Chapter Text
Rural Australia. 1889. The air hangs heavy with dust, heat, and accusations.
Townspeople gather near the square. They whisper amongst themselves about a woman who lives outside of the town limits. Her family- the Blackwoods- arrived to Australia nearly forty years ago, coming from Britain on promises from the government for a better life. To most people, they were a strange, private family, mostly keeping to themselves on the homestead they built.
The rumors have echoed the family since they've arrived. Some say the air feels different around their home. A few have claimed the earth bends to their will, that their eyes glow an unnatural color in the dark of the night. They whisper that it's a legacy of darkness... a legacy passed down for many generations.
A legacy that they say can be found in the last living member of the Blackwood family... Agnes.
In the center of the square, a hangman's noose swings in the soft wind. The wood it hangs on creaks ever so gently in anticipation. In the distance, a crow caws.
The door to town hall opens, and the crowd shifts uncomfortably as a small group exits. At the front is Agnes Blackwood. Her hair, long and dark, frames her sharp face. Her eyes, a mesmerizing emerald green, scan the crowd intently. They catch the light in a way that makes some flinch. No one dares meet her glance.
Her hands are tied behind her, and her dark dress slides off her shoulder. Though she is imprisoned, she stands tall, a force to be reckoned with. The townspeople recognize this and shuffle away when she gets near.
She is led to the gallows by the sheriff, the judge, and the executioner. As they walk, they pass a woman holding a young infant. She stops and leans down to the baby, cooing in its face. The woman quickly pulls the child back in fright, gasping. The baby cries.
Agnes laughs.
A man standing close to them yells, "You evil wench!" After this, more are encouraged to join in. They hurl nasty words and accusations at her. The crowd, once silent, becomes loud.
This does not affect her, though. Instead, she walks up to the man who yelled first. Her eyes meet his, and they widen like he sees something no one else does. She leans in and whispers, "I could show you God if you wanted me to."
Then, she kisses him.
A loud gasp erupts from the crowd. Several cry out in disgust, anger, or fear. This elicits another loud laugh from Agnes, and she leans her head back as she chortles. The man vomits.
"Alright, alright, that's enough!" the sheriff roars as he pulls her away sharply. He brings her up the stairs, leading her to the center of the stage, where a trapdoor sits in waiting. The judge desperately tries to quiet the crowd. It's turned into pure chaos- no one listens.
But after a moment, they do, and the judge clears his throat. He holds a piece of paper in his hands, and it trembles ever so slightly. Though he appears unsettled, his voice remains steady.
"Agnes Blackwood, you stand accused of witchcraft, malicious sorcery, and consorting with elements not of this world nor of God's creation."
Murmurs ripple through the crowd.
"You also stand charged of theft, the corruption of livestock... and murder."
"She murdered my boy!" a woman cries out. "My only son... my sweet baby..."
Her cries turn into sobs. Agnes sticks her lip out in mock pity.
"Order, order!" the judge commands. "Agnes... how do you answer for these charges?"
Her head turns sharply to the judge. He swallows thickly, a knot forming in his stomach.
Her voice is sickly sweet and sounds innocent. "How do I answer for these charges?" She turns back to the crowd, a soft smile playing at her lips. "These are very serious charges, indeed..."
"Answer, woman!" the sheriff shouts impatiently.
She snorts, seemingly shocked at the sheriff's outburst. Then, she looks over the crowd with a sense of calm that sends a ripple of dread through the people. "You know, you've always been so eager to name your fears... your monsters... to name what you do not understand. You think naming your fears will save you."
She looks back to the sheriff, casually gazing into his eyes. She sends a message no one else can hear.
It will not.
"I have had enough of this madness!" the judge yells. "In the absence of any compelling evidence to the contrary, I am bound to pronounce you guilty! You are hereby sentenced to death!"
The crowd erupts in cheers. Agnes' eyes shift. She looks to the crowd and lifts her head high.
"You believe killing me will cleanse this land. You believe hanging me will silence what you do not understand."
Her head drops slightly, and she smiles widely as she stares at the people through her eyelashes. The light catches a new emotion in her emerald eyes. Not anger, but something much more terrifying.
Vengeance.
"I am a Blackwood," she growls. "I will remain."
She raises her head again and begins to cry out, "I bind myself to the soil beneath your feet, and to the air that hangs around you and carries your breath! I bind myself to the very house you fear to look at!"
A cry erupts in the crowd. The judge desperately looks to the sheriff and executioner, but they are frozen in place, looks of terror clear on their faces.
"I will linger in the walls! In the shadows that haunt the night! In the whispers that move the curtains and call your names!"
The judge desperately moves to the handle, trying to silence the curse before it's completed. He seems to move in slow motion, like an unseen force is pushing him back.
Agnes is screaming now. "And if ANYONE! Tries to enter that house... tries to disturb what you are burying! I will take them piece by piece until they are mine!"
The judge makes it to the handle, reaches for it...
"YOU WILL BE MINE! I SWEAR-"
The judge yanks the handle. The trapdoor collapses.
The crowd goes silent. Too silent.
Outside of town, miles away, the Blackwood house stands still. Its wooden walls hold no evidence of bearing Agnes' curse. Inside the window, a curtain shifts slightly in a wind that does not exist.
In the distance, a crow caws.