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Mystacor.
How pitiable that after all these years this was still the place she sought out. The place where she felt that she belonged… home.
But it was not her home, not anymore. Not here nor anywhere. There was no place left for her to go, and so she might as well be here.
Mystacor looked beautiful this time of year. White snow covering the floating island like a glittering blanket in the soft moonlight. Warm twinkle lights decorated each house and the whole town smelled of pine and cinnamon.
The streets were empty. The kingdom of Mystacor slept inside their cozy homes, surrounded by friends and family.
How she ended up by her bedroom, she did not know. She could have gone anywhere… but she knew the head sorceress would not be home. She was in Bright Moon, celebrating the Winter Festivity with Queen Glimmer and Micah.
Long shadows crept through the cracks as she entered.
The room was a mess. Colorful wrapping paper, bows and ribbons were scattered across the big oak table. Bolts of yarn and patterns were buried beneath it. Home-knitted gifts. It was trivial.
Trivial, imitative, homey, warm… full of love and care…
It was Castaspella.
Just like the rest of the room.
Everywhere she looked, there was another sign of the woman who lived there. The pictures of Micah, Glimmer and Angella, the leather-bound books neatly placed on the shelves, the knitted blanket that decorated the bed…
Her fingers followed the pattern that Castaspella had knitted with precision and patience. Skills required of any sorcerer. The fiery woman had plenty, when she managed to control her temper.
Oh, how delightful it was to watch her lose it.
An item caught her attention. Placed on the nightstand was a small, wooden box. She tilted her head and lifted it, carefully examining it. Locked. A locked box by the nightstand? Could the head sorcerer be keeping a diary?
The thought of the woman in her late thirties keeping a diary amused her. And intrigued her.
She drew a magic circle in the air to unlock the box. She wondered what sort of thing Castaspella would keep in a diary. Would it be like hearing her talk? Pages of the huffy, proud woman complaining and gushing about her day?
Or would it perhaps contain a side of her that Shadow Weaver had yet to experience? A side she kept hidden from those around her until she was alone in her room, writing away for no-one but herself?
…
The box didn’t open.
Shadow Weaver frowned and took a closer look.
The magic that was used to lock the box was stronger than a common seal. This was meant to keep out powerful sorcerers.
Curious and excited she placed to box on the bed. She would need darker magic for this. How fortunate that dark magic was her expertise.
She drew another circle and filled in the ancient runes. Castaspella had tried, but her secret would belong to her.
She activated the spell and the seal was broken. The lock made a small ‘click’ and Shadow Weaver reached down to open it with a satisfied smirk on her lips.
She drew in a sharp breath.
It wasn’t a diary.
She slowly reached into the box and withdrew the broken pieces of the mask.
She had searched for it. When the pain had subdued and she had regained enough power to move, she had searched for it. It hadn’t been there; she had thought it was either lost in the inferno or had been thrown away like waste.
But here it was. Her mask. Broken and powerless, useless… but it was here. Collected and kept.
By Castaspella’s nightstand.
She could imagine they had found and kept it. A historical memory. Something to show and scare the children, when they would tell their stories of the dark and wicked Shadow Weaver. It could have been kept as evidence of her death. There were all sorts of reasons it would have been brought to Mystacor.
But none for why it would be kept on Castaspella’s nightstand. Carefully sealed in a handcrafted, wooden box. Close to her. Near her. Hidden from the rest of the world.
Had someone given it to her? Who would? She imagined few would think to hand the pieces to Castaspella. The queen they might, Micah… Adora…
But Castaspella?
… had she gone there herself? Had she found them? Picked up the broken pieces from the ground and taken them with her?... to keep?
Why?
The sound of the doorknob turning almost made her jump and drop the mask. She placed the pieces back in the box, as the door opened.
She was dressed in red. The hair that had once been styled, coming loose. Warm, brown eyes widened as full, black lips parted.
No words came.
The only sound she could hear was her own beating heart.
Castaspella took an unsteady step forward and finally she spoke.
“Shadow Weaver?”
Her name left her lips a little slurred. She again seemed to struggle to keep her balance.
“You are drunk.” Shadow Weaver realized. She had never seen the other woman drunk before. Skin flushed; voice uneven…
“You are dead” Castaspella replied.
She should have been. That had been the plan. But it seemed none of her plans were destined to succeed. As if the universe was playing one long, cruel joke on her. The only comfort had been that no one knew, and now…
“… I must be dreaming” Castaspella closed her eyes briefly and covered them with her hand “drank too much.”
Dreaming. Castaspella didn’t realize she was really here? If she left now, there was a good chance the other woman wouldn’t even remember ‘the dream’ in the morning.
“So, you dream of me?” she asked.
She heard Castaspella chuckle, a warm sound that sent pleasant tingles down through her body.
“More than I should… it can’t be healthy” Castaspella said and looked at her.
Shadow Weaver’s heartbeat quickened and she stepped towards her “so this is not the first time?”
“No… you sound just like I remember… no, better… more…” Castaspella seemed lost in her own thoughts “luscious”
“Luscious?” Shadow Weaver repeated as she took another step towards the other woman. Eyeing her carefully… “tell me Castaspella, what sort of dreams are you having?”
Castaspella went scarlet and quickly avoided her gaze “what a thing to ask!” she said.
“But no answer is given” Shadow Weaver’s eyes roamed the other’s body. Warm, soft and curvy… shoulders and back exposed for all to see. For Shadow Weaver to see. She took another step towards her, and another.
“I don’t have to answer you!” Castaspella defended and tried to flee!... in her drunken state forgetting that walking had become a challenge and tripped.
Shadow Weaver was quick to catch her, pulling her flush against her body and keeping her steady. One hand resting on her lower back, now feeling the other’s warmth seep into her cold fingers….
“Why aren’t you in Bright Moon?” Shadow Weaver glanced down at her. Surely it would have been better for her to sleep in a spare room. Who had suggested she’d return to Mystacor in this state?...
Vulnerable and accessible.
“I didn’t want to stay” Castaspella’s arms snaked around her and suddenly she felt the other’s hot breath on her neck “I kept thinking of you…”
Shadow Weaver’s heart throbbed painfully.
“Of me?” she questioned, not sure that could be true. Castaspella was drunk and confused, saying the first thing that came to her intoxicated mind…
“How it would have been, if you had been there…” with each spoken word, Shadow Weaver could feel Castaspella’s lips brush lightly against her neck, causing pleasant shivers to run through her.
Shadow Weaver swallowed hard “and how did you imagine it would be?” she questioned.
“You would be drinking wine” Castaspella said with a soft laugh “grumbling all evening and coming up with cruel remarks at the gifts… complaining about the music, the decorations, the food…”
Shadow Weaver snorted “sounds like it was a better party without me.” She said, drily.
“And then we would be singing… and we would have made you sing too. Your voice is beautiful, I am sure you would be great at singing… and the war is over, the magic is free, and you should have been there-“
Castaspella voice became muffled as she buried her face against her neck and started shaking. Was she… was she crying? Shadow Weaver was not used to people crying. At least not when she didn’t want them to… her first impulse was to leave.
“If I had been alive, the magic would not be free and we would all have died” Shadow Weaver argued “so there would have been no Winter Festivity regardless.”
Castaspella started shaking more and now she could hear the sobs. She was crying harder. She cursed herself, her words not seeming to have any effect on the miserable woman. At least not the desired one.
Shadow Weaver pulled her closer, hugging the crying woman as she tried to think of any words that might bring comfort “we won the war.”
“I should have been there with you, at the heart. If you hadn’t had to fight it alone, we would have made it. We would have all made it.” Castaspella’s broken voice cried into her.
“It is better like this” Shadow Weaver promised and softly stroke her hair.
“How can it be better?!” Castaspella almost yelled as she tightened her grip.
Shadow Weaver tried not to give in to the emotions bubbling in her chest, not to let the drunk, sad woman distort the reality of the situation.
“I am not wanted here.” Shadow Weaver reminded her.
“I want you!” Castaspella said.
Oh, her heart. What was this woman doing to her? She should be more careful with her words, more careful with her touch… did Castaspella realize how easy she would be to just… claim.
“You want me?” Shadow Weaver repeated “and how is it you want me?” she held the woman close and safe against her.
“I want you here, with me” Castaspella cried and this time she could have sworn she felt those lips actually press against her neck “I want to see you, touch you, talk to you, fight with you… you had no right to die, we weren’t done… I was so angry at you and then you just died!”
Despite herself Shadow Weaver chuckled. “Angry I didn’t let you have the last word?”
“I don’t want there to be a last word!” Castaspella dug her nails into Shadow Weaver’s back and clung to her like her life depended on it “I never want there to be a last word!”
Shadow Weaver took a deep breath, Castaspella was only getting more and more upset “you wanted to fight with me forever?”
“Yes!” Castaspella looked up now, eyes wet and lip quivering… she was a mess. A beautiful, wonderful mess…
She reached out to carefully wipe the tears from her cheeks… “and you think of me?”
Castaspella leaned into her touch and took an unsteady breath “I miss you.”
She kept surprising her. With sweet lies that had no right sounding so wonderful. She thought of her, wanted her, missed her? Why? Why would she miss her? She wanted to blame it all on her drunken state, assure herself that Castaspella meant none of these words in the morning… yet… her gaze fell at the box.
“You took my mask.”
Castaspella blushed and looked towards the box… “it felt wrong leaving it behind.”
“You found it? Alone?” Shadow Weaver questioned.
“… when I was out looking for you…” Castaspella agreed.
“You looked for me?” Shadow Weaver couldn’t help but smile “you figured out I might not be dead. Spells are tricky.”
Castaspella looked back at her “I just needed to be sure” she said “see it for myself, I had to…” she fell silent and she got a look on her face that Shadow Weaver had not seen before.
Suddenly feeling uneasy under the other’s stare, she barked at her “what?”
Castaspella blinked and her eyes quickly found Shadow Weaver’s “you are not wearing your mask.”
“You were always a slow observer.” Shadow Weaver mocked as a pit of regret started forming in her stomach. She should not have come here.
Castaspella reached out her hands and took hold of her face.
She wanted to pull away, but it was too late to hide. Castaspella would see her weakness. So, instead she kept her face unmoving and let the other have her fill. Making sure to look unaffected.
“You are beautiful” Castaspella breathed.
Caught off guard. Again. Her ears burning as she looked at Castaspella in wonder. The last thing she would have imagined her saying.
She felt warm fingers move across her face, following the lines of her scars. Castaspella didn’t look frightened… the head sorceress was not so easily scared. But there was no horror, no disgust, no… pity. Castaspella looked captivated and Shadow Weaver couldn’t bring herself to stop her.
“I have imagined your face so many times that I’ve lost count” Castaspella whispered while her fingers explored.
Many must have wondered what she looked like under the mask, a few brave souls had asked. But when Castaspella said it, it moved something in her. The thought that Castaspella had thought about her and wanted to see her, had imagined her. That this might be something beyond curiosity, a longing…
“That is how the head sorcerer of Mystacor spends her time? No wonder you couldn’t defeat the horde.” Shadow Weaver taunted.
“You are cruel” Castaspella’s hands stopped what they were doing, and Shadow Weaver instantly regretted saying anything.
“As enlightening as this conversation has been, I have things to do. Of importance.” Shadow Weaver snorted and she gave Castaspella a push. Not too hard, but enough for the drunk woman to lose her footing and tumble backwards unto the bed. An excellent plan… if Castaspella hadn’t tightened her grip around Shadow Weaver and with a yelp pulled her down with her.
Shadow Weaver landed on top of Castaspella with a small ‘oof’, now feeling every soft curve of the woman beneath her. Against her better judgement, she didn’t immediately move to get up, instead she pressed herself further down against Castaspella and looked her in the eyes.
“Proud of yourself, are you?” Shadow Weaver asked and raised a brow.
She was met with a dark, hooded gaze and for a moment she forgot how to breathe.
“Extremely.” Castaspella grabbed the back of her head and pulled her down, crushing their lips together.
Shadow Weaver’s breath caught in her throat, as those dark lips moved against hers. Castaspella was drunk. Castaspella thought this was a dream. Castaspella would be filled with regret in the morning.
Then a warm tongue swept across her lips and all thoughts left her but one:
Castaspella would belong to her in the morning.
Shadow Weaver parted her lips and claimed her mouth. She would claim every part of the other woman before dawn.