The Vampire & Her Witch

Despite the relative warmth surrounding the Ancient Oak, Jocelynn shivered uncontrollably as the phantom wind swirled around her. The sounds of rustling leaves filled the air, but for Jocelynn, that wind carried Owain’s voice back to her.

Not Owain’s cruelty, or his condescension towards those he thought lesser than himself. Neither did it carry the naked ambition he’d revealed when he took Jocelynn as his co-conspirator. Instead, it brought the sweet words of affection and gentle reassurances that had once moved her heart...

”...A Lady like you belongs with the greatest of lords...”

”...She may have been a witch, but for a few hours, she was my wife. I gave her a clean death...”

”...You belong to me, my sweet temptation... No one is allowed to touch you but me...”

But worse than Owain’s words of affection were the words he’d spoken to her when he pressed a knife into her hands in the depths of the Lothian Manor’s dungeons while Percivus lay bound at her feet.

”...You can do this, Jocelynn. You can make him pay for everything he did to you, everything he took from you. This is your moment. This is your vengeance. And I’m right here with you, every step of the way...”

The grass beneath her fingers felt wet and slick with something thicker than melted snow and Jocelynn’s vision turned red at the edges. Red that swallowed more and more of her world until her hands were dyed with it, hands that would never be clean again...

And then, when she thought it couldn’t get any worse, she heard her sister’s voice drifting through the leaves of the Ancient Oak.

”...Is that why you told Owain about my mark? Did you... did you want to hurt me that night?”

”...I haven’t forgiven you... Jocey, I don’t know if I can ever forgive you for what you did...”

It was too much. The words were too sharp, and she had no defenses against them. All of the strength left her body, and she couldn’t hold herself up anymore, not even on her hands and knees.

But then, blessedly, a pair of strong arms wrapped her into a gentle embrace as Ollie pulled her against his chest. He was warm. Even through her cloak and his tunic, the heat of him soaked into her like sunlight, and the scent of woodsmoke and cedar that clung to him pushed back the sour stench of bile.

”I’m here,” Ollie whispered. His lips were just inches from her ear, and his words were very soft, but they were real, and Jocelynn clung to them like a drowning woman clinging to driftwood in a storm-tossed sea.

”I’m right here,” Ollie repeated. ”You’re safe. I promise,” he said.

”Mmm,” Jocelynn said, clinging to Ollie’s arms with hands that barely had any strength as she lay there, trembling in his embrace. Tears flowed from her eyes, freezing on her cheeks in the chill winter air, but Jocelynn hardly noticed.

The sound of wind rustling in the leaves of the Ancient Oak had faded away, but the voices still echoed within her mind, flogging her with the pain of her past, leaving her feeling as naked and exposed as she had once been in a Lothian Dungeon. Only this time, the wounds were far more raw.

”I’m doomed,” Jocelynn said when she finally found the strength to speak. ”I’ll never pass the trial. The Ancient Oak is right... I’m not worthy...”

”Don’t say that,” Ollie said, shaking his head. ”I don’t think that’s true at all. Ashlynn wouldn’t send you to your death. If she didn’t believe that you could pass the trial, she’d never let you take it. She loves you too much to do that,” Ollie said.

”But the Ancient Oak...” Jocelynn started to say, only to be interrupted by a loud -CRACK- from the branches high above them.

Ollie’s arms tightened around Jocelynn, and his head snapped up toward the branches. Moments later, a small branch dropped down from above, falling to the grass at Ollie’s side with a gentle thump.

A wind sprang up around the Ancient Oak, rustling Ollie’s hair and his cloak but touching nothing else. For a few heartbeats, the flame-haired witch was perfectly still, and his pale eyes grew distant as he listened to something that only he could hear.

”This is for you,” Ollie said, picking up the small branch and handing it to Jocelynn. It was truly tiny compared to the scale of the Ancient Oak, little more than a twig the length of Jocelynn’s hand. It held a few leaves, dark russet and pale gold, but the thing that caught Jocelynn’s attention the most was the pair of acorns clinging to the branch.

Jocelynn’s fingers trembled as she took the gift from Ollie’s hands, and she leaned into his broad chest for support as she inspected the acorns.

One of them was beautiful, polished and pristine. If an artist were asked to paint the perfect acorn, this was undoubtedly what they would paint.

The other acorn was scuffed and worn. It had lost the slightly waxy sheen its companion had, and the cap had chipped in more than one spot. The acorn was barely hanging on to the little twig.

Jocelynn touched the battered acorn gently, finding something oddly resonant about the little seed. The instant her fingers touched it, the acorn cracked and split, falling into her lap in two perfect halves that revealed the pale white meat within.

The other acorn, the one that looked perfect and pristine, fell alongside it, but when it landed in Jocelynn’s lap, it crumbled into several pieces, revealing an interior that was blackened and rotten despite the beautiful appearance it had shown the world.

”Only one of these could have grown a new tree,” Ollie said, glancing at the trunk of the Ancient Oak as if to ensure that he’d heard the message correctly.

”Only you know which one represents you,” Ollie told her. ”This is the Ancient Oak’s understanding, its warning, and its promise. Whether you can survive your trial or not depends on which acorn represents the truth...”