy had been on his face had immediately washed away as he headed back towards the door. He shot Reid a tight-lipped, false smile. “Have a good day.”
Reid merely hummed in response and watched him leave with calculating eyes. Once out of view he made his way over to the pinecones that the latter had been wondering over. He picked one up and rotated it in his hands a couple of times, before dropping it ungraciously back into the bowl with a sneer and roll of his eyes.
The Lowes would always remain as his unequivocally loathed family.
⋆˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺˖⋆
Alistair had awoken on the cusp of his typical nightmares mid-morning. The sun had already risen, which was a harsh disorient to him, seeing as he usually woke up with the moon still in the sky. The prior night’s events of physically demanding training had exhausted all energy within him. His mother and grandmother had him awake until the late hours practicing spell after spell until he had it perfect, no stopping and no relent, despite how much it pained him and made him ill. Thankfully for him he hadn’t slept away a large chunk of the day, as his clock showed it was nearing ten. Though, despite the six or so hours of sleep, he still felt dead on his feet and ached something deep.
As always when it came to his less than positive dreams–which were most of them, Hendry was who he seeked out for emotional reprieve. He lugged himself out of his bed, rubbing tiredly at his eyes the whole way down the hall. He yawned as he pushed the door open and walked in, but then quickly came to a halt. Hendry, who never woke before noon, was not in his bed.
Alistair frowned. Perhaps his brother was in the bathroom, was his first thought, but the door to it was open and dark. He walked over to his window and peaked out into the cemetery below, Hendry’s usual resting place, but nothing. He was prepared to turn around and head out in search for the older Lowe, when he appeared at the doorway.
“Where were you?” Alistair asked immediately.
Hendry chuckled, and dodged the question. “Good morning to you too. Did you only just wake up?”
“Was up late last night. Why are you up so early?” He questioned back.
“Correction, I haven’t gone to sleep at all yet.” Hendry answered, before flopping backwards onto his bed with a grunt. “And now I am. Goodnight.”
Alistair walked over and dropped onto the mattress beside him, instinctively reaching out to fist the bottom of Hendry’s t-shirt in one hand like a young child.
Hendry turned his head to look at him. “Nightmare again?”
He gave a confirming hum.
“What about?”
Alistair was quiet for a moment. It always made him feel weak and vulnerable to even admit that the monsters which plagued his mind caused fear, when they should have invoked strength, according to his family.
“The shadows.” He answered after some deliberation.
Hendry showed no judgment in his eyes, as he never did when it came to Alistair. His brother was just a year younger than he was, but their family never let him truly be a child. He’d been primed all his left to be vindictive and firm, in order to properly take over for their grandmother one day. But Hendry saw more than that. He saw the child in his eyes that was always repressed, and the softness in his care, so rarely given out. Their mother had done a poor job taking care of the boy who was meant to be her baby, but it was a role Hendry had easily taken on happily from a young age. Alistair was, in most ways that mattered, more than just his brother, but almost, his kid. He was the one who healed his wounds, who tucked him in when they were younger, who read bedtime stories that didn’t leave scars, and who loved him unconditionally.
“Well…” Hendry whispered. “shadows always disappear once you shine a light at them, right?”
Alistair sighed. “They were inside me. Down my throat, like they were choking me. I could… I felt them everywhere, like they were trying to tear me apart from the inside. Trying… Trying to get the monster out.”
Hendry frowned, and turned on his side. He raised his hand and cupped it around the back of Alistair’s head, his thumb rubbing gentle circles on his neck. “There is no monster inside. Just my brother.”
A frustrated breath escaped Alistair, his brows furrowing together in thought. “Shouldn’t there be though? I mean how else am I supposed to survive all this if there’s not?”
“You don’t.” Hendry said.
Alistair’s eyes shot up at him.
“You live.”
Tears swelled in his eyes, no matter how much he fought them back. He rolled them in annoyance with himself for behaving so infantile, always turning so uncharacteristically sensitive when it came to conversations like these between them.
Hendry smiled teasingly, seeing the way Alistair visibly struggled to gain some sort of rigid composure. He used the hand that was carding through his hair to pull him into an embrace, that way Alistair could at least hide his wounded expression in Hendry’s shirt. He hugged the younger close, Alistair releasing his grip on the tee to hug back.
“Go to sleep.” Hendry told him.
“I just woke up.” Alistair mumbled begrudgingly, but his eyes were already closed. “It’s ten o’clock.”
“Yeah well you look like you just got ran over and your eye bags are as dark as bruises. Sleep.”
He was out in minutes.
⋆˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺˖⋆
Isobel was tired. Physically, not so much, but drastically in the emotional sense. Her father and mother had once again gotten into a spat over her education. Her mother was rational in the thought that private school was an expense they didn’t have the luxury to afford when their local public school was perfectly fine, but her father was insistent on transferring her out of it and back into Ilvernath Prep, which she had only just escaped from a couple years prior. She was going into senior year, too, and this meant she knew his true motives. Her father could care less about the quality of her education–although both were fairly average, but what he truly desired was the ability to flaunt that his daughter had graduated from the academy he claimed was so prestigious. It wasn’t.
Her frustration over the ordeal was enough to have her rushing out of the house as their voices increased in volume. If you asked most kids of divorcees, they’d tell you about the trauma of seeing their parents grow to unlove each other, and split up. Isobel, however, had never felt more relief when they sat her down some years ago in secondary school and announced their split. But unfortunately for her, this did not repel arguments between them in entirety.
In her desperation for relief from the annoyance and stress of the situation, she found herself at The Magpie, a local pub. It’d do just fine, she had decided.
Once inside, she took note of the busyness, perfect to help her dissolve into the crowd and go unnoticed in her misery.
She walked up to the bar, pulling out her fake to show the bartender she was supposedly eighteen. A stupid gift from her father on her seventeenth, though it did come in handy. “Could I get an amaretto sour please?”
The man nodded with a casual wink, and went to making her drink, along with some other patron’s orders.
She tapped her fingers on the counter, looking around the room for anything interesting. Maybe a stranger to befriend, or an open pool game to join. Instead, her eyes landed on two familiar looking raven haired boys by the arcade machines. Though most may not have known who they were by faces alone, she’d been raised to know well who each of the other high magic families were.
She grabbed her finished drink off the counter and gulped down half of it, wincing at the sour acidic burn it left down her throat. Poise tall to intimidate, she trekked towards them. Something to get her frustration out.
“So, how’d you two manage to sneak past the warden?” She asked them rhetorically, a sneer on her face.
Both Lowes turned to face her. She didn’t remember the older brother’s name, but she knew he was less of a threat than the the other, Alistair. Demon incarnate, as far as she was aware. They’d only met a handful of times during high magic council meetings in the more recent years, and each time had been a wicked disaster. The most recent time had been during the winter solstice, almost six months ago to the day. She had left with white streaks of hair that dye couldn’t fix, only spells her mother spent hours retrying to craft. In her rebuttal, she’d given him stomach cramps for days.
Alistair leveled her with a menacing glare. “Red.” He greeted, all but kindly.
Hendry sighed. “I’m going to get a drink.”
She watched him in her peripheral as he left. She couldn’t lie, as much as she despised the Lowes, the sun kissed of the two was a sight to behold. Alistair himself wasn’t too bad either, though he looked like a corpse-like version of his older brother. She would never admit any of this out loud.
“Your grandmother would kill you if she knew you’d been out here.” She stated.
He gave her a dramatic pout. “You worried about me, Red?”
She scoffed. “Eager. I’d love to bear witness to that punishment.”
Alistair’s jaw clenched.
Struck a nerve. Isobel thought, successfully. She smirked.
“What do you want, Macaslan?” He said her last name with poison on his tongue. “I know you didn’t just come over here to make conversation. What flavor of deflection are you seeking tonight? Got a bad grade in school?”
She let out a sarcastic laugh.
“Or are Mummy and Daddy fighting again?” He jutted out his bottom lip once more.
Upon Isobel stiffening up at that, her smirk dropping, Alistair laughed and rolled his eyes at her. “Have fun with your pity party, Red.” He walked away to find his brother, leaving her standing there, fuming.
“That was pathetic.” A voice stated from off to the side.
Isobel turned her head to see a familiar shaggy blonde haired guy, tall and muscular, and definitely one to be talking.
“Mind your business, Grieve.” She spat.
Gavin kicked off the wall he stood from and walked over to her. A drink was in his hand, and he sipped from a straw out of it, watching the two Lowe boys from afar. “The day they get put in their place is the day hell freezes over. Good luck with that one ice princess.”
She rolled her eyes and glared at him. “What is with you people and your shitty nicknames for me, huh?”
“If I recall, you called me ‘Blondie’ at the last council meeting. That’s far from creative yourself.” He retorted.
“What are you even doing here, Grieve? Drowning your sorrows like the rest of your sad family?” She shot at him.
He moved his gaze away from the Lowes to stare at her. His posture was tall, towering over her with a menacing look in his eyes. She gulped, but retained her own poise with an equal stare.
“It’s pop, you death mongerer. And that’s real rich from you, drink in hand with that piteous look on your face.” He said, voice low and aggravated. “You all think you're such high and mighty people because of the power your families are able to wield. Everything’s been handed to you on a silver spoon your entire life. You don’t know shit about actual strength. This confident, unstoppable act you all have going on is nothing but a bloody fraud.”
Isobel gritted her teeth, finding little to fight back with. “Anything else you’d like to add?” She questioned sarcastically.
He shook his head in disbelief, then let out a short, breathy laugh. “Forgive me for attempting to extend an olive branch over some shared disdain, reaper.”
“I don’t forge alliances with beggars.” She said.
With a final sneer, Gavin turned around and left to find entertainment elsewhere.
Isobel went to take a sip of her drink, only to find she had already finished it without realizing. She huffed in frustration and dropped the glass off back at the bar with a few pounds underneath it. The Lowes and Grieve were discarded from her mind as she made her way out with her heels clicking on the floor beneath her.
⋆˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺˖⋆
Gavin didn’t know whether or not to be happy for or jealous of his older sister’s escape from the Grieve name. She was marrying into the Payne family, to Rowland, noble and respectable, and with a well-rounded understanding of high magic in his bloodline. She was as joyous as could be in her black gown, train trailing behind her like ink as her husband-to-be looked sick at the altar.
If not for pride in the Payne’s name, Gavin would give the two five years maximum before calling it quits. But he knew that would be too shameful for Rowland to do. So unless it was his sister who was the one to end things, she’d have him tied down in this marriage till their end, and he knew Callista wouldn’t be letting him go anytime soon.
Gavin tuned out the voice of the ordainer as he gave out a practiced speech, doing unwell to hide his yawn in the front row.
His brother, Fergus, sat beside him, kicking his legs in his seat in boredom.
“Stop that.” Gavin demanded quietly.
Fergus glared at him. “Why?”
“Don’t be disrespectful.”
The boy rolled his eyes. “As if anybody here cares about this.”
It wasn’t a lie. To the Grieves, it was merely political, and to the Paynes? Well, none of them had been parading around or cheering about since the two had announced their engagement, especially only a few months into their dating. It was ridiculous, sure, but Gavin couldn’t blame her. Here on out she’d be known as Callista Payne, and of course they’d train her in the proper ways of high magic. She’d have a knowledge on the subject stronger than any other members of their family that hadn’t married out.
Yeah, he was definitely jealous. Though he couldn’t say he wanted to marry a Payne. Or into any of the other families. Gavin would rather be caught dead than found to be fraternizing romantically with any of the others. Attempting to gain some friendly acquaintanceship with the Macaslan girl a few days earlier had been a fruitless mistake on his part.
The rest of the service had passed by in a breeze, and soon enough everyone made their way outside to the reception party. Elionor Payne was boastfully talking to the invited spellmakers about her education and training advances. It nauseated Gavin. He’d tried, with several spellmakers, to study under them and have them teach him how to wield high magic stronger than his class three spells.
All had profusely denied him.
Osmand Walsh had been the worst of them. The man had blatantly chastised him for being so bold and brash as to even suggest something so “absurd” as he put it. Gavin thought he was the absurd one for rejecting the mere suggestion so harshly.
The same man was listening to Elionor with astute focus.
He rolled his eyes without shame, and walked off to a pillar to the side, far enough away from the group.
He sat down against the cracked, near-rubble state of the structure and pinched a blade of grass between his fingers. “Stupid.” He mumbled, but he wasn’t sure who exactly he was directing the insult to.
His head rested back against the stone and he closed his eyes. A tired exhale escaped from in between his lips.
“Take it back!” A young voice called out.
“No!” Another yelled.
Gavin’s eyes opened and shot to the familiar sound of his brother, in a tussle with one of the Payne children. He grimaced witnessing the altercation.
He stood up and stalked over to the two boys, shoving at each other in a heap on the ground as onlookers walked in disappointment.
“Your sister will never be a true Payne!”
Fergus glowered at the statement and swung his fist down. At the same time, the Payne boy made to reach his hand up to claw at Fergus.
Before either could connect their attacks to each other’s faces, one of Gavin’s rings flashed a red Hold in Place.
Both boys let out a gasp of confusion.
“What the hell?” Fergus exclaimed.
“Don’t be coy! I thought Grieves couldn’t even use high magic!” The latter glared.
“This isn’t me! I’m stuck too!” Fergus defended.
“I did it.” Gavin stated, arms crossed where he stood above them.
“And what do you expect them to do when the spell is released?” Another person chimed in.
Gavin turned his head to see Briony Thorburn walking up to them. He grimaced and huffed. The girl had been in some of his classes in school, having skipped a grade into his when she transferred from her fancy preparatory school. She’d been a pain in his ass ever since, always eager to show off and undermine others, though her pride prevented her from seeing it.
“Stick your nose somewhere else, Briony.” He demanded.
She sighed, and stepped beside him. “I’m just saying, maybe if you practiced higher spell casting you’d know better solutions. Like this.” She made a gesture with her hand, one of her rings glowing brightly.
Whatever spell she had done had immediately canceled his own out with its strength.
Both Fergus and the other boy began to grow red in the face with embarrassment.
“Whatever… This is stupid anyways.” Fergus grumbled.
“Yeah, it doesn't even matter.”
Gavin glared at the girl. “What did you do?”
“Cast Know Your Enemy.” She said with a proud look upon her face. “Let them see each other’s perspective in this all.”
He turned to face her, a glower in his eyes. “I had it under control.”
With astounding audacity, she gave him a look of pity. “I don’t think you did.”
“Of course you wouldn’t, because you think you’re better than everybody else. I had it under control. If you want to butt into other families’ business, go back to being buddy buddy with Isobel.” He shot, walking away with her looking annoyingly unaffected behind him.
She was a close contender on his list for most disliked in their generation. Only Alistair had her beat, and the two had never even spoken.
Callista gave him a huff as he walked past her and all the guests, making his way back into town. His study books awaited him.
⋆˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺˖⋆
Gavin Grieve, as far as Briony was concerned, all bark and no bite. His statement about her thinking she was better than everybody else was just a ridiculous stretch. Of course there were people who had her beat in her magic, such as Elder Malvina and her wife, and some of the other elders in her family, but other than that, she couldn’t think of any. She wasn’t the best, but she definitely was better than most, and without a doubt better than the others in her generation.
What Gavin had said just came from a place of bitter envy, she knew this. If anything, she had hoped her helping him would have paid off in his admiration. She’d have been more than willing to teach him how to wield high magic more strongly, and with better calculation if he wanted. But clearly he was too self righteous to accept her offering of peace.
That was fine by her. It was his loss, after all. She told as much to her sister, Innes, as the two sat in the room they’d been occupying for the past half year. Shuffling from family member to family member for a place to live since they were young hadn’t been a pleasantry, but they had grown used to it.
“I mean, clearly he wants to get better at his magic but with the way his family knows nothing about it, he’ll never learn. Unless he has a teacher, he’s never going to be good at it.” She lamented.
“What class spell was the one he cast?” Innes asked.
“Three, I’m pretty sure.” Briony responded.
Innes bounced her head side to side. “Well, if you think about it that’s actually not too bad. I mean ordinary people never really get past a class four with common magic, and high magic is tougher to wield so he’s not doing too bad.”
“Not as well as he could be.” She huffed.
“Why does it bother you? It’s not like him not knowing high magic is doing you any harm.” Innes said.
Briony’s face grew hot. “It doesn’t bother me. It’s just-” she scrambled for an excuse, something that didn’t expose her desperation for a friend she could share this secret with, outside of her sister. “that's so much power just going to waste all because the Grieves don’t know what to do with it.”
Innes hummed.
“They could do so much good with it and help people, like we help the town. But instead it just sits around for nothing. At this point they should just give their supply to another family.” She stated.
“Like ours?” Her sister asked, though Briony failed to take note of the sarcasm laced in her tone.
“Exactly.” She agreed.
Innes sighed. “I guess you make a point. But if he’s as stubborn as you say, then maybe you have to change your tactic.”
Briony sat up from her bed and raised a questioning brow at her. “How do you mean?”
“Maybe instead of offering to fix his problems or just doing it for him, ask him for help on something. Make him think he can offer you something first.” She suggested.
Briony faked a gag. “Make myself look incompetent in order to appeal to his ego, you mean? No thanks.”
“It doesn’t have to be magic related.” Innes explained. She looked around their room, eyes landing on a book Briony had been assigned for summer reading. It was perfect. She stood up and went to grab it. “Like this. You said you were having trouble getting through this, right?”
“No, I said it was stupid that we have to read it. It’s a completely inaccurate depiction of high magic.” Briony frowned.
Innes rolled her eyes. “It’s fiction, Bri. As far as the author is aware, high magic hasn’t existed in like, a thousand years, just like the rest of the world. And that’s not the part of the story that matters.”
Briony narrowed her eyes. “You’ve read it!” She accused.
Her sister gave a confirming ‘Mhmm’ sound.
“Why didn’t you tell me that before when I was complaining to you about it?” She questioned. “The deadline for our book reports on it is due the day school starts again! I only have till the end of break and I barely started reading it!”
Innes shrugged. “Because. I wanted you to actually read it and figure the moral of it out for yourself.”
“But that’ll take so long...” Briony groaned “What is it?”
Her sister gave her a satisfied, winning smirk, and dropped the book by Briony. “Ask the Grieve. A little birdy told me he’s quite the reader himself.”
Briony would have shot the birdy down if it wasn’t herself. However, that didn’t stop her from cursing it out.