FlitterPuff

That's right! VM is back, everyone! I know people have missed it, so sorry for the hiatus. I'm still focusing mostly on my other story, but I'll be posting the occasional chapter of this as well. I'm putting a few content warnings up for this one. It's a big chapter, both in length and intensity.

[CW: Violence, Blood, Gore, Abuse, Dysphoria, Internalized Transphobia, Suicidal Ideation] 

The air was beginning to chill as evening truly set in. I could only imagine what a nervous mess I looked. I was supposed to appear brave, like a witch with no fear preparing to stand off against her hunter. I felt more like a pig waiting for the slaughter. As much as I tried, I couldn’t keep my clammy hands from shaking as they both clenched the long cold steel dagger Isabel had given to me. My own much smaller knife was hidden away in a hastily sewn hidden pocket in my dress. Another knife of Isabel’s was stuffed within my boot. But knives and daggers would be of little use against the Butcher. Assuming my legs didn’t simply crumble beneath me, I would never get close enough to stab him. 

I shivered as a small breeze passed through the shadow-filled alleyway. A door stood cracked open to my right, sitting within the clay-brick wall as a back entrance to some small shop that I thought was a cobbler’s but wasn’t sure. The buildings here were pressed tightly together, sharing walls, and forming a small dead-end alley wall to my back. At the very least, the Butcher would have trouble swinging a large sword within it. It was a mostly residential area, but several shops formed the alley that they used to dump various scrap and as an emergency entrance or exit. The area was peculiarly quiet, and I wondered if those nearby could feel the ominous tension that lingered. 

Several breaths eased in and out of my lungs as I reminded myself to breathe once again. It was tempting to simply run, but I did not doubt that I would be shot full of bolts before I could make it through the cracked doorway. I saw no one in plain sight upon the roofs or peeking from behind walls, but Isabel claimed several men with crossbows would be filling the Butcher with holes once he approached. He just needed to move into the alleyway. It was tempting to question how she could convince several men to work for her and how she knew she could trust them, yet it seemed a slightly foolish question considering that I was the one standing here in a dress and acting as bait. 

Part of me couldn’t help but worry that this would all go horribly wrong. When the Butcher found me, standing here with my back to a dead-end, he would have to realize that this was a trap of some kind. My only hope was that this would cause him to pause rather than be rash and charge forward before he could be killed. I had little hope if he got to me before the crossbowmen got to him. The thing I had on my side was that he would be expecting an attack from me, not others and that I at least had an escape route.

The quiet tap and crunch of footsteps on cobblestones reached my ears. It wasn’t the heavy stride of a large man that I had been expecting, but rather the sound of several feet moving towards me. Were these the crossbowmen? I eyed the doorway that stood beside me, still pondering making a run for it, and gripped my dagger tighter. All too quickly the passage of time betrayed me as the footsteps grew closer to the alley’s entrance. I held my breath in tight as the first foot crossed the corner. 

The man who came into view wasn’t particularly tall or brawny. Much to my confusion, he wore the standard uniform of regular Inquisitors, a long enchanted white robe that helped protect him from attacks and a padded iron helm that curved open around his eyes and face. A crossbow sat within his hands. Dread began to fill me. Inquisitors hadn’t been part of the plan. Something had gone wrong.

As he turned a glance into the alley, he stopped and stared at me. Our eyes met and I nearly dropped the dagger in shock. 

“Father?” The word spilled from my mouth in a choked breath. 

Two others came around each side of him, crossbows pointed towards me. I was too confused to put together in my mind what was happening as I stared into my father’s eyes. 

“On the ground, witch, and spread your hands. Drop the dagger,” one of them said.

I glanced between the three of them. “Wait, no I’m not a witch, I --”

I heard a thung as something plowed into my shoulder and shoved me backward. A crack reached my ears as I slammed into the ground shoulder-first and a deep lightning pain shot throughout me. I screamed out a guttural cry. 

A hand grabbed my dress, pulling me back up to my feet as I sobbed out. I was shoved up against the wall, my nose scraping against it as something painful seemed to press into my shoulder. Looking over I could see the tail of a bolt peeking out of the front of my blood-covered right sleeve. I screamed again as my hand was grabbed and pulled up to the side, painfully shifting my punctured shoulder. A knife sliced into my palm and he turned it to allow blood to pool out and down onto a metallic mana detector held in his gloved hand. The glass ball in the center began to glow, showing that I was not a witch. 

He turned me around, and I met the eyes of my father. 

“Father…” I choked out.

His hand slapped me across the face, and I sucked in gasps of air. 

“No one told you to speak.”

“Vincent, I didn’t realize you had a daughter,” one of the other men commented, perhaps jokingly. 

He pulled my face up and I watched as he closely observed it. 

There was a pause and our eyes met. “He’s my son.” Then his face shifted into a dark grimace. “What have you done to yourself, boy?”

A dark pit welled within me, and I barely choked back the sobs threatening to further escape. 

“Someone will need to watch her,” the other man said, with a glance to my father, “or him, as the case may be. We still have a witch to find.” He had an air of authority, and I noticed a pin on his robe marking him as an Inquisition officer. 

“I will, Decanus.” my father replied, respectfully using the officer’s title. It meant the man was leading a squad of ten. Not a particularly high ranking Inquisitor, but he’d likely done something to acquire it. Seeing the scar down his neck, I wondered if he’d gotten it from a witch. 

“No, we’ll have the witch hunters do it.” I could see the smirk of satisfaction at making one of the infamous witch hunters do something so menial. “Move,” he commanded. My father and the other regular Inquisitor marched me forward behind the Decanus. The bolt in my shoulder felt as though it were twisting and shifting inside me as I was near-dragged towards the entrance of the alley. 

I watched the Decanus in front of me as he was suddenly pierced through the skull by a flying bolt. He stumbled forward, as though trying to keep his balance, before fully collapsing to the ground. I could hear the thunk of bolts hitting stone and wood ahead of us, along with the shouts of Inquisitors. My father and the other Inquisitor released my arms, pulling up their own crossbows to fire at hooded shadows looking out of the building across the street. 

“Move it, boy,” my father demanded and pushed me towards the wall to our right. We pressed ourselves against it, both my father and the other Inquisitor in front of me. 

This was the point where I was supposed to run, to make my escape through the side door. But was there any point at all anymore? I’d been found, caught on the wrong side of the law. They would assume, rightfully, that I had been collaborating with the witch. The plan she had made was out the window. In truth, I was a fool for going along with it all in the first place. It was wrong, immoral, perhaps even evil. And I’d done it all for my own benefit, for a silly dream that had no real chance of being real. I’d convinced myself it was the best option. Now, they would hang me for it. 

I turned and ran. My father was right, I was a coward. My shoulder ached as I pushed through the cracked doorway. It led into the back of a dark and cramped cobbler’s shop, and I tripped over stools and shelves as I rushed through it into the shop proper. Several lanterns were lit inside, but it was empty of people. I made my way through the door and out into the main street. A glance to my left showed bodies in the street, and I turned right, running without a look back. 

The street was eerily empty, no one brave enough to be out while Inquisitors and witch hunters roamed. Isabel had a house nearby that would be safe to hide in, but I wasn’t sure I trusted her enough for me to go there. So I kept running, moving down various side streets, and eventually stopping to check corners for Inquisitors. So far, no one had been chasing me, that I could tell, but if I wasn’t, careful that wouldn’t last. 

As I passed by an open doorway, a hand reached out and grabbed my injured arm in a firm unyielding grip. I yelped in pain and punched against the man who moved my arm out to the side and shoved me against the wall. Before I had even realized what he’d done, he’d already pushed me away from him with his elbow, my hand openly bleeding once more. The man held a glowing mana detector covered in blood in one hand and a bloody dagger in the other. I lost my balance and fell to the ground in front of him, feeling dizzy and somewhat lightheaded. 

“Sorry about that, miss.” His accent was foreign, and I noticed his skin was a bit darker brown than my own, marking him as someone who had spent a lot of time out in the desert. He gave me an apologetic nod, tilting his wide desert-styled hat while slipping his knife and detector away. His hand reached down in a gesture to help me back to my feet. I scooted away from him, and he nodded again as though he’d expected it. “Forgive me, miss. I’ve no intention to hurt you. I merely needed to make certain you weren’t a witch.” He glanced over me, looking notably at the bolt in my shoulder. “I can help you with your injuries. If you leave it like that, you’re likely to faint from the blood loss.”

I looked over to my shoulder, the bolt still stuck within and blood soaking my dress. The man had no reason to assume I was a part of this. To him, I was simply a bystander caught in an unfortunate situation. It was best to keep his suspicions lowered, I reasoned. 

“Okay,” I said and grabbed his hand with my uninjured arm. He gently pulled me back to my feet, and I swayed slightly. He may have been right about the blood loss. His arm wrapped around me, and we walked into a small house where he sat me down on a stool. 

“Let’s get you bandaged up and we’ll have a little chat. Are you injured anywhere besides the shoulder, here?”

I shook my head. With a nod, he released my arm and began looking at both sides of the puncture. Pulling his knife back out, he began stripping through the dress around my shoulder, before carefully ripping the sleeve off and exposing the wound fully. It was a bloody mess, and I turned my eyes away from it.

“Can you shift your arm outward?” he asked, and I nodded once more, moving my arm away from me as I gritted my teeth. Using the dress sleeve, he wiped around the bolt, getting some of the blood off before he tossed the bloodied cloth to the side. Then he kneeled down and pulled out a small roll of thick cloth. For a moment, he worked in silence, wrapping it tightly around my shoulder as I winced and gritted in pain. 

“Are you not gonna pull it out?” My voice was so hoarse it was barely audible. 

“No, not here. Better to do that somewhere with a proper surgeon.”

That made sense. If he pulled it out but couldn’t close the wound up properly, it would just bleed even more. 

My mind began to wander as he worked. It had been the strangest day of my life, and I could not imagine what my father thought of me now. His son strung up in a dress and holding a dagger, being used as some sort of bait or decoy by a witch? Was there any chance of convincing anyone that I had no part in all this after such a shameful display? They may not have seen me physically with the witch, but they may as well have. There was no getting out of this. My life was over. 

“So what’s your name?” 

His words broke my thoughts, and I studied his passive face as he focused on bandaging. Should I tell him my name was Nathan or was it better to use another? He would likely find out at some point what it was regardless, once all this was over. 

“It’s Lia.” It was the first name that came to mind. 

He nodded. “Name’s Marcus. Nice to meet ya, Lia. I’ll make sure we get someone to fix up this shoulder of yours. First, though, we need to talk about the witch. I take it you’ve met her?” 

I went stiff. How did he know? Was he just guessing? Was there any point in denying it when I was ultimately already caught? Was a denial likely to cement my guilt more than an admission? I couldn’t help but feel an admission was the right thing to do. Yet as I looked at him, I found it hard to admit the truth out loud. I wanted to deny everything. Just as I was about to shake my head in the negative, he spoke again. 

“I’ve met her myself once, in another city. She’s a rather deceptive and slippery creature, I’ve found.” 

He took a moment to look at me, his eyes piercing into my own. His face was hardened in a serious almost-scowl that compelled me to be honest in a way that told me he already knew the answer. I slowly nodded, both agreeing with what he said, and in doing so, admitting in that that I had met her. 

“Many people have met witches,” he spoke as he slowly continued with the bandages, “have talked with them, have traded with them, have helped them, even. They are powerful and dangerous beings, and in fear of their lives, people can be brought to do dreadful things. It’s a terrible position to put someone in, to have to choose between their life and doing the right thing.” I could feel him still eyeing me as he began to wrap my arm up into a sling. The movement of my arm up against me was painful, and I used it as an excuse to not meet his eyes once more. 

“In most cases I’ve seen, people aren’t punished for it. Hangings in particular are rather rare. The Inquisition is generally rather lenient when it comes to those who’ve been coerced into aiding witches due to threats to themselves or their loved ones. The worst that most get is some threats, a harsh scolding, and an occasional fine. Of course, I’ve found they can sometimes be a little less lenient on ladies, especially young ladies.” He paused to let that statement sink in.

“I can help you, Lia. I’m a witch hunter. My words will hold a lot of sway on any decision they make. But, I’ll need you to tell me about her, about the witch, and about whatever she’s made you do.” 

He was finished tying the sling by that point but stayed crouched down to his knees in front of me. I licked my dry lips and tried to bring myself to speak. My eyes glanced between his own and my newly bandaged arm.

He waited a moment, but seeing that I wasn’t saying anything, he put forward a question. “Did you see her do anything strange, or did you have any lapses in memory? Periods of time you don’t remember, or times where you found yourself facing a different direction, or where things seem to move or skip forward?” 

Was that the sort of power she had? I knew there were rumors of a witch who could do it, but I hadn’t imagined it would be her. I didn’t recall any lapses in memory, but I couldn’t help but worry about what other things she may have made me forget. I thought back to how we met. There was something weird about it, like a missing puzzle piece that I wasn’t sure about the shape of. She’d admitted that she had been stalking me, but of all the people in the city related to Inquisitors, why me specifically? Was it really all a coincidence? 

I opened my mouth to tell him the story of how I’d met her but paused. If I did this, I’d have to tell him everything. He’d find out who I was eventually regardless, but he’d want to know what it was she promised me to get me to work with her. I had no illusions that he wouldn’t press the question. It would have to ultimately happen eventually. Perhaps it was better now with someone trying to be sympathetic than when I might have less control over things. 

“I met her in the market,” I began, “I was smoking my pipe when she came up --”

Marcus suddenly lunged towards me, grabbing me along the waist and forcing me backward. I fell, my back and shoulders hitting the floor of the room, followed by my head beating against it. A deep pain shot through my already throbbing shoulder once more, and I cried out in both shock and agony. My eyes opened back up to find Marcus nocking his bow and aiming at an open empty window. Looking around, I found what looked to be a crossbow bolt near where he had previously sat. Someone had shot at us, or at least at him. 

I heard Marcus cursing under his breath as he continued to look along the street outside. His hand grabbed my good arm and pulled me back up to my feet. 

“Time to go,” he said. We moved to the back of the house to a small window. “When you need my help,” he pulled out a small card, “You can find me at the Westford Bar. If I’m not there, give this to the bartender.” His hand closed around mine, bending the card within it. “Now go. Find somewhere safe.”

I stared for a moment, slightly confused as to why he was letting me leave. Before he could change his mind, I snapped back into focus, hopped through the window, and ran. 

I kept running, down streets and alley, tripping over scrap and around carts. The pain in my arm flared, and I was near collapsing, but I kept going, pushing myself as hard as I could, hoping that if I just ran fast enough, I could somehow get away from everything. I wanted to escape the madness falling around me. I pushed myself harder even as my legs burned and sweat poured out of me. I ran until I slammed into what felt like a body of bricks and collapsed. 

Out of breath, and sucking in air as hard as I could, I looked up to see a large man staring back down at me. He was outfitted in thick dark leather and chainmail. Unlike Marcus, he wore no hat, instead letting his dark hair and beard grow wild and untamed. A crossbow was strapped to his back, and to his side was a long and wide sword waiting in its sheath.

I gaped as I realized who I had just bumped into. 

“Hello, little fox. Scurrying off somewhere important?” The Butcher smiled down towards me. 

He took a step forward, and I scooted back away from him. My eyes focused on his undrawn sword. As my back pushed against a wall, I stood to my feet and pulled out a knife. My hands shook. I knew I couldn’t win in a fight against him. My only chance was escape. 

As he moved towards me once more, I turned and ran. A hand grabbed around my leg from behind, yanking me from my feet. As I twisted and fell, I slipped out of his grip but slid against the gravel-filled ground. A sob left my throat at the ache in my shoulder. 

I forced my head up as I heard a new pair of footsteps approaching from the direction I had been moving. 

“Right on time,” the Butcher said. “Let’s see what you can do, boy.” 

My eyes drifted up the familiar sight of a large bulky form to meet the face of my friend Fabian. He sneered down at me, not a hint of recognition in his eyes. 

“This the witch?” Fabian asked.

“Potentially. There’s an easy way to find out.”

I tried to respond, to tell my friend who I was, but instead went into a fit of coughs.

Fabian walked towards me, a short sword in his hand. I stared at it in horror. I didn’t want to fight him. I didn’t want any of this. Perhaps if I could get around him… 

I stood once more on shaky legs, pulling out my dagger in the hopes of blocking Fabian's attacks. Once more I tried to call out to him, but I couldn’t even make it through his name before I began coughing uncontrollably once more. He swung his sword casually towards me and I barely dodged to the right.

“You look familiar,” Fabian told me. “A bit like a friend of mine, actually.” He swung once more. “It’s a pity. I bet you’d be a good fuck.”

He lunged forward, intending to finish me quickly. Thankfully, I was lucky to parry the attack as I moved to the side. As his sword sliced along the edge of my torso, I knew I wasn’t lucky enough. His sword swept towards me once more and I moved towards him, intending to shove him away and dash around him. We slammed into each other and he elbowed me in the face. I stumbled away as he pushed me into the wall. He drew his sword back, intending to cut me through when he suddenly stopped. Fabian blinked and looked down. His sword dropped from his hand as he gripped his shirt in apparent shock. His hand came away red.

“What?” he muttered. 

I watched as a growing spot of red dyed the belly of his shirt. Looking down at my dagger I found it bloody. 

“F-Fabian,” I managed to utter out.

“You -- you stabbed me.” He looked me in the eyes. 

He took a step forward and I backed away in return. 

A thin sword pushed its way through the back of my chest and back out. 

“It’s too bad, you might have made a decent hunter,” came the muffled words of the Butcher.

Then I lost consciousness. 

When I woke, my face was pressed into the dirt. I felt as though I’d been sliced straight in half and set on fire. How was I still alive? What had I been thinking? Working with a witch? Committing evil? Killing my friend? All for what, my own benefit? I was an utter fool. Death was what I deserved.

Time moved along strangely. Perhaps it was seconds later or perhaps hours before someone found me. I wasn’t sure. My body was turned over and above me sat the blurry figure of Isabel. Her hand pressed against my wound.

“Still alive?” My brain struggled to put together her words. I was dying.

“True, you are dying,” she said. “I’m not sure this is something I can fix.”

Why was she still here? Why did she come back for me?

A sad smile crossed her face. “I told you, you remind me of my daughter. I couldn’t just leave you here, Little Bell.” Her fingers brushed through my hair. “I’m sorry, I should have never let this happen. I should have never coerced you into this.”

A memory came to mind, one of my mother tucking a blanket around me as I went to bed. She called me her little bell because she said she loved the sound of my voice. It was something she hadn’t done in many years. 

You can read minds, I think to Isabel.

“I can. It was actually the first ability I got as a witch. It’s helped keep me alive many times. I guard that secret closely. Not many people know it.” 

Have you erased my memory? Are you going to erase it?

“I haven’t. I know there’s nothing to say to make you believe me, but I truly haven’t. I only use that when I absolutely need to.” She grasped my hand. “I’m not sure how much time you have, Lia. I don’t think I can move you, so I’m going to need you to make a choice. The first is that I run to get a friend, a doctor. You might die before I get back, or they might get here and not be able to save you. The second choice… The second one you will most certainly die from. I don’t want to give you false hope. It has never worked before.”

What is it, I attempt to mentally interrupt. 

“It’s… to try and forcefully turn you into a witch. It’s never worked before, to my knowledge, and I have no reason to think it would work now. But I feel that you deserve the choice.”

Would it make me fully a girl? Was this how you planned to do it? I wanted to be angry, but instead, I just felt exhausted. 

“No, that’s not how I planned to do it. I have a friend who can adjust someone’s body, though they’re not in the city at the moment. I’m not sure that becoming a witch would even make you a girl, physically. Though there is the possibility.”

Do it.

“Are you sure, Little Bell? I’m quite certain it will kill you.”

It’s still worth the try. I’m dying already. And I doubt a doctor can save me from a wound like this. I’m dead either way. I think part of me wanted to die or felt I deserved to become the creature I’d been raised to fear and hate. Or perhaps I wanted to just believe in the fantasy a little longer, where everything would turn out fine and I’d get my dream of becoming a girl. Perhaps I was just an idiot, but it was what I wanted. She had given me the choice, and I’d made it.

She sighed. “Alright.”

The pressure from her hand left as she sat up. My sight continued to blur and I felt my consciousness fading once more. The last thing I saw was Isabel stabbing her fingers into her chest.

FlitterPuff

Hope everyone enjoyed! Don't forget to comment, favorite, follow, and all that good stuff, especially if you want more! (I could be convinced to make this my main series if people really like it enough.) And if you haven't yet, consider checking out my newer story The Quest for World Domination. I should also mention that I've started a Patreon. New chapters of VM from here on will be put up there first (possibly many chapters in advance, in the future.) So if you want to support my writing and read new stuff sooner, check me out here: https://www.patreon.com/FlitterPuff