Hell
Author: Jo
Disclaimer: Not mine, alas.
Wordcount: 500
Setting: Becoming Part 2
Notes: Written for ba_rosebuds.
Prompt ‘Hell’.
**
Hell
The woman squats on the dusty mound, oblivious to the brazen heat of the
sun. She has no name that a human tongue could pronounce, but She was/is
one of the Powers. She’s diminished now, but She has strength enough for
this.
Her eyelids flutter, revealing the milky blue beneath, as She intones the
words. The magic flows out of Her to empower the moment, in another place,
another when.
“Asa sa fie! Asa sa fie! Acum!”
The witchling in that other place, that other time, sits up in her hospital
bed, her lips moving in synchrony with Hers, her words filled with borrowed
power. The flow of magic will change the witchling forever, but She doesn’t
care about that. This must be.
Her eyelids flutter again as She repeats the final word that will seal the
spell.
“Acum!”
It’s done.
She doesn’t need to be there. She sees it clearly enough, the tiny drama
taking place in that other where, that other when. Not many of the
Powers-that-Be take any interest in the individual joys and heartaches of
humanity, and She’s no different. She doesn’t care about the Slayer or the
Vampire, only about the Balance.
Humanity already has a designated Hell. If Acathla is successful in taking
every human soul, from this time forth, then the Balance will tilt, and
there will truly be Chaos for millennia. That is Her concern.
She has made a concession. After all, the Vampire is stronger than anyone
expected. He can take a lot of punishment, and Her best pawns need that
strength. That is why She has spoken through the witchling, allowing
Angelus to become Angel again. Soul and demon must be kept together if he
is to be useful in the future, and this was the most convenient way.
Her milky gaze, still hidden by those fluttering eyelids, watches with
curious indifference as the Slayer stares in horror at what she has done,
at the sword still piercing her lover’s heart, where she has killed him.
His hand reaches out to her from his pain and incomprehension, the silver
ring glinting on his finger, mate of the one he gave to the Slayer, as
Acathla’s maw opens, ready for the feed.
She murmurs a few more words in a language too sibilant to have anything to
do with humanity, Her spell aimed at the Slayer’s silver ring. Now, She can
bring him back easily, when Acathla and his minions have had enough fun
with him, and when the Slayer makes the proper sacrifice.
She leaves the couple to their small, personal tragedy, as She feels the
Balance settle back into place. For the foreseeable future, all’s right
with Her world, Her Hell is safe. New power flows into Her, and She must
take as much as She can, a Power-to-Come in the making.
She is more than satisfied with this day’s work, as She stretches Her
cramped muscles. Then She glides away from the sacred mound, ready to renew
Herself.
The End
August 2010
| Fiction Index | Home
Page | Back |
|
