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She comes home bruised and bloody on most days.
All three of them do.
But she likes to take most of the hits.
It hurts like hell and sometimes it is more than just a scratch or a cut. Usually it is a burn or two. Most of which have healed and faded aways. But she still has the scars from the Great Witch Invasion. They cover her left side and part of her stomach save for the portion that she had shielded with her arm.
It is fine.
She doesn’t mind.
Her sisters don’t bear any scorches nor burns.
They have been through a lot together and they will go through a lot still. She supposes that that is that path that they, with all of their drive and ambition, have chosen for themselves.
It is said that witches can’t form bonds.
That they have no loyalty.
And Icy does delight in that image.
She delights in it while proving it false. A fairy could never get as close as the three of them have. It had been quite a decision to become the megatrix; a being of pure shadow and darkness. A being of ice and gales. To have become so wholly interwoven has changed them. Altered them and connected them in a way that the three of them still don’t fully understand.
It is a state wherein not one of them could take more control than any of the others without risking their own ruin. A state that few covens have ever managed to reach, for trust had been at the core of the spell. If they couldn’t trust each other fully and completely then their magic would shrivel and their physical forms would corrupt and disintegrate.
And now she knows things about them. And they know things about her. Things that they had never been able to bring themselves to tell one another. Darcy doesn’t like her nose. Stormy thinks that she is too short. And Icy wishes that her face wasn’t so naturally soft and delicate. Darcy is afraid of mice—which does explain a few things. Darcy also fears losing she and Stormy. Stormy who gets quite uncomfortable at the sight of clusters of holes and the thought of the responsibilities that come with growing up. And Icy is afraid of failure and being forgotten and losing her magic. And also ducks. And plenty more. They give her a hard time over the duck thing and the sheer amount of fears that she has concealed so very well.
They know that Darcy had a history of being terrible and flirting and getting rejected until she blossomed into herself. They know that Stormy is actually quite scared about what their future holds and that she sometimes questions the path that they are on. And they know that Icy herself isn’t really as confident as she makes herself out to be. That she feels as though she is a waste of potential, that she should be much further than where she is at.
It is something of a relief to have at least two people who know. Truly know and truly understand. They know each other because they have become each other. For a moment and forever. They had interlaced their spirits and such a feat can never be completely undone.
Sometimes Darcy wakes up screaming over Stormy’s nightmares. Sometimes Darcy weeps over Icy’s memories—she never wanted anyone to know where the scars on her back have come from, let alone that they were given to her by her own parents. She certainly didn’t want Darcy or Stormy to live those memories, to feel that pain exactly and as intensely as she had. And Stormy never wanted she and Darcy to feel the exact moment when she had dragged the razor across her calf. She said that alleviates anxiety and that she wouldn’t do it again.
They feel each other’s pain, each other’s humiliation, and dreads.
They feel each other’s pride, each other’s delight, and affections.
In fact, Darcy knows it before she does that she cared quite a lot about Tritannus.
That she still does. Darcy wonders why she has broken Tritannus out of Oblivion just to pretend like she has no affections for him at all. Darcy can’t seem to figure that one out because Icy also has yet to understand it. Icy just likes knowing that he is there and available for when she is ready. What Darcy has figured out is that Stormy only loves women before Stormy had figured it out for herself.
And Icy realizes that she is fine with that. Content and even comforted in knowing that two people will always understand her perfectly. Content and comforted in that she can understand them. That they will always have each other.
She has heard tell that most covens never consider becoming one with each other. That it feels unnatural and that they would never give up even a portion of their agency.
She thinks that they can hardly be called covens if their trust is that null.
For Icy, the convergence had been the most natural thing in the world. They have known each other for so long now that it feels almost exactly correct. Natural, as though they should have become one with each other ages ago.
And so it is no surprise that when they drag themselves back from yet another battle covered in gashes in bruises, most to their bodies but some to their egos, they fall upon the sofa and lean against one another. Icy is tired. Frustrated. They know this.
“Maybe next time you should let us take a few more hits. We’re tough too.” Stormy insists.
Maybe she could use that.
Darcy sighs. “You’re a complete mess.”
“I do hope that you are referring to my disheveled appearance and not the state of my life.” Icy grumbles as Darcy fetches a washcloth to dab at her bloodied cheek. It is starting to swell.
“I’m referring to both.”
Icy gives a dismissive wave and then a hiss, “you didn’t tell me that you put alcohol on that.”
Darcy shrugs. “Because you would have tried to stop me from cleaning your wounds. Stormy and I are not dealing with another infection because you don’t want to feel a little sting.” She pauses. “Which is wild because you get burnt worse than that all the time.”
“That’s different. I don’t know that it’s coming so it hurts less.”
“Right…” Darcy mumbles and rolls her eyes.
“More like you don’t have time to be worried about it.” Stormy adds.
That is her nature, to be worried about every little thing all at once. Sometimes she wishes that Darcy and Stormy didn’t know this particular thing about her. She frets over things before there are things to fret over.
“Next time we go out to fight the Winx you’re going to…” Darcy reaches for a bandage and plasters it onto Icy’s cheek. “Let us get a bit banged up. How much more do you think that you can take before you sustain some real damage.”
“Yeah! Darcy and I don’t want to be bombarded with distress if you find out that you have permeate damage to one of your organs or something. You’re really dramatic about it.”
“It’s my mind, I can think what I want with it. If you don’t like my silent brooding and lamenting then maybe you should work on blocking me out better.”
Stormy slugs her in the bicep. “Just let us takes some hits, will you!?”
Icy sighs. “Fine. I suppose that it would be nice to not…” she hisses a second time. “Have Darcy sneak up on me with alcohol wipes and…ow! And forcefully stick bandages onto my arm.”
Darcy gives Icy’s knee a pat. “There, you’re all cleansed and bandaged.”
Icy grits her teeth. “Oh how lovely.”
She will deny it to the end that they actually love each other. All three of them will; bonding and deep friendships are for faeries. And yet they have interconnected themselves more deeply than most anyone else has.
So much so that if anything were to happen to one of them the other two would have an insatiable hole. A yawning void. To lose one another would be to lose a part of their soul. Their shared, sister soul.
Icy leans herself against Darcy’s shoulder and Stormy lays herself across their laps. It has been a hard day.
It is time for some rest.
They fall asleep.
They dream in unison.