Work Text:
Feelings Unknown
"In the very depths of Hell, do not demons love one another?" Anne Rice, "The Vampire Armand"
The Hag didn't know this feeling.
Blood lust she knew, that burning hunger that drove every waking moment. A gory desire only sated when she plunged her long, sharp talons into tender flesh, pulling out rope-like intestines, devouring them with passion, savoring the luscious ichor. A hunger never sated for long. The thrill of the hunt she also knew. She took a deep pleasure in chasing them down, groaning from gaping wounds, blood trickling down, making a path to follow like a sinister trail of breadcrumbs. The fear in their eyes as she took form in front of them, their careless feet triggering her magical traps as they bear down on that triangular sigil, an intoxicating rush that sweetened the kill. Those feelings, she knew and knew well. Her normal state in this hell-like realm, but this feeling? A stranger. A stranger she grew fonder of as time passed, no matter how enigmatic it seemed.
It started one night, wandering the dark ruins of Crotus Prenn. The Entity summoned her here for a trial. Its tricky nature loved chaos and had a tendency to place its devoted in different realms, watching them adapt to new environments. The challenge was over. The Hag completed her rite, ending it with four bodies hanging from rusted, iron-wrought hooks, and shards of their souls delivered to The Entity for feasting. The Hag accomplished much, but she remained, not returning back to her putrid swamp. The Entity would return her when the time was right. She chose to wander these grounds, feeling the silken strands of long, unkempt grass against her mottled flesh, taking in the sights of the burned out husk of the former asylum. She wasn't alone for long.
Coming up to her, floating slowly, was an unfamiliar creature. The Hag never saw much of her murderous brethren. The occasional glimpse of The Trapper in his industrialized wood, or The Wraith in his necropolis of destroyed cars, but they never approached her, or spoke to her. Mostly, all she saw were the survivors, and she focused her attention on devouring them, not communicating. Alone for the most part, and now someone or something willingly approached her. The Hag watched, her curiosity piqued.
A ghostly nurse came floating to her, dressed in the ragged remains of her work uniform, her face hidden by some kind of ivory shroud. Crimson stains of blood provided contrast to the white and grey of her being. In one of her ashen hands, a twisted bone-saw, the signs of recent use obvious. The Hag never saw anything like her before. The sight of her looked like a real-life Will O' The Wisp, lighting up the night, or so The Hag thought. She couldn't take her eyes off of her.
"Walk with me," The Nurse said, her voice little more than a whispered hush. The Hag did.
They walked together in silence, at first, side by side, only the sound of crickets and creaking wood filling the air. The Hag wondered the point of this until she heard The Nurse's whisper voice. The Nurse started to speak of her first trial here, how she made that slender, pale girl in flannel suffer. The Hag listened, her attention rapt, picking out words from the rush of breath. The Hag joined in her, her voice guttural and gurgling. She told of her first trial as well, in her swamp, relishing the misery of that sleazy gambler. A conversation began, and the conversation continued.
Meeting up with one another proved infrequent. It depended upon The Entity's whims. If The Hag lingered a bit longer at Crotus Prenn, or The Nurse stayed by The Pale Rose, the two of them saw each other. The Hag brightened upon seeing that apparition in the same way she brightened upon seeing blood glittering from a fresh wound. Together, they walked and talked, sharing their experiences in this hellish realm, rejoicing in kills, lamenting escapes. The Hag hung on every breathy sound The Nurse made. These meetings became dear to The Hag, although it confused her all the same. She wanted to spend as much time in The Nurse's company as she possibly could.
Tonight, however, proved to be different. They sat together in the swamp, near The Pale Rose. A hollowed husk of a tree stump, hidden away in long, lengthy reeds provided them a sitting place. The Hag's feet and the bottom of The Nurse's dress were slathered in thick, brackish mud. They said nothing to one another, but words were unneeded. Instead, they listened for the whispers of The Entity, mingled with the sounds of the unnatural wildlife found in this realm. The Hag rested her dread-locked head against The Nurse's shoulder, and one of the Nurse's hands nestled in the claws talons of the creature that sat by her, their fingers intertwining. Together, they watched the skies, studied the never-setting moon. For a moment, the two of them found an unexpected peace.
The Hag didn't know this feeling. This growing, festering feeling that came into play any time The Nurse came near. She didn't know, but at the same time, she welcomed it.
The End