spellbinders | if i told you what i was, would you turn your back on me? ( CLOSED )

Who: lancer (elizabeth bathory) & eva, the bloody master
Where: the coven housing in aimintas
When: the night before the coven goes back to the hub (day 76?)
Warnings: mentions of blood and torture, neglect and several other things i'll update with as the log goes. it's a memory log of elizabeth bathory, it won't be fun.

[ servants don't dream — they're magical contructs that don't hold any memories past what their past lives were and what's laid out before them in a war. servants don't dream — they don't even sleep.

masters, however, do. there's a certain intimacy that comes with forming a contract, and with the blending of two magicks, two energies, a contract with a powerful familiar and a mage; things happen. there's a backdraft of information, a leaking from the magical construct into the master's mind that becomes more apparent when they sleep.

it's a sunny day when the memory begins, and there's several children playing in front of the person of who's memory this is. she watches them, hands folded in her skirts as she traverses the town — the people there treat her with respect, turning their eyes down or nodding as she passes. there's a certain pressure on this person, a tightness around her stomach. a corset. she's unable to bend too far forward without moving at the hips and it's immediately clear that this memory is taking place in a the far past. dirty townspeople scurry about doing their business, and one of the children gets too close to them, her eyes wide in curiosity. "kata," is the only word spoken from this woman, and it's all that needs saying. it's sharp like a blade and the girl jumps back, trying to swallow down her protests. the woman's hand reaches forward and she pats the young girl on top of the head, keeping her at her hip like a dog. in the distance, a castle looms.

dreams have a surreal effect, moving effortlessly through time like it means nothing, but memories play like a movie reel. the film skips and it's suddenly years later and the pressure around her wrists matches the pressure of the corset at her waist. there's a man speaking in the room a few yards away — no, three; no, four. there's more of them, popping up as though the woman is only now becoming aware of them, tearing her eyes away from the chains at her wrists, bloody and bruised, sore from neglect. long nails like talons curl around the woman's closed palms, and the words hissed in anger make no sense to her. she was only doing what her family had taught her, why was she being punished?

"absolutely horrific..." "... one of the maids said she was sent into the village to find girls...." ".... barbaric, have you checked downstairs yet?..." "sir györgy—"

the name causes a hateful, angry note to well up in her throat.

there's a mirror in the hallway as the woman is being lead by the rusting chains at her hands and feet, and out of the corner of her eye she catches the white hair, the curl at her shoulder. she's old now. old, but still beautiful, she tells herself. she has to be. that's all her worth is, it's all they ever cared about. two large wooden doors open in front of her and she's surprised to see that it's her room they've lead her to, ornate and rich, with silks and hand-stitched embroidery and tall bed posts and everything that says that this woman lived like a queen in this room.

"....thory you are hereby charged with the murder and torture of innocent women. children!"

the woman looks over her shoulder at the man who's speaking but she can't remember his face. the only face she can see clearly is that of her late husband's best friend, the one who stabbed her in the back and sold her out. the man continues to speak but she's focused on the person who was supposed to look out for her, be her friend, support her. he was supposed to understand — after all, wasn't he nobility, too?

"as you have nothing to say for yourself, and nothing we'd be willing to hear, this will be your prison. close the doors, lock her in here, if she begs for mercy, don't give her any."

adrenaline rushes through her and she leaps forward, but the chains prevent her from getting too far. the doors close and the lock clicks, and the woman realizes she's here on her own from now until her last breath and panic starts to seep in. her hands pound at the wood and as she stays there calling out, the days pass. months pass. she screams and cries and calls out for even a little bit of attention but the only response she gets are two people outside her windows filling them in with cement. the doors are sealed but there is a small compartment from which she receives food. the plates pile up as the months stretch into years, and the woman's strength leaves her.

her screaming as turned to morose singing, and the last thing the memory shows is a small, sleek white mouse climbing up her skirts to sit on her knee.

elizabeth bathory doesn't sleep anymore, but she'll stay awake to watch the moon rise — or in this case, watch the way the oceansky twinkles in the darkness. at her feet is her tiny palai child, and she whispers softly as she picks her up. ]

Quiet, Kata. People are sleeping.

if i told you what i was, would you turn your back on me? ( CLOSED )

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