The Riddle Twins

Chapter 10 - Baptism

!Slight trigger warning!

Hi loves. I advise you to read the last ten or so sentences of the last chapter, if you read it longer ago. Few things has changed. Enjoy <3

Evrything was blurry.

"Hello?"

The images started slowly coming into focus, when Elodie noticed herself, standing motionless in front of a familiar door. Her eyes widened in shock and her lips parted in disbelief.

She was there.

Twice.

The witch looked around in histeria, confused and disturbed, her breath shaking, but she couldn't see anything past the focus of her previous experience.

Was she dreaming?

Her heart thumped and her eyebrows pulled together in turmoil, her eyes glued to the reflection of herself in absolute chaos.

She watched herself, dressed in the scruffy clothes of her very first day, open the door, her heart pounding. It all seemed too samiliar.

It was.

She lived through it a few days ago.

Hastily, she followed herself into the church of night, flinching, just like that day, when the door slammed shut behind her. The candles lit up on each side of her, lighting a path towards an altar.

It was as if she lost her memory, and now, everything was coming back to her.

The exact same door, dark walls, benches of ebony wood. The floor, the wax...all black.

An altar was situated on the platform on the oppposite side, her feet planted halfway towards it. It consisted of a marble table coated with black wax, and a crafted knife was placed on top of it, the blade glistening in the candle light.

She knew what she had to do, but even than, she dreaded to see herself do it.

Her steps were hesitant, her breath shallow. The closer they got, the better she could make up the figure portraited on the canvas.

Hecate.

Elodie watched as she sunk the blade deep into her flesh without further thought, no hesitation in her action, digging and slicing until the pedestal filled with her blood. Yet, she could not feel the pain, even though her reflection suffered on her knees, groaning and gasping for air. She cringed at the gore scene and watched the it happen as if she was only a spectator of the ritual, experiencing the fright all over again, as if once wasn't enough.

She realized it was a memory. A memory of her acceptance ritual, that her mind pushed into the back of her head to minimaze the impact it had on her fragile subconscious.

She heard herself wail at the sharp pain and watched gore soak the marble arrangement, covering the stains of old blood with her fresh one. She than fell to her knees, as if all the energy was drained out of her, watching her blood rise up the painting with heavy eyelids.

It defied all laws of nature.

It slowly rose up the grooves carved in the portrait of the triple goddess, tracing the lines of the faded canvas. Maiden, mother and a crone were looking down at the child, seeking a confirmation of her loyality. Mothers dark brown hair framed her face like a crown and three serpents slithered around her neck like an expensive jewel, hissing at the sight of a fellow worshipper. The light of the torches reflected in her white eyes like the flames of hellfire, spitting carbon sparks onto her companions assembled of ashes. The edges of her statue started filling with crimson liquid, until the circle connected, drenching the tapestry in the substance of her suffering.