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Chapter Text

       The most powerful spells always involved some kind of blood magic. A sacrifice, often of some small, fluffy creature. Not tonight.

       The Nightshade Witch drew a dagger, firelight reflecting sharply off the obsidian blade. With a deep breath, she drove it into her flesh, forcing herself to watch the hot, dark blood spilling from her arm. Her tired eyes followed the stream down her pale skin for a moment before she picked up a slender vial and pressed it against the trail to collect the precious, precious substance. 

        She felt nothing as she stirred her blood into the potion. 

~~~

       There was something off about the lack of mischief in Harbington at the moment, and The Willow Witch noticed it. She wasn’t being called upon to resolve the effects of her sister’s curse letters and while his was good for the townspeople, it concerned her. If not business, what exactly was Bella doing? This was unlike her, and as the older sibling, Evangeline’s responsibility was to take care of her little sister, no matter how many negative memories she’d caused. She loved her, unconditionally, and she wasn’t the only one. Bridgette loved Bella just as much, maybe more. Bella would despise Eva even further if she caught her using a scrying spell to check on her. To Bella, it would be less scrying and more spying. No, the best way to handle this would be by telling Bridgette to check on her. She wrote a simple letter, explaining to Bridgette that she felt like Bella might need an interaction with someone she loved. Soon, Dìon was flying to the inn, letter clutched within his talons.

~~~

       Willow’s owl soared into the inn’s kitchen window late that evening, silently situating himself on top of a cupboard. When Bridgette’s younger sister didn’t look up at him, Dìon screeched at her, startling her from her tired state of monotonous cleaning.

       “Ah,” she sighed “hello Dìon, I assume you want my sister?”

       The owl blinked at her.

       “Right.” The girl jogged from the room and swung around the doorframe that led downstairs to the tavern “Bridgeyyyyy, you got a letter from Willow.” She called. Bridgette was all too happy to be taking a break from tidying up after the hooliganism that had occurred in the bar earlier that evening, and bounded up the stairs to greet her sister. The two walked back to the kitchen together, bumping shoulders playfully and chuckling as they went. Upon sighting Bridgette, the owl walked toward her happily with the letter in his beak. Bridgette smiled and scratched him between the eyes before he flew back into the night. Bridgette carefully broke the bright white wax seal on the letter, and read:

My Dearest Bridgette,

      Please spend some time with Belladonna soon if you can. I think she needs some time away from her tower, with someone she loves.

All the best, Evangeline

       Simple enough, though odd, Bridgette thought; Eva had never asked her to spend time with Bella before this. She pushed the mild concern from her mind and decided that she’d have Bella over for lunch the following day. Her sister leaned over her shoulder in an attempt to read the letter for herself, and Bridgette snatched the parchment away from her line of sight.

       “Stop it!” She scolded, lightly hitting her shoulder. The younger sister rolled her eyes.

       “Ha! Childish much? Just for that I’m giving our scullery maid the evening off.” Her sister frowned, opening her mouth to protest, but Bridgette cut her off before she even spoke, “I expect the dishes and this kitchen to be spotless, I’ll be having a guest for a personal lunch tomorrow.” Her sister looked about the room wildly in an are-you-kidding-me sort of fashion before Bridgette laid a hand on her shoulder and softened her tone “Look, just do this one thing for me, I’ll make you a raspberry tart, ok?” Her sister pursed her lips, and squinted, her favorite dessert was an offer she couldn’t refuse.

       “Deal. But I’m not happy about it.” She said. Bridgette smiled softly, ruffling the girl’s hair

       “Thank you.” And with that, each woman returned to her own work. Truth be told, Bridgette would have asked her sister to scour the dishes regardless of whether she had given her an attitude; she would settle for nothing less than perfection when Bella dropped by the inn, and her sister always put in extra elbow grease when it came to the washing up, it was her specialty, really.

       Bridgette woke up just before dawn the next morning, as was her normal. She slipped on her work dress and quietly made her way from her bedroom in the Inn’s attic down to the stables. The early summer morning was cool and smelled sweet, of honeysuckle and rain. Her palomino horse, Buttercup picked her head up and whinnied happily when she saw Bridgette making her way towards her stall. Bridgette giggled, smiling.

       “Good morning,” she said, stroking the horse’s nose, “let’s go for a ride, I have to send a letter.” With that, the pair was trotting from the stable onto the main path, headed towards Harbington square. Bridgette’s long red hair trailed behind her elegantly, like the way autumn leaves might dance in a gust of wind. She rode along the trail, relaxed and happy to be outside the inn, even just for a fleeting half-hour.

        The morning sun cast a golden glow over the town square as Bridgette was arriving at the Ravenry. The tall cobblestone building sat in Harbington square, across the way from Maybell’s Menagerie. Upon walking in the door, Bridgette could see all the mail ravens sat atop their perches lining the walls. Some preened their feathers, other slept, others still were receiving instructions from early-morning patrons as to where their mail was headed that day. Bridgette smiled at the clerk, took some paper and a quill, and wrote out her simple letter to Bella, requesting her presence for lunch that day. As she was waiting for her seal to dry, she tossed two krullings into a basket on the counter. The Ravenry ran on donations from the townspeople, and Bridgette always had a few coins to spare. The clerk thanked her, and once her seal was dry, she gave it to one of the ravens that she knew to be better for fast deliveries, and went on her way back to the inn.

~~~

      When Bridgette had sent a letter requesting her presence for lunch, she’d had no interest in attending, but here she was. 

       They sat at the inn’s kitchen table, away from any patrons who may have it out for the witch’s head. Even so, Bridgette wouldn’t have sat with her patrons at lunch anyway, the Babblebrook Inn’s staff were to eat on their own time, after lunch had been served to the guests. The kitchen was always warmer, more comfortable, and brighter than the dining room anyhow. Bella knew that it wasn’t normally this clean, and that her place at the table would have been covered in flour, chopped vegetables, or some other ingredient just an hour or so earlier. Bella also knew that Bridgette had likely been cooking since very early in the morning in order to finish breakfast and lunch for the guests as well as a second dish for the two of them. She admired Bridgette for her hard work and true love of cooking, as the so-called domestic arts were never her own strong suit.

       The table was set with a dish of rosemary and thyme seasoned partridge, fresh rolls, baked potatoes, and a basket of blueberries for dessert. This spread was certainly something special, as Bridgette’s signature stew was nowhere to be seen. Bridgette was chipper, as usual, full of cheery gossip and good wit, and as much as Nightshade felt like closing her eyes and tuning it all out, she tried to smile, grateful that her already brooding, stormy demeanor could make her current lack of emotions seem normal.

       She reached for a roll and her sleeve rose up, just an inch- but the damage was done. Bridgette was taken aback by the amount of freshly sliced skin all over her arm. Cuts untouched, not nearly as healed as they should be.

        "Bella- what's on your arm?" Bella yanked her sleeve back down.

       "It's nothing, Agramar,” she said, trying to console her. "The guardian’s flytrap were hungrier than usual, that’s all,” but the skepticism in Bridgette’s eyes was unrelenting. She reached out, and Bella pulled her arm back quickly, but Bridgette would not be stopped.

       "Let me see your arm, Bella." Reluctantly, she offered her the limb in question. Bridgette’s eyes traced over each cut, "I may not be a witch, but I know these look nothing like guardian’s flytrap bites. What happened?" Bella was silent. "Tell me." The witch wouldn’t meet her gaze.

       That’s when it clicked

       "No… no no no no… Bella. Bella please- please tell me you didn't do this to yourself." Her touch was light and delicate, halting over the barely healed slashes. Belladonna said nothing. The tone of horror and sadness in Bridgette's words sent waves of guilt and disgust rolling through her. She was a monster who would destroy herself for her craft. She was a monster, she was a monster, she was a monster. 

       "Bella, my love... what have you done? Willow could heal these.... y-you could heal these... even I could heal these!" Her breath shook with shock and sadness. "You're just leaving them like this? Bella you can't possibly need this much blood from your own body!" A single, silent tear rolled down Bridgette's smooth, scarlet cheek, but the Nightshade Witch could not bring herself to do anything but watch her with hollow, sunken eyes. It was at this point Bridgette realized how pale and haggard the other woman really looked. Bridgette reached out to hold her hand and she drew her arms back like a child draws away from their medicine.

       “Bella?” Bridgette’s voice cracked with sadness. The witch pulled her sleeves over her hands and got up from her seat. She looked at her love, disappointed in herself.

       “I…” She could form no words, so she closed her eyes, turned, and left without them.

Bridgette’s shock kept her silent, rooted to her chair. She took a deep breath, which shuddered as it left her, and tried to eat, but found that she was sick to her stomach. Another deep breath, and she forced herself to get on with the workday, shoving her worry to the back of her mind. At the moment there was nothing she could do. She would take a ride to Willow’s shop tonight, after the inn had settled down, until then, she would throw herself into making every guest as happy as possible, desperate for a distraction.

Chapter Text

       The day continued on, no matter how much Bridgette would have liked for it to have ended, and for her to go back in time to get some sort of answer from Bella. Her friendliness towards her guests for the rest of the day was almost to the point of mania. Her twinkly-eyed façade was plastered to her face and her attentiveness would be considered by her guests to be “Downright superb.” All the while she choked on every single tear she held back, internalization of annoyance was a science, internalization of worry, a challenge. By the end of the day, Bridgette could barely breathe, every negative emotion she possessed swirled round and round inside her head, desperate for release. There was so much worry, so much confusion, so much fear and so many questions. It was lucky that her horse was so used to the trail heading for Willow’s cottage, or Bridgette may have never made it there through the haze of tears blocking her vision. She collapsed into Evangeline’s arms the moment she opened the door. She clung to the witch’s dress, trying to speak through choking sobs. A stutter made its way into her voice.

       “She’s hu- hu- hurting herself, Eva. S- s- slashes all- all over her arms. I couldn’t hel- help her, she just l- left!”

       “Bridgette slow down, slow down, please. You need to breathe. Look at me.” Evangeline picked her head up with soft hands. “Breathe.” Slowly, Bridgette’s sobs diminished as Evangeline breathed with her. For a woman who had never once been a mother, this act certainly made her seem like one.

       “Can you stand?” She asked. Bridgette nodded and Eva helped her to her feet. Brushing Bridgette’s hair out of her face, she spoke:

       “Good, now let’s go sit, we’ll have some tea, and you can explain to me what’s wrong without choking, okay?” Bridgette nodded once more. “Okay.” Evangeline reiterated, smiling softly.

       The witch lead them into the kitchen and motioned for Bridgette to sit as she brewed a pot of tea for them without once having to touch any of the necessary tools and ingredients. A wave of her hand sent teacups and saucers floating down from shelves much too high for either woman to reach. The elegance in which Eva used her magic was hypnotizing, it never failed to catch her non-magical guests in a state of awe. Of course, elegance was something Evangeline exuded anyway; no magic required. With Bridgette busy staring at the floating china, Evangeline took the opportunity to splash a little bit of an anxiety reducing potion into the girl’s tea, she certainly needed it. Soon, she joined her at the round, rowan wood table situated underneath one of the kitchen windows.

       “Now, take a drink, tell me what happened.”

       “I had her over for lunch today. She was distant, more than usual. She seemed tired. Lost, like she wasn’t even at the table with me. She reached for some bread and when her sleeve came up I saw cuts, all over her wrist,” Bridgette paused, sighing and shaking her head. “They weren’t caused by magic, Eva. And I could have healed them, easily, she could have healed them even easier, but she just left them… all raw, bloody, open to every disease you can think up. And who knows how many more there are?! On the other arm? Her legs? Anywhere that’s covered by fabric, which is, what? Every inch of skin from the neck down!? She’ll end up killing herself, Evangeline, I’m scared.”

       Eva looked down into her teacup, tapping the sides anxiously with slender fingers.

       “This isn’t the first time she’s done this.” She said, meeting the other woman’s eyes.

       “What?” Bridgette frowned, looking like she was going to cry again

       “Witches can get into ruts with their magic, and even after hundreds of years, Bella and I are no exceptions. Spells just won’t go your way, because the energy isn’t right, or the spirits don’t want to communicate, or your herbs aren’t fresh enough. I suspect that she is, once again, having magical misfortune alongside her annual sadness. So she’s destroying herself with blood magic that isn’t working for her anyway.” Bridgette looked confused.

       “Annual sadness, what do you mean?”

       “I suppose you wouldn’t know. As much as she loves you, you know how hard it can be to get her to tap into any emotions other than happiness and snark.” Evangeline paused, collecting her thoughts and taking a deep breath. “Bella had an apprentice at one time. They were kindred spirits, perfect together. But… this apprentice, she ended up turning a lot colder than Belladonna. More vindictive and… bloodthirsty. So when Bella wouldn’t be proud, but worried about her more sinister acts… the girl left. She abandoned Bella, much like I did and…” Eva wiped a tear from her eye, feeling guilty. “Every year, in the weeks leading up to the anniversary of the day her apprentice left, Bella goes into this more detached and sad state. Her ‘annual sadness’.”

       Bridgette frowned.

       “I wish she’d just ask for help.”

       Eva held the girl’s hand from across the table.

       “I know… I know.” She said softly, the sound just above a whisper. “The only thing we can do is wait it out and if she doesn’t stop after the anniversary… we’ll look into it further.”

       “Eva, I don’t know if she’ll even make it that long, we can’t just leave it.”

       “There’s no telling what she’ll do if you pry, Bridgette. She’s survived this long. It’s hard to kill a witch, you know that.”

       Bridgette got up from her seat to pace about the room, tugging at her own hair.

       “I can’t leave her like this! I can’t, Eva!”

       Evangeline stood up and caught the girl by her shoulders.

       “Bridgette, look at me.” She did, and there were more tears coming down her cheeks. “if you’re this desperate to go out there, okay.” She paused, “But I won’t have you go alone. I know she loves you and you think this is your responsibility to her, but the fact of the matter is that this is a dangerous and unpredictable situation. If Bella hurts you I could never live with myself.”

       Bridgette sighed, and let herself fall forwards to touch foreheads with Evangeline. The two held hands.

       “Okay.” She nodded, and they hugged. When they pulled away, Eva wiped a tear from Bridgette’s flushed cheek.

       “I’ll close down the shop on Sunday, and we’ll head for her tower first thing in the morning. I’d bring bandages if I were you, and not just for Bella’s arms. I’ll heal you if she does something rash, but let’s be prepared. She loves you; she’ll hold back from attacking you if she can, but me…” Evangeline shook her head “she’ll jump at the chance for a magical duel. She knows her offensive spells are more powerful than mine. Its just how it works when your skill set is more in line with the dark magics than the light.”

       “Alright.” She nodded, still remarkably worried about her love. There was still no confirmation as to whether or not Evangeline’s speculation of the cause was correct. There was no true way of knowing until Bella actually told her what was wrong, but getting answers out of her was a long shot. Bella is all too skilled in manipulation and evasion to let an answer simply slip from her lips. Getting the truth from her would take time and probably multiple provocations, of which Bridgette was not looking forward to.

      She slept at Evangeline’s home the rest of the night. Going back to Inn, walking back into the kitchen… it wouldn’t be pleasant. She couldn’t handle a reminder of Bella’s cuts until she’d gotten a bit of rest. Evangeline, however, didn’t sleep much at all. Of everything in the world that could kill her sister, sadness would not be it. She outright refused to let that happen. No, the Belladonna she knew was going to be taken out by guards in a reckless haze of revenge, not by her own hand.