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FANTASY. vi.fruit of the poisoned tree ▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃
MUCH LIKE THE MAJORITY of the witches she'd been associated with, Charmaine had faced her fair share of scarring experiences. For instance, she had to experience the saddening death of her free-spirited mother at just the young age of nine. The poor girl was forced to undergo a pain that should be unimaginable in the eyes of such a young child, a heartbreak that brought her scars, but also strength all the same.
While her mother's passing had brought her great distress, it had also brought the woman a persistent determination that she never would have thought she would acquire. Within the years that the most important person of life had been gone, Charmaine merely continued to withhold the legacy of her family; she continued to live the life of a Quarter Witch, serving her ancestors in whatever way she could. And, in a way, serving her own mother.
Like many, the loss of a parent remained an excuse for the actions Charmaine took, the decisions she made. The passing of her mother was one of the reasons the woman awaited the arrival of Agnes, an elder of the witches, within Anne's Church.
"Do you have it?"
The gravelly, feminine voice had brought Charmaine a slight fright. The young woman turned to face the owner of the familiar voice, arising from her pew she had sat upon during her wait. "Yeah, I've got it."
Agnes visibly released a sigh of what appeared to be relief, putting her hand out to receive the wanted ingredient. "Good." She breathed, Charmaine placing the small vial into the elder woman's hand. "And you're sure it's gonna work?"
Charmaine nodded her head. "Yes. As long as that link is active, neither of those babies will make it through the night. There's a possibility Sophie may not even make it either."
Stuffing the vial into her bag, a stoic expression painted its way upon Agnes' face. It didn't take long for Charmaine to take notice of the unmoving determination that swam within the woman's brown orbs. "And that's a risk we're willing to take."
☾
Following Elijah's return, things around the plantation had been more put together. Less chaotic, you could say. Both of the pregnant werewolves that resided within the large house hadn't taken any additional trips to the Bayou since the night Elijah received his freedom; the bickering between Rebekah and Klaus had subsided for the time being; things within the Quarter had been quiet, which seemed both concerning and relieving at the same time.
