Chapter Text
Imogen was getting a migraine and she was quite unhappy about it. There were just so many thoughts in the marketplace, and stupidly, she preferred the headache over the looks the townsfolk gave her when she shied away from them. Besides, she was so used to the pain of it that she could almost pretend it didn’t exist at all. There was a practice in carefully avoiding sudden or bright lights, ducking away from things that might cause loud noises, and finding a place secluded when she felt she might vomit. But you can never get rid of the people. Unfortunately, they were everywhere.
So she hurried briskly along on her usual errands, never stopping to speak or galavant. She just needed a couple groceries, but by the time she stopped at a stall to obtain the last thing on her list, she could barely hear the elf who spoke to her. Her thoughts were just as loud as her voice, jumbling them together in a way that Imogen’s pounding head could barely separate.
“Could you say that one more time?”
“I said that’ll be three silver.” IS SHE DEAF?
Imogen moved slowly so that she didn’t cause herself to get sick, pulling out the money and passing it to her with shaking hands. But the elven woman’s eyes snagged on her hands as she pulled away, on the strange scarring that lined the very tips of her fingers. The things that made her different. And one thought came louder than the others: freak.
When she shuffled away, she pulled her sleeves lower on her arms.
Today was worse off than most. On the way back to her house, halfway between it and Gelvan, she had to stumble off the road to empty her guts in a bush. For the second time. Typically, she didn’t really vomit, only felt like she might, but today was different. Today, the villagers had news that scared them, and they were always louder than usual when they were frightened. Something about a witch in the woods.
Imogen didn’t give a shit, she was far too annoyed, tired, over it.
When she was finished, she wiped at her mouth and groaned to herself, annoyed at how this was the only way to dull the pain a little on days like these. It would return at full throttle in about ten minutes, and she realized now, that she would rather not sacrifice this small moment of peace by getting to the house and having to listen to all the ways her father hates being around her. Sometimes he thought it so hard, she could hear it from upstairs.
Maybe if she stayed here for a little while, the reprieve wouldn’t be as temporary. It was quieter in the forest.
Imogen would simply stay close to the road. Yes, that was what she’d do. So she moved about twenty feet deeper and sat down at the base of a massive oak tree, back against it, eyes closed. Breathing deeply the fresh wind which battered at her hair.
There was no way to know how long she stayed like that, but eventually the pain did dim to the point that it was bearable. To the point that she could think and not wince. Oh what a lovely thing that was. And she stayed past that, until the sun dipped low in the sky and she knew her father must have noticed her tardiness in coming home. But he wouldn’t go looking for her, so she couldn’t bring herself to feel guilty.
At one point, something appeared on the very outskirts of her periphery. She heard it as if it were a thought, but it wasn’t a thought, it was a song. A beautiful song, and this confused her very deeply. When she looked in that direction, she only saw shadow against the moon. A great deal of it, and maybe she should have been scared but Imogen had long lost any care for her own life. Years of hearing the worst of what an entire village thinks of you can do that to a person.
So she didn’t move. Merely waited as the tune grew louder and far more gentle. It was so strangely calming that she was completely surprised when she finally did see a humanoid figure moving through the dark. They weren’t in a hurry it seemed. Just walking.
Imogen didn’t know why she did it.
“Hello?”
The figure froze, and suddenly there were two dim pinpricks of light, like eyes, peering out at her. Imogen got to her feet, biting her lower lip when the melody crescendoed into something she interprets to be fear. And she heard a woman’s voice flicker to life in her mind. Run, she was thinking, run before it hurts.
“Wait.” Imogen held her hands out almost pleadingly. Triiiiiick, hissed the woman’s consciousness, and Imogen shook her head, forgetting in her desperation that she had to pretend not to know. She just didn’t want this person to run when her mind was so… Well, it was peaceful. Never in her life had she encountered something like it. “Please. I promise I won’t hurt you.”
If she sees me, she will.
The shadow twisted, the eyes rotating until they settled at an unnatural angle.
The lavender-haired woman tilted her head in a mirror of that motion completely unthinkingly. Her curiosity had stolen the more rational emotions away, like fear. She was too busy marveling at how the music of their minds seemed to harmonize in a dance, and she couldn’t even see the other yet. Only her eyes. But that song brought hope to her mind, and this was a feeling she could get drunk on.
“What’s your name?”
The leaves rustled in the breeze, lifting a sigh to her ears. Then came the voice, heavy with an accent she’d never heard. “Laudna.”
“Hi, Laudna. I’m Imogen.”
“You’re very pretty, Imogen.” The shadow shifted again, but she hardly noticed past her own shock. How long had it been since someone had called her that? How long had it been since anyone had said something remotely kind to her? Gods. Too long. It made her very nearly emotional, and even more desperate.
“Thank you,” she breathed, swallowing the lump in her throat. “Will you let me see you?”
“No,” Laudna answered, not unkindly. She will hate me. She will have me burned and killed like a witch on a pyre. I don’t want to die again. “No, I won’t.”
“That’s fine.” Imogen sank again to the base of the tree as understanding dawned on her. This was who the villagers of Gelvan were so scared of. It didn’t matter to her that there might have been a reason for it because they all treated her the very same. As if she were the witch. “Just sit and talk to me then.”
How desperate was she for human contact that she was willing to talk into the shadow? Quite, it seemed.
“Where are you from, Laudna?”
Whitestone. “Somewhere far from here.” Horrid place, the music chimed. Imogen nodded, vaguely aware of the memories the question must have provoked prodding at her from deeper within. She ignored them.
“I’m from Gelvan. The little village thatta way. They’re talkin’ bout you there.”
“Are you here to hurt me then?” The question slipped free before the thought had fully formed. Imogen heard her wince. You idiot. This is a trap.
“No, of course not,” she said, drawing her hair up between her fingers and beginning to twist it into a braid. Oddly enough, it was a little bit like settling a nervous horse. And she was very good at that. She knew that sometimes just existing with them was calming enough to get them to open up. “They don’ like me very much either.”
“Why?” A pretty girl like her? The melody turned almost dissonant for a moment, and Laudna’s primary emotion turned defensive. Yes, but what if she’s not? What if she does like me this time? A pause. Stop, stop telling me that. I hate hearing it.
“Laudna?” It was almost like there was a second conversation happening solely within the woman’s head. But Imogen had been around people who talked to themselves like this, and she’d always heard the other voice. This time, it seemed to exist twisted into the music. What a strange soul.
The pinpricks shifted forward, and her breath caught. The fabric of a dress had swung out enough just to catch the edge of the moonlight, and she felt herself growing strangely excited. But she smoothed her expression over, finishing the first of two braids and tossing it over her shoulder. She started on the next, listening to the woman’s thoughts wrestle to the point that they were indiscernible, probably even to her.
“My father and I work as stablehands to one of the rich folk on his fancy estate. I can’ stand the people but the horses are sweet. They treat me better than Daddy does, anyway.”
Laudna shifted again. “Your family doesn’t treat you well?”
“Well my mama left a long time ago, but I guess I’m so similar to her that my dad can’t stand to be around me. What about you?”
“Oh,” the woman breathed against the dark, momentarily berated by flashes of memories that were so quickly swept away that Imogen didn’t actually see any of them. But they left her with a hollowed feeling in her gut, and she swallowed. “I haven’t spoken to them in a long time. But if they saw me now, I think they’d be very frightened of me, Miss Imogen.”
Shut up, Laudna.
“I scare a lot of people. That’s why they call me a witch. A hag.”
“Are you a hag?” Imogen knew she wasn’t. It was so blatantly obvious that it was almost painful. But for some reason, she wanted to hear her say it.
“No.”
“Then why would I be scared?” Her persuasions were working, Laudna’s mind shifting again to the most profound longing, and this time, when she moved, Imogen saw very pale, very gray fingers, almost skeletal in their brittleness. Her nails were long and blackened like claws. And this did not bother her. “I don’ frighten easy, sweetheart.”
Finally, finally, Laudna took the last step.
She looked human in that she had long black hair parted with a streak of bright white. Her dress, although dirty, was well-worn. It was embroidered in some places, patched up in others. But those eyes which were pinpricks of light seemed to maintain that quality along skin that laid almost flat against the bone of her skull. Just enough to be unsettling. Her limbs were long and spindly and oh so thin.
She reminded Imogen of the only time she’d ever seen a corpse. There was a funeral for one of the maidservants under Master Faramore several odd years ago. It was the only one she’d ever been invited to.
Please, please, please, please, ple—
“I love your hair,” said Imogen gently. Laudna’s immediate shock and relief exploded across her features, and her shoulders straightened a bit as she went to tug at jet black locks.
“Thank you.”
“A-are you…alive?”
“Sort of,” Laudna said almost breathlessly. The anxiety was so fierce that Imogen’s own heart started to pound faster. “Can I approach you?”
“Yes.” Gods. She moved like any regular human would, but she so obviously wasn’t… wasn’t normal. But neither was Imogen, and so when she timidly stepped into her space, she didn’t shy away. The song grew louder too, but it wasn’t overwhelming, just simply present in the background.
“I have a heartbeat, but it’s slow. Want to feel it?” Laudna offered her arm, and Imogen took it without hesitation, humming her agreement.
The woman’s skin was cold as ice, and she could feel immediately just how brittle her bones were. She wondered if she was eating enough. Then she pressed two fingers gently to her wrist, and after several moments, felt the faintest of a pulse. Just a beat. Then distantly, another. “Woah.”
Nobody’s touched me in years.
Imogen’s heart shattered, and she felt it only necessary that she take Laudna’s hand and pull her down to be seated in front of her. Then without releasing it, she inspected her long black nails. Noting how the skin naturally faded into a gradient starting about halfway down each finger. “So you’re not alive but you’re not dead either.”
Laudna nodded, and her hand began to tremble. “It’s alright. Here, mine look a little weird too.” Imogen showed her the lightning scars bracketing each of her own fingertips. How they burned red against her tan skin. “I don’ know what they are, but every time my daddy sees them, he gets this real sad look on his face and tells me to put my hands in my pockets.”
“That’s awful.”
She shrugged. “Eh, it’s normal.” Still awful. Laudna bit her lip. This affection isn’t for me. I should go back before I endanger her. They’re going to come looking.
“Laudna, I have a confession to make… I can hear your thoughts.” Shit. She never told anyone that. Why had she told her that, this was the one person her mind felt at peace with, and she just ruined it. Fuck. Fuck! “I’m sorry, please don’ get mad at me. I can’ control it, else I wouldn’ be doin’ it.”
To her complete and utter surprise, past appearing dumbstruck, the woman didn’t become angry or scared. “Oh,” Laudna tilted her head, the bones in her neck creaking. My thoughts must be so loud. Can you– can you hear this? Imogen nodded quickly.
“I’m sorry,” she said again.
“That’s quite alright. My head has not been my own for a very long time. I can’t expect privacy anymore.” Laudna smiled when she said it, but Imogen shook her head.
“Now that’s awful. But I won’t ask you about it. I’ve already heard too much.”
“If you can’t control it, I can’t blame you for it.” The undead(?) woman shrugged. “Blocking out these things is tricky. I actually know something about it if you perhaps wanted to…” Be my friend. Stay with me and never leave. I don’t want to be alone forever... Pretend you didn’t hear this.
Imogen laughed. “That would actually be amazing. I’d love to.”
Imogen didn’t go home that night. Rather, she curled up there after a long night of talk, eventually falling asleep listening to her pretty lullaby. When they awoke, she used the groceries she’d bought the day before to prepare something of a breakfast. It was a measly thing: bread, cheese, and several veggies.
“How long can you go without eating?” she’d asked Laudna when she noticed how carefully she pretended not to be desperate for the food. But her mind screamed it loud enough.
“Quite a while.”
“When was the last time you did eat, then?”
“Maybe three weeks ago.” Gods dammit. Imogen was starting to get incredibly angry, but she held herself together as she led the poor undead woman toward her father’s little home. Throughout their long talk the night before, Laudna told her of her wandering, of her loneliness, of the hatred directed at her from nearly every town she came across. She even told her a little about the soul called Delilah who also occupied her head. The one that kept her alive.
It occurred to her once she’d closed her eyes that Laudna had been suffering like this for longer than Imogen had even been alive, and she thought of it again as she walked directly in front of her father to get to her room. He didn’t even look up. So she collected fresh clothes and some more rations, before quitting the house.
“I’m not coming in to work today,” she called back. He grunted in response, and she shut the door.
Laudna awaited her in the shadow of a nearby tree, her whole body trembling a bit. They left together and spent the day in the forest. And the next. On the third, the woman took Imogen to the little broken-down cottage she was staying in for the time being. But it was on the fourth day that the villagers came to burn it down.
Her father was among them. Imogen knew it because his mind was the easiest to recognize.
So she went out to meet him, fully expecting Laudna to climb out the window and sneak away. But she didn’t, opting instead to wait in the shadowed expanse of the open doorway, looking every bit the witch they deemed her to be.
The mob carried torches with them, and they waved them angrily at her when she approached her father.
“Can I help you, Daddy?”
“Imogen… I didn’t know you’d be here.” Couldn’t you be anywhere else? Gods, of course my kid would be the one to hang around the hag. He was scowling when he said: “There’s a witch out here. You seen her?” He knew she had. Her fingers started to tingle a bit, and she squeezed them into fists to hide her anger.
“Not a witch, no.”
“Don’t think we won’t cut you down to get to that unholy thing. It’s a danger to all of Gelvan,” called another of the villagers, a baker. He swung the torch toward her again, and the fire came close enough to sear her arm.
The moment she cried out, there came a serious of cracks and pops, and Imogen whipped around to see extended limbs, hollowed empty eye sockets, a jaw half missing, black ichor pouring like tears down her face as she skittered forward and let out an almost choked growl at the man who’d done it. He screamed, turned, and bolted, dropping the torch as he went. Several followed.
The others backed away, beginning to shout to “put the witch down!”
“Laudna,” Imogen gasped, grabbing her wrist and dragging her behind her. If they got to her, they’d kill her. They kill her. Fuck. Fuck. The tingle in her fingers became pulsing energy, and perhaps it was instinct that compelled her but she raised her arms above her head, latched on to something, and pulled forward with all her strength. There came a crack, and then a whole portion of the cabin's roof soared through the air at her command. It slammed into the next villager to come too close. FREAK! TRAITOR!
“Stay the hell back,” she demanded, her own mind reeling. What had she just done? “Please!” But they didn’t, the idiots. KILL HER TOO! So Imogen decided to do something she’d never tried before. Fueled by adrenaline and strange power, she felt each of their thoughts grow louder in their fury, and somehow she caught hold of their broadcasting, turned them, and forced them back onto their bearers. Three of them, a tinkerer, a doctor, a reverend, dropped to their knees clutching their heads, for once feeling the pain they’d subjected her to for ten whole years.
“Run.”
Not without you. Imogen felt spindly fingers wrap around her wrist and pull her into a full on sprint.
And thus marked the very beginning of their journey.