[center][fancypost=;border:0px;width:450px;text-align:justify][size=8]NOTICE - This is part two of Duchess's development and a continuation of part one, to read part one please click here!
tw for blood, gore, estrangement, dysphoria, burning alive, swearing, domestic abuse, psychological abuse, body horror, and witch hunt mention
She had a sister.
Duchess wasn't quite sure why she hadn't remembered that before, why she hadn't recalled any of her life until now. First she was Adeline, she was miss matched eyes and garden topiaries, she was madness and her goddess, then she was dead. It had never crossed her mind that aside from her previous life as Adeline Rose she'd lead another one, she'd always though that this body, this home was her second chance; but here she was, sitting out in the gardens in the shade of Slinky's dome of bean vines recalling, in vivid detail, one simple truth from a life past even that of Adeline.
She had a sister.
It seemed like so much to simply forget right? So many memories to simply be whisked away by a change in pace... if that's what she could call this. What had started it again? Oh yes, Fortinbras; his gentle brown eyes and the power he invoked as he spoke solemnly of Jaehaerys' fall to her, such a familiar presence, and yet she couldn't place a finger on why she knew him. Fortinbras, the High King, a mere pawn in the limelight of the series of events he'd tipped forward into action but an important one nonetheless. After all, no matter how insignificant he was to the big picture he'd been the one to set things forward no? The breeze that toppled the building that crushed the power plant that silenced the city if you will. An insignificant change in wind sure, but he was still the one who started it all.
Or maybe that wasn't right, maybe he was just a shard of jade or lapis nestled among similar stones into a mosaic. One tiny contribution to a much bigger image. Perhaps it didn't start with him, but with the real beginning, 27 years ago.
------ human past start -----
The witch hunt, a small murmur in a violent history of what wasn't the first but was definitely one of the most popular examples of the dangers of mob mentality. After all, who didn't enjoy the mention of fantastical things such as witches or morbid mentions of burning innocents at the stake or hanging them from the ramparts? It was all interest and fascination when it was so far in the past. For Tisiphone however it was less of a tragic past and more of a living nightmare, just like it had been for so many unnamed men and women.
Born in a small town nestled far northwest of Salem in an old, untouched wood her parents were bland individuals. They lived some ways out of town closer to the mountains than the rest but not so close that they dealt with the larger predators like wolves or bears endangering their livestock. It was secluded sure and the ride to town for basic commodities took a while but it did well for their father. Isaiah Brooke was his name, a robust, portly man who, though once handsome, now sported ever greying salt and pepper hair and a widow's peak to rival the mountains in the distance. His grey blue eyes were always half lidded as if he hadn't slept a wink in the past year and with plump cheeks that took up a good deal of his face his daughters often teased about how he even managed to see.
Their mother, that of whom was named Samantha, was quite the opposite to her husband what with silvering flaxen hair that was always laid limply against her head, tied back into a loose, singular braid and wide, coffee colored eyes set into her narrow face like two ovals. Her pointed nose and taller than wide skull settled onto her long neck, scrawny shoulders, and slim frame quite fittingly and, clearly enough, she was never a large woman, weighing in no more than a hundred pounds and never seeming all... there. Or at least not since the twins were born, Tisiphone and Louise. Identical baby girls that the town insisted you couldn't tell apart; they always disputed this vehemently, Tisiphone most of all.
She had a sister.
She was slim but muscular, Lulu, as she called her, was slim but nothing more. Her hair was pitch and thistle, dark in color and black in most places but definitely brown in the sun, Lulu's was brown all the time, even if it was dark. Louise's eyes were more blue than grey, her own were more grey than blue, Lulu was beautiful, she herself was average but not unappealing. Louise could run, she could sew, Louise hated the goats, she thought they were alright. There was an entire list they dedicated to memory and as little girls they stuck to and made poignant these differences, never leaving them unmentioned. After all, in all their closeness, their mother was also a twin, and people still called her Sarah instead of Samantha even now, long after the two wed husbands and lost contact with one another. They didn't want this, they were Tisiphone and Louise and the others were going to learn the difference.
On to the future however their growth was uneventful. By the time they were both twelve their mother had become all but a shell of the woman she once was, having to be hand fed, bathed, and dressed by either their father or their maid, Nani. Not that they ever truly knew their mother of course, by the time they were old enough to even understand and interact with her she hadn't moved nor spoke for months. With her disabled and the girls aging rapidly their father became, for lack of a better word, possessive. They were not to leave the house. Nani would go to town to get supplies not them, the roads were dangerous for beautiful young women. No they could not dance, dancing was the devil trying to tempt them away. Absolutely not, being out when the sun set or moon rose was most dangerous for the innocent as the demons and the devil played then. Nonsense, poppets and dolls were for little girls and they were big girls already 12 years old. To bed by seven but awake by five there are chores to do. The rules and restrictions stacked until more often than not they got in trouble for forgetting the law laid by their father in the first place instead of intentionally disobeying him.
The whole ordeal was taken with a pinch of salt by both girls, perhaps by Tisiphone most of all. The older they grew the more she grew curious of the world beyond their home and so she snuck away often, with Lulu to cover or Nani to shrug (she didn't speak either, sorta like Mom). Soon it became a daily routine, one she eventually coerced Louise into as well and after the first excursion they never wanted to stop. Like many girls their age around the time of the trials they slipped away into the night forest, skipping and giggling, hushing one another nervously when they got particularly excited until they felt they were far enough from the town and their home to remain unheard. Unlike other girls however, when they shed their thick gowns and dug their toes into the cool dirt, twirling and dancing and singing to the forest beneath their feet and surrounding their minds, the forest answered. Wild flowers bloomed beneath their heels and the breeze rustled the leaves of the trees all around them so that the woods too could sing. The clouds cleared leaving an open black sky, dotted by stars and a moon so bright it lit the way as they whisked through the old wood, arm in arm, hand in hand. When they danced, the whole world answered and from that moment on the girls knew they were so much more than two look alike daughters to an overbearing father, they were witches.
As years passed more questions arose and though Tisiphone was most definitely the more rebellious child of the two, both girls contributed equally into trying to dig up answers. How were they witches? What could they do? Was mom a witch? Is that why she couldn't talk, why Nani couldn't talk? Why was Isaiah still so strict? Was it because he knew? What would happen if he found out? What would the town do if they found out? So many inquiries and so few solutions. Louise and Tisiphone were at a loss, what they didn't know however, is that they were already out of time. It started in little ways, the forest wouldn't answer sometimes even when they called, or they'd make it half way to their usual spot before the undergrowth became too thick to continue as if they were being stopped by the woods themselves. Sometimes the moon wouldn't come out at all and, too nervous to risk lanterns, they'd retreat regretfully back to their rooms. A once rare occurrence became common and before they knew it a month had passed since they'd been able to dance or sing or practice. Their father laid on the chores, often becoming abrupt and aggressive, exploding in fits of anger and striking their hand or toppling a pot. Their mother wasn't moved to the parlour during the day anymore, instead remaining in Nani's room with her, wherever that may be. The hall had always been considered off limits.
Sneaking out became more and more risky and before long they weren't so much as tending to the goats or chickens outside, restricted solely to indoor chores. Their father preached of demons and sin and how both had crept into their family and tainted his daughters, making witches of his girls. The first time he spoke the words it'd come as a shock, as careful as they'd been, as thorough... he grew physical. After striking them or scolding them, often without warrant though he made it seem as if he'd had plenty. It wasn't hard to believe him, oftentimes it was even easier. It was a simple truth to believe what was said, to face adversity, harbor independent thought, that in itself was a challenge much greater than Louise or Tisiphone were prepared to handle. The only time they spoke out, tried to coerce their father into realizing their craft was harmless and in benefit to themselves and the wood as well it had ended in shouting matches and tears. Tisiphone herself buckled beneath Isaiah's shouts and Louise lashed out in attempt for reprimand of what he'd done, wanting to protect her sibling. It resonated poorly and both sisters agreed to never speak out again.
This continued for a while, how long is hard to say but with no outdoors and no disrest mere bruises or contusions seem much easier than the alternative, an alternative they couldn't even predict. Right now it was injuries, yelling often, being hit sometimes, cruel words most of the time. But to speak out, to disbelieve, what it would bring would surely be worse, and so instead they bought in. The right thing isn't always the safest or the easiest, that should always be kept in mind.
They were an overstuffed couch, stretched at the seams and ready to burst, so when it rained on the two sisters, it poured.
They were nineteen years old, it had been years since they stopped practicing their craft and longer still since they'd last seen the forest. Tisiphone kept no poppets, sang no songs, danced no dances, and most surely did not go outside. This above all was perhaps why she'd become so unwell. Pale skin frail as parchment and thin, drawn lips like they'd been carved instead of borne. Her dark, flat hair was often styled like she'd seen her mother's styled and her only connection remaining was the relationships she kindled with her sister and Nani. She operated on autopilot, though it was clear she was ever declining in health, drawing the attention and concern of Louise, who, in truth, was no better. A diet of the same things, a routine of the same chores, and a constant myriad of injuries to heal was taking its toll on the two siblings both and, in desperation, Tisiphone had begun speaking to the moon. Every night before bed she'd fold her legs beneath her atop her white sheets and turn her wide eyes up, more grey than blue, to view the night sky. She'd ask it quietly for tea or herbs, for pretty stones or a warmer hearth fire, for a quiet day or stormy night, and, most of all, for her father to die. Sometimes the moon even answered, it offered to kill him or the wood, it offered a deal or a contract. It'd give her what she wanted, it just needed a favor in turn. Every night she denied the moon, she would owe no one no thing, so long as she and her sister were alive.
That's about the time it all ended.
They were an overstuffed couch, stretched at the seams and ready to burst, so when it rained on the two sisters, it poured.
It all started when he found out she spoke to the moon. Louise had been asleep at the time, her sister awake just in time to cook breakfast so Nani wouldn't be bothered. He must of found out the night before, or perhaps closer to morning when she awoke too early, because he'd seemed to be seething for a while when she entered the kitchen. After all, he'd had time to boil the water. As her bare feet touched the cool kitchen floor a dark shape was chunked at her, sent hurling across the table to strike the wall behind her. It was of no matter though, the scalding water had hit its mark, searing the flesh of the right half of her face and breast. Her screams must have been enough to stir her sister because Louise came hurtling down the stairs just in time to grapple their father, that of whom had his thick fingers wrapped around Tisiphone's throat, off of her. Lu's initial advantage did not last, he off-handedly ripped her off of him and sent her stumbling back, drawing the kitchen knife he stowed away in his back pocket into his firm grip. By the time both sisters recovered he was ready and they were not. To say she remembered everything that happened would be a lie, if anything she was still screaming in pain when he slipped the blade between Louise's ribs not once, not twice, but around twelve times. Her entire right torso was a bloody mess before Nani even entered the scene in mute horror.
When mankind first entered this world Tisiphone wondered if they fought half as savagely as Nani had. Years of anger and pain pent up only to be released in one, single moment. She had needed no knife to gouge out his eyes, her nails served well enough nor had she needed muscle to restrain him as her teeth did that too. Tisiphone knew then though, it was already done. Smoke crept into the kitchen and muddled with the blood, Louise rasped for breath despite a collapsed lung, Tisiphone herself didn't recall when it had happened but caressed a knife dug deep into her gut, and her father, though hardly recognizable beneath the gouges and the gore, had won. Every door was barred, every window sealed shut, and the fire he'd started in the living room as he began boiling the pot of water had spread to the rest of the house. If they did not die to their injuries they would succumb to the smoke or they would burn, as every other witch had years ago while they remained locked away, unaware of the pain of their brothers and sisters and innocents who they never got to know.
By the time the fire reached the kitchen, a slow, treacherous crawl, and the smoke took over the air, the day had turned to ashes. Her father continued to yell, to say what he had been for years now, to scream what they'd grown to believe, and during this, quieter and with more subtlety, Louise withered away. Her mind, always so bright and alert and present, blinked out as her body trembled with its last breath and succumbed to its injuries. The fire was upon then now, her and her father and the corpses of Louise and Nani. She recalled her mother, bedridden and void and likely already gone, and wondered how many years of marriage it had taken for her to decide to shut down her body so that her mind could live in the forest and dance with her daughters as they came of age instead of speak to them, cherish them, and hold them as a parent could. She wondered how much longer it would have taken her to realize the wood was her mother all along if she had not spoken to the moon. As the flames overtook her flesh she recalled her oath to herself as every night she denied the moon.
She would owe no one no thing, so long as she and her sister were alive.
As her flesh burned and nerves screamed her remaining eye shifted to the sealed window and found the moon, and then, finally, she accepted its deal.
------ human past end -----
First it was Westeros, it was Efline her mother and friend, Fortinbras, her father and hero, then it was a knife pressed against her throat and darkness. Still, the moon persisted. She'd awoken again with a mother and a father, her mother's eyes blue as lapis and fur white as snow. Her father with eyes of amber and fur ruddy like the wood of the oaks her and Louise used to dance beneath. She remembered the feeling of the soil beneath her paws and the first time she'd heard someone sing. She remembered knowing, for some reason, unsure but confident that she was finally home. Then Kali was dead, her father gone, her siblings astray. She was captured, beaten and broken and weak until Katherine had familiar words to say. Words she'd heard before, from her own father in a different life, and instead of breaking down this time she had something to act on. Horns erupted from her skull, eyes once more grey than blue found red like Lu's eyes in the warm summer sun, and she fought for this time she would not lose. And so, on heavy paws and lifted spirits, the once puppy returned a woman with dark fur groomed sleek to her sides and confidence in her step.
She had a sister.
And she was going to do right by her, she was home, not as Adrian or Adeline or Tisiphone or Katja or Rori, but as Duchess Darling, leader of the Sanctum.
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