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Ellen was, for all intents and purposes, alone.
Of course she wasn’t alone, never alone, at least on technicality. A demon burned deep in her chest, but that wasn’t true company. Furthermore, she wasn’t alone because of her friend, Viola. Of course, calling her a friend was a bit of a misnomer–Viola was more a means to an end than a friend, but it was the closest thing to a friend Ellen ever had.
She lived a lonely life. Sick and bedridden for longer than she could remember, the witch of the house didn’t remember the last time she talked to a human that wasn’t Viola. Her parents, maybe? That had been… who knows, actually. Her mind says years, but her heart disagrees with her. To Ellen, it feels like it was only yesterday her father was fed to the house–but in the grand scheme of things, it was irrelevant.
It crossed her mind, the use of the word human. Did she not consider herself human? No, no. She wasn’t human, she couldn’t be. Humans, people, people have functioning bodies. People can see the sunlight and bathe in it, people are closer to nature than she is. Ellen is none of those things. Ellen can only exist in darkness, her body an illusion of the house, in a sense. In truth, she should be dead, but the deal she made, the one that keeps her alive but not *well,* propped up her failing body–but only inside the house. If she were to take one step out, she would have nary but minutes left.
So no, Ellen was not human. Ellen was not a person. Ellen was worse, a sick, miserable thing doomed to this life from the start. Ellen wasn’t a good girl, Ellen was a problem child, Ellen was something her parents were waiting to pass on before they could try again, a thing to be dealt with, not a person to be cherished.
That, of course, is why Ellen was so perplexed by Viola.
Sweet Viola, who ignored the rumors of the witch on the hill. Sweet Viola, who brought the sick girl flowers. Sweet Viola, who read to her, who brought her tea, who lay by her at the fireplace and didn’t fear catching sickness from the sick girl.
Ellen hated her.
Hated what she represents, hated her lot in life, hated that it was her and not me–but it will be. The demon, ever so pesky, offered Ellen a chance at life again. A spell, deep within her worst grimoire, one that allowed two people to swap bodies. The only catch of course being that the recipient had to be willing, who no one would be–that’s why Viola was perfect.
Poor, poor Viola. Ever so willing, ever so thoughtful. She’d do anything for the girl she cherished, the girl who would soon take advantage of that kindness. As the two sit by the fireplace, Ellen glances over at the girl with a flower in her hair. So beautiful, so gullible.
“You know,” Ellen starts. “the world will take advantage of you. Of your kindness.”
Viola closes her book softly, making sure to crease the page at the corner to remember her spot later. “Will it?”, Viola responds. “You say that quite a lot, Ellen. I fear it’s becoming your catchphrase.”
Ellen scoffs, blowing the hair out of her eyes as she coils a hand around Viola’s.
“Perhaps, but it’s true. The world is cruel, Viola. There are people who see kindness and want it for themselves, who want to undermine it, stomp it out.”
Viola goes red at the touch, but tries to keep her composure over her own stammering.
“That may be true, but… if the world is so cruel, is that not why we shouldn’t do what we can? Shouldn’t we do our best to show kindness to the people we love, however we can?”
Perfect.
Ellen squeezes Viola’s hand, smiling a deep smile. It was crooked, Ellen imagines. Not the face of a girl, but something worse, something darker.
“There is one thing you could do…”
Getting Viola to agree to the spell wasn’t particularly difficult. “It’s only for one day,” Ellen had said. “I just… want to experience having a healthy body, it’s something I’ve never felt before.”
Viola gripped her by the shoulders, startling the witch–if only for a brief moment. “Then I’ll do it!” she said, increasing her grip on the smaller girl’s frame. “Just one day, right?” Said Viola.
“Yes” Said Ellen, lying through her teeth. Her smile contained a cheshire grin that was crooked and misshapen–barely contained by the small smirk of a feeble, weak girl.
That lead the two to where they are now, a room in the house that Viola didn’t particularly remember or not remember. It was a place that seemed to exist between places, a room that she didn’t recall–nor care to. The room was dark and cramped, more comparable to a closet. On the ground was salt, arranged into a pentagram.
Ellen steeled herself, holding Viola’s hand–she pulls out a small needle, plucking their fingers. Blood dripped down their hands, and Viola winced. Notably, Viola didn’t pull away–did she contain more resolve than Ellen initially assumed?
Perhaps. Regardless, these were all irrelevant thoughts. Shadows danced around the room, a tornado of envy surrounding the two as their blood stained palms lay interlocked. The salt lay heavy on the ground, refusing to falter to the wind picking up in intensity. Viola was struggling to stay awake now, the spell forcing the air upwards. Ellen grins, despite herself. Soon, it would all be hers. Soon, Viola’s perfect life, her perfect body, her everything, would be hers.
Ellen’s thoughts were broken by a small, chaste kiss to the cheek. Viola had fallen over, slumped on the smaller girl’s shoulders; her body deoxygenated and weak. Ellen didn’t understand, where had that come from? Why would Viola…? No, this was…
Everything went dark.
When Ellen woke, it was in a body she didn’t recognize. She felt a dull pain in her back from sleeping on the floor, a hitch in her throat from her lungs being deprived of oxygen–but compared to the constant pain she felt before, it was nothing. She got up, stretching her newly acquired limbs–but her victory was mute. She looked down at the sleeping girl. Viola, sweet Viola, asleep and suffering in Ellen’s true body. She should feel incredible, but all that reaches her chest is a bitter, drawn out rot that threatens to collapse her from the inside out. Ellen reaches down, cradling the now smaller girl in her arms, cupping her cheek. Gentle, rolling tears marched down Viola’s sleeping face, and Ellen realized that she had joined her.
Ellen didn’t quite remember when she walked outside. It must have been after she carried the sleeping Viola to her room, cradling her like something precious. This was beyond the scope of her plan, she had wanted to simply drop Viola off to rot and run away to live her best life. Instead, she was wasting precious time before Viola woke up by attending to her needs. Bringing her to bed, leaving a cup of water by the bedside, pulling the covers up to her chest. After all was said and done, that had to have been when she went outside, Ellen figures.
And that left her here, sitting on a tree stump, basking in golden light for what had felt like years. Viola reaches out, feeling the warm touch of the sun’s rays, feeling the cool draft of summer wind threatening to remind her of a time not long ago that her entire body felt that cold. Her victory was mute, feeling nothing but a profound sense of emptiness within her core. Had this not been what she wanted? Had she not wanted this body? This life? This ability to go out and feel the world around her? To feel the spring’s breeze dancing on her skin as she feels truly, really alive. To feel the beginning of winter, to feel the end of summer. No, her victory was hollow.
Some hours passed, and Ellen figures she drifted off. It wasn’t a particularly restful sleep, her stolen body aching and restless. She pulled herself up from the ground, summoning her strength and planting her feet firmly on the forest’s soil. A black cat danced around her leg, twisting around it in a bend that felt unnatural. It was unnatural, of course. It was a demon, the same demon that laid deep inside her body merely hours before.
“What’s wrong?” Said the demon, Ellen not particularly sure where its voice was coming from. She had theorized about this sometimes, but nothing brought her anywhere satisfying. It felt as if its voice wasn’t coming from somewhere specific, but instead existing as a series of mishearings. A slight increase in the wind, a creak from a door, the scurrying of a rodent between ungodly walls. It was all enough that to any reasonable person, one could ignore it the way one ignores when they think they hear their name in a crowd. To Ellen, to a person attuned to things outside of the natural order, it was like sifting for rocks in the sand.
“Nothing,” Ellen lied. “I feel nothing at all, I think that’s the problem.”
Ellen clasped and unclasped her hands together, *her hands*, she thought. Not hers, but *hers.*
“While I don’t reside in your current vessel,” the demon started, its voice seemingly surrounding Ellen from all sides. “I am still attuned to your thoughts, my liege. Or rather, your emotions. You feel something, a heaviness in your heart, do you not?”
Ellen scoffed, turning away from the cat-shaped fiend. As she turned, she found herself facing the house once more. She didn’t think, her body acting before her mind could falter. Before she could doubt her own doubt, before she could convince herself of her own righteousness–she was off. Bare feet dancing across grass as she walked to the cursed doorstep.
“Really? Said the demon,” as Ellen ignored him. “After all that, after everything, you’re just going to give it all up?” Ellen steeled herself as she reached for the hilt, turning it and opening the door. The demon turned its head, but did not interject. “Well, it’s of no concern to me one way or the other. I don’t care whether you live or die, you know.” It waited for a response, but none came. It simply walked the other way, and Ellen was alone with her thoughts.
With that, Ellen walked through the door of the witch’s house, sealing her fate for good.
She didn’t remember waking up in her own body, but Ellen did. She noticed it immediately–not from the change of hair color, not from her shorter stature, not even from the change of outfit. No, it was the pain that truly got to her. She hated it, but in a sense it was almost comforting. It was nice to experience life without it, to experience life without the demon burning her soul from the inside out; but Ellen figures she didn’t have much of a soul left anyway.
On top of her was a sleeping Viola, the real Viola, in her rightful body. Her eyes fluttered, tears threatening to escape as she looked Ellen straight ahead. Ellen wasn’t sure what to think, why she had held up their bargain–why give up everything right as she had won?
Perhaps in another life, she would have. Perhaps in another life, she would have deceived her only friend. Perhaps in another life, she wouldn’t have felt Viola crawl up her bed, cradling Ellen in her arms as if she was something special and not a horrible, pitiful thing. Tears fell down Viola’s beautiful face–that was a word, beautiful. Maybe it was just stating facts, Ellen thought. Or maybe she truly was deep in sin.
Regardless, Viola cried on, nestling her face in Ellen’s shoulder. Ellen felt mildly annoyed at the contact, but couldn’t push away. She had no strength to, and no words would escape her throat. The warmness blooming in her chest had to have been the demon nestled within her soul, there was surely no other explanation.
“You feel so much pain.” Viola stated. “You feel so much, all the time. Does it truly hurt that much?” Said the taller girl. Ellen looked up, looked at the girl who had raised her face just inches above hers with a dullness in her eyes that she had previously kept meticulously hidden.
“Yes.” She said, as blunt as one would expect from a witch.
Viola simply cried, crying onto the smaller girl’s chest as her memory of the experience was harrowing. Lying on Ellen’s bed, scared of when she would come back, if ever. She was in agony, every bone in her body feeling as if it was broken and held together by putty and glue. Every liquid too cold or too hot, a burning fever and a chill snap running up her spine simultaneously. She tried to move, but her muscles failed her. She tried to breathe, but every breath felt like hard labor. It felt like her lungs were filled with liquid, and her bones hollow. One wrong cough, Viola discovered, and there would be blood on her dress that looked discolored and brown.
She cried, cried and wailed to the best of her ability but her vocal cords were taut and stretched. Dry and brittle as if they were akin to a shirt that had been left in the sun far too long. All she could do was lay in bed in agony, not even able to curl into a fetal position without threatening a sharp pain deep in her stomach.
Viola woke from the memory, forgetting herself as she accidentally dug an elbow in Ellen’s shoulder. Viola jumped, afraid of inflicting pain on the sick girl after experiencing a day in her shoes. She gracefully held her, cradling the witch in her arms. Ellen felt nothing, absolutely nothing. She felt so empty, so neutral, that her arm wrapped around Viola’s shoulder for no reason at all. Her eyes glazed over, expression dull as the taller girl sobbed into her chest. Ellen didn’t understand, where was this coming from? Why did the witch of the forest deserve such sympathy? She wasn’t a person to be cherished, a daughter to be loved, a friend to be cradled, she was a sick, pitiful thing. She was evil, rightfully so, lashing out against a world unjust.
Out of the corner of her eye, Ellen noticed the demon perched atop her chifforobe–watching with bright eyes. She ignored it, gaze falling back to the girl crying above her. There was a certain beauty to her that Ellen didn’t allow herself to see until now. Before she was solely focused on stealing Viola’s body, and her appreciation of that body was merely surface level. She valued its beauty, its aesthetics, but had never truly taken the time to look at her. She was beautiful, Ellen figured. She was beautiful, and her stomach churned with a fire deep within her.
Despite all her rage, the world continued turning. Viola continued to cry in her chest, and Ellen laid in bed, chest burning as sickness devoured her from the inside out.