Chapter Text
The Witch and The Minion - Part 1 -
1825. Leinster. Dublin. It had been a while, hadn't it, old friend? Blaze closed her eyes, focusing on the cool breeze dancing across her face, she took it all in, the smell of rain, and freshly cut grass. She was back. And she hated it. Disgusted by the ol' place. She could still smell the smoke rising from the pyre, and she swore that the faint lights that could have been seen from the far away town looked like embers of flame. Though the night was cool and damp, she could still feel the heat rise around her, her wrists ached from being bound, her throat choking on smoke.
A painful memory, and an even more painful death. She wasn't a witch when they burned her at the stack, but when she came back from the steps of the Underworld she knew what would preoccupy her further nights.
A tear formed at the corner of her eye, it only managed to roll half-way down her cheek before been wiped away by a finger that didn't belong to her. Surprised, she snapped out of her spiralling whirlpool of thoughts. Beside her, she now once again realised, stood her ever-loyal servant; Silver, the dead man who walked on two legs among the breathing. Her loyal servant seemed worried for his master's wellbeing, concern written all over his face, "Are you alright master?"
"Yes. Yes, I'm alright Silver. Just pushing through some reminiscing."
"Is there anything I can do to help?"
"We could get started on the ritual." She coldly replied, avoiding to face him. Silver simply pouted, disappointed in himself that he could not sooth his master. He reached out his hand for his MasterWitch, but he retracted it, not daring to touch her more without permission. He was just a common minion monster, and she was nothing less than a Goddess. He bowed and ventured to get his master's cauldron and set it atop the patch of grass before her. Silver removed the cauldron's lid unveiling an ever-boiling and bubbling green liquid sludge.
Blaze stepped forth in front of the black container, her own reflection stared back at her unamused and frowning. The sludge sloshed around. She pulled out her deep-pouch from her side and loosened it open. She reached deep within and grasped the ingredients inside. A certain ritual she had learned on one of her many journeys across the mortal world. She had many teachers that instructed her in how to harness the arcane and the magical, mistresses of witchcraft such as the Goddess Hecate, and the ancient Death incarnate Baba Yaga. Reality was at her command.
MasterWitch Blaze, Banshee of Sol, pulled out the ingredients and one by one dropped them into the swirling waves of the cauldron;
"Eye of a Gorgon."
"The Bone of a Priest."
"Two Stars plucked from the Night Sky."
Fumes of green and purple swirled and trailed upward above Silver and Blaze's heads. A reaction was tacking place, within the dark vessel. The toxic-green slime began to expand and overflow over the edges of the black pot, spilling onto the grassy ground. One final ingredient remained;
"Silver. If you would." Blaze asked politely, gesturing to the ground at her feet. Silver simply smiled and eagerly moved to serve his master however he could, unquestioningly. The patchwork monster laid himself down onto the grass on his back and splayed out his arms and legs. Blaze then proceeded to dip the tail of the broom handle into the cauldron and used the magical broth to inscribe a seal on the ground around Silver. The ritual was beginning. The witch held aloft her arcane tome and began the incantation, speaking in a demonic language not of this plain. "Spyirituum. Hausuum. Erectuus." The feline held in her hand a crescent scarlet dagger, and raised it over head, moonlight illuminating her stoic face, her eyes flaring with red flowing magic. And she drove the dagger down, plunging it into Silver's chest; killing him.
The ritual required a living sacrifice, and Silver offered himself up as the sacrifice, every time. ...Because he couldn't die, being undead an' all. The magik blade plunged his lifeforce sponged in the cauldron elixir deep into the earth of the land, like seeding the soil. And so a flower bloomed around the seal, but not of petals and stems, but of wood and brick, cement blocks and iron nails. Eventually, multiple of these structural buds grew out of and overtook the ground, merging together with one another into a floor, and then, into walls, furniture, windows, stairs, and ceiling. A house arose around them.
"Every resident needs a home, and every good witch needs a potion shop." Blaze declared. She snapped her fingers making her broom sweep from side to side cleaning the floor. She curiously looked down on Silver's lifeless body and gave it a little nudge with her toes. "Silver? Are you in there?"
"Nope." His voice spoke out from all around the house, like a breeze of wind passing through the walls. In between the wood panels and bricks an otherworldly green glow shone through, and from the upper wall emerged a spectral ghost of Silver, who swam through the air down to Blaze, flipping his ghostly tail. He stopped face to face with Blaze and smiled.
"Good." A small, almost imperceptible smile appeared on her face, as she closed her eyes, avoiding eye contact from the gleefully goofy spectre. "Now, let's see if you're fully integrated." Silver turned away and began to twirl around in the air. The fireplace ignited. An armchair pulled up behind Blaze, with an ottoman emerging from the floor before her. The panelled flooring arose and transformed into a staircase leading up the sleeping quarters on the upper level. All responding to Silver's slight hand motions. He looked back to Blaze, hoping to see her impressed. She was unamused as ever, drinking a mint tea she pulled out of her pointy witch hat. "Very good. Now, that you've got a tether to a more versatile and accommodating vessel, you should be more comfortable... Is- it to your liking?"
"'Course, it's great, always enjoy to try a new body, and it's so cozy, and homey." He happily fluttered about.
"Good." She hid her smile with a sip of her tea. "I'm glad. Now, let us get acquainted with our new neighbourhood. A potion shop won't be much good without business."
"...Do you think... you'll like it?" Silver asked, his gastly form diving into his zombie-like body. Silver's eyes opened and arose both arms stretched out in front of him. "You know, settling down in one place? Not traveling from place to place?" He wiggled his toes side to side. "Having a home."
She closed her eyes, and leaned her head back against the back of the chair, pondering on the question. Silver feared that maybe he had over stepped. "...I don't know. We'll see how it goes. See if I like it... Kind of... tired of strolling across the world without purpose."
"...'Cause I think I might like it too." He gave a cute grin. Though any place alongside her was home enough for him. He would've gone to the ends of the earth for her. All he wanted was to be by her side, she was so awe-inspiring, beautifully mystical, like a goddess. All he wanted was simply to serve, and serve he would; Afterall, he felt himself indebted to her ever since they met. Ever since the kindly witch came across the hedgehog's displaced aimless spirit wondering invisibly along the streets of old London. Where she took pity on the lonely ghost , brought his killer to punishment, and constructed a vessel for him to embody, from the stolen research of the disgraced Doctor Frankenstein. Though she couldn't aid him in passing on to the afterlife, but she gave him the ability to feel again; the cool breeze, the warm sunshine, the soft touch of another person. But not only that, she have him companionship. He had been alone and isolated from the rest of the mortal and ascended world for so long. He never knew why he was forbidden to pass on. But he was on his own for a long time, drifting without feeling or sensation, with no one to speak to, for seasons upon seasons. Until she came along. She saved him. To serve her was the least he could do. Afterall, simply to be by her side, simply because he enjoyed her presence, was enough. This land seemed to have a dark implication from master's past, but if she was happy enough to stay here, that's all that mattered.
"Hmm." She replied briefly. "Good... I'm glad." Her pointing finger rubbed the edge of the ceramic cup, clearly still not knowing how to express herself and her emotions. The words struggled to leave her mouth. Eventually she gave up, and cleared her throat, and started over, "Well, I should get to work." She got up from her armchair and strolled back up to her cauldron and returned to her work.
"Anyway, I can help?" Silver asked, always willing and able to serve.
Blaze snapped her fingers and a number of wooden signs popped into existence from thin air and dropped into Silver's strong arms. "Be a dear and put up some signs around the surrounding fields and roads to direct the potential clientele to us. Don't worry the signs self-duplicate so don't be precious with it. They'll also automatically swivel to the direction of our-- the House." She didn't look away from the swirling cauldron, Silver wished she would, he loved her bright golden eyes. But he understood it, the cold fact that... he was disposable, but a minion, a dime a dozen. But it never stopped him from attempting to reach out, for a comfort he knew was undeserving. He deflated in his posture.
"Yes, master. I-- On it." Silver quietly affirmed and exited through the door of the bewitched house. The harsh cold hit Silver hard, only while fully outside did they realise how much heat the House eradiated and sustained. He felt his tether to the House fade away the further he walked away. The undead minion went off to impale the road signs across the fields of old Dublin. After a few signs he found himself nearby the bank of a following river, he could've sworn that he saw something emerge from under the surface of the water, but the moment Silver turned to make sure, it seemed to be gone. Curious, it almost looked like... a child.
However, there seemed to have been something else that drew his attention, a noise, or a pattern of noises, the rhythmic pounding of horse hooves against the dirt. The screech of a galloping horse. And the cackling laughter of its wicked rider. Silver turned to see his demise. The dark figure illuminated by the background of the full moon. The figure of the headless horseman with its pumpkin head underarm; the Dullahan. Who kidnapped the minion of the new witch, for a grand ransom.
To Be Contin-BOO-ed!