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angel-of-genders · 1 year

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TW: mentions of fire, fr slur, blood, death, organs. Eyestrain for some flags.

Lyricagender masterpost. *plus a -songic gender at the end*

Songs: Hansel, Gretel, both by Sodikken

Ropelightlyrica: A gender related to the lyrics “Rope's getting tighter, my hand's on the lighter/I’m playing with fire, you'd better come save me” from the song Hansel by Sodikken.

[ID: A flag with seven horizontal lines. The top and bottom three are even, and the middle line is three times the width of the others. The color order from top to bottom is: dark sand tan, medium red, dark orange, medium light red, dark orange, medium red, dark sand tan. End ID.]

Appealsweetlyrica: A gender related to the lyric “That there's a part of me that's appealingly sweet” from the song Hansel by Sodikken.

[ID: A flag with seven horizontal lines. The top and bottom three are even, and the middle line is three times the width of the others. The color order from top to bottom is: medium purple-pink, a darker shade of the same color, medium lavender, light lavender, medium lavender, darker medium purple-pink, medium purple-pink. End ID.]

Engravesymbolyrica: A gender related to the lyrics “Brewing instructions engraved on leaves/Symbols that I can't read” from the song Hansel by Sodikken.

[ID: A flag with seven horizontal lines. The top and bottom three are even, and the middle line is three times the width of the others. The color order from top to bottom is: medium dark brown, medium teal, medium dark green, medium light green, medium dark green, medium teal, medium dark brown. End ID.]

Bleedrememberlyrica: A gender related to the lyrics “I'm gonna bleed all over the floor/And more until you remember me” from the song Hansel by Sodikken.

[ID: A flag with seven horizontal lines. The top and bottom three are even, and the middle line is three times the width of the others. The color order from top to bottom is an ombre of light pastel yellow to a dark desaturated red, the middle line being a dark desaturated gold. End ID.]

Chokestarlyrica: A gender related to the lyric “Lower the bar cause I'm choking on stardust” from the song Hansel by Sodikken.

[ID: A flag with seven horizontal lines. The top and bottom three are even, and the middle line is three times the width of the others. The color order from top to bottom is: medium bright violet, medium bright purple-pink, medium bright blue-violet, dark gray, medium bright blue-violet, medium bright purple-pink, medium bright violet. End ID.]

Carcasspainlyrica: A gender related to the lyric “Becoming a carcass, though pain's rather tasty” from the song Hansel by Sodikken.

[ID: A flag with seven horizontal lines. The top and bottom three are even, and the middle line is three times the width of the others. The color order from top to bottom are all desaturated; dark gray-brown, medium dark brown, copper, dark brown, dark red-brown, darker copper, light salmon pink. End ID.]

Skindecorlyrica: A gender related to the lyric “Skin and bones decorate the walls” from the song Hansel by Sodikken.

[ID: A flag with seven horizontal lines. The top and bottom three are even, and the middle line is three times the width of the others. The color order from top to bottom is: desaturated light salmon pink, light salmon orange, medium orange brown, medium light warm-toned gray, very light pastel yellow, light yellow-brown, light pastel yellow. End ID.]

Crydrainlyrica: A gender related to the lyric “Judging by how much you cry, it's like you're draining your eyes” from the song Hansel by Sodikken.

[ID: A flag with seven horizontal lines. The top and bottom three are even, and the middle line is three times the width of the others. The color order from top to bottom is: light baby blue, light powder blue, medium light teal, medium light gray, medium light teal, light powder blue, light baby blue. End ID.]

Burstseamlyrica: A gender related to the lyric “I'll burst open the seams with you standing next to me” from the song Gretel by Sodikken.

[ID: A flag with seven horizontal lines. The top and bottom three are even, and the middle line is three times the width of the others. The color order from top to bottom is: light gray, medium dark desaturated green, light silver, dark desaturated green, light silver, medium dark desaturated green, light gray. End ID.]

TVfreaklyrica: A gender related to the lyrics “How come they want me on TV?/Am I really that much of a freak?” from the song Gretel by Sodikken.

[ID: A flag with seven horizontal lines. The top and bottom three are even, and the middle line is three times the width of the others. The color order from top to bottom is: dark gray, medium dark gray, light gray, medium gray, light gray, medium dark gray, dark gray. End ID.]

Iceteethlyrica: A gender related to the lyrics “They forced me to eat ice/Then I broke my teeth and cried” from the song Gretel by Sodikken.

[ID: A flag with seven horizontal lines. The top and bottom three are even, and the middle line is three times the width of the others. The color order from top to bottom is: white, light gray, light baby blue, light baby yellow, light baby blue, light gray, white. End ID.]

Cherrytastelyrica: A gender related to the lyrics “I imagine self-worth and inner peace/Tastes like artificial cherry” from the song Gretel by Sodikken.

[ID: A flag with seven horizontal lines. The top and bottom three are even, and the middle line is three times the width of the others. The color order from top to bottom is: medium pink, medium light salmon pink, medium light orange, purple-toned pink, medium light orange, medium light salmon pink, medium pink. End ID.]

Arteriebadlyrica: A gender related to the lyrics “It shouldn't be you, the one who's feeling bad/Not with all your intact arteries” from the song Gretel by Sodikken.

[ID: A flag with thirteen horizontal lines. There are six lines up top and six lines on the bottom. The middle line is three times the width of the others. The six lines are mirrored on either side, following the same pattern of thick, to thin, to thick, to thin, to think, back to thin, meeting at the large stripe in the middle. The stripes color order from top to bottom is: dusty desaturated orange, dark desaturated red, medium dark pink, dark desaturated red, light orange-pink, dark brown. The middle stripe is medium dark dusty magenta. The bottom portion of the flag is dark brown, light orange-pink, dark desaturated red, medium dark pink, dark desaturated red, and dusty desaturated orange. End ID.]

Edgefrightlyrica: A gender related to the lyrics “If you look like me, don't go out at night/To a man on edge, you could give a fright” from the song Gretel by Sodikken.

[ID: A flag with seven horizontal lines. The top and bottom three are even, and the middle line is three times the width of the others. The color order from top to bottom is: dark gray, dark navy blue, lighter midnight blue, medium light gray, lighter midnight blue, dark navy blue, dark gray. End ID.]

Animalpickylyrica: A gender related to the lyrics “Luckily on my diet, I don't eat meat/For someone who looks like an animal, I'm rather picky” from the song Gretel by Sodikken.

[ID: A flag with seven horizontal lines. The top and bottom three are even, and the middle line is three times the width of the others. The color order from top to bottom is: dark dusty red, lighter dusty red, medium desaturated brown, dark brown, medium desaturated brown, lighter dusty red, dark dusty red. End ID.]

Lovesavagelyrica: A gender related to the lyric “Could be that your cup of love is filled with liquid savagery” from the song Gretel by Sodikken.

[ID: A flag with seven horizontal lines. The top and bottom three are even, and the middle line is three times the width of the others. The color order from top to bottom is: medium dusty blue, lighter dusty blue, light gray, dark green, light gray, lighter dusty blue, medium dusty blue. End ID.]

Circuslyricsoundic: A gender related to how the lyric “The circus clown has dropped the ball” from the song Gretel by Sodikken sounds.

[ID: One flag with nine stripes total. There are three horizontal lines on the top and on the bottom. From bottom to top, the colors are light cyan, light orange, light salmon pink, pastel yellow, light orange, light cyan. In the center, over top, is a zig-zag, made of 3 stripes, colored: pastel yellow, dark red, light salmon pink. End ID.]

@liom-archive , @epikulupu , @musicalmogai , @woahhereiam

Lowkey proud of myself for doing IDs for all of these flags. I apologize for the fact that most of my identities do not have IDs. It's very rare that I have the energy to write them, but I understand how important they are, I really do.

11 notes · View notes

blooblooded · 2 years

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Magic in the Northern Territories

“The old woman had appeared to be most friendly, but she was really an old witch who had waylaid the children, and had only built the little bread house in order to lure them in. When any child came into her power; she killed, cooked and ate him, and held a regular feast day for the occasion. Now witches have red eyes, and cannot see far, but like beasts, they have a keen sense of smell, and know when human beings pass by.” Hansel and Gretel, The Brothers Grimm.

FLORENCE AND FLICK

Against her better judgment, Florence Gauthier sought out the witch who was rumored to live in the Hinterlands woods. She was only 16 years old and had a problem that needed taking care of.

It took a day to travel from the gentle rivers and valleys of the Strath to the scrubby pine forest of the Hinterlands. She told her maid that she was leaving to visit her mother in Ile de Matane, nobody would suspect that she would go east. Out of all the Northern Territories, this was the wildest, the least populated. Perhaps that was why it was said that the witch lived there.

It was easier than she imagined it might be to find the witch’s house. Some fur-trader had pointed out the path for her when she came across him laying his traps. If Florence had been anyone else, she might have been afraid that this stranger might figure out what she was up to. But she was married to the Duke of the Strath and did not feel frightened at all. She preferred the presence of the common people to the Nobility.

To be safe, she dressed like one of the peasants. Just a simple wool gown that came down to her elbows and a shaw of rabbit fur. She tied her black hair back in a braided knot. No jewelry, nothing that could be stolen. It was safer that way.

Even seeing the witch’s house did not frighten her. It was just a little cottage. Two stories. A chimney. Stained glass windows. The thatched straw roof was all covered in moss. It looked the same as every other forest-peasant house in the Northern Territories. Florence had seen worse. The twisting stone hallways, cold rooms, and unsmiling portraits in her own estate were far worse. The Duke had taken to one of those cold rooms on their wedding night and she had decided that there was nothing worse than those portraits staring down at her.

“You can call me Stasya,” said the witch, not long after she invited Florence inside. Her accent marked her as being from Kimanka, that wretched bog-land full of savages. She was just a normal woman. A beautiful woman, maybe in her late 30’s. Stasya’s face was heart-shaped and tan, her long dark hair framed it in a pleasing manner. The clinging black dress she wore accentuated her exaggerated hourglass shape in a way that was almost obscene.

Florence sniffed when she heard that. What sort of adult chooses to be called by such a childish diminutive? It was the kind of nickname the parents from Kimanka called their children; Alyosha for Alex, Petya for Peter, and the like. It was strange and unsettling to hear a woman twice her age call herself that. “Stasya,” she repeated. “Right. Fine. Will you help me or not?”

She took a cup of tea that the witch handed to her but didn’t drink it. Every fairy tale her mother had ever told her about witches warned against consuming anything they gave you. That was how they trapped you. They liked to lure children into their homes with bread and sweets so they could eat them with their sharp teeth. Was Florence still a child? She wasn’t sure.

Stasya’s teeth were normal. She had a gentle smile and her lips were painted red. “Show me your right hand,” she said.

Wordlessly, Florence extended her hand with the palm facing up. The witch took it and traced a finger up the middle. It sent a shudder running down her spine. “You’re reading my future?”

“Not many are able to see the future. Only those few whose minds are merged to the land beyond the stars. This only allows me to guess your fortune based on your character.” Stasya pressed into her hand. She smelled of peppermint and something else too, something like the greasy musk of snakeskin. “Your life-line and your line of Fate are merged together. Ambitious. Confident. If you were a man you would be a great leader. You could do great things.”

Florence snatched her hand away. “I will do things. I will be a leader someday. That’s why you have to help me. I’ve heard that witches are able to end pregnancies.”

“You want me to help you kill the Duke’s child?”

“I’ll pay you.” Florence felt frustration build in her chest. It was hard to stay calm. Ever since she had gotten pregnant a few months ago, it had just become harder. Everything made her angry. She would scream at the servants and smash china against the floor. It was hard to focus on things, it was hard to even read. She was sick all the time and she hated the way that her body was changing. “I don’t want Rowan’s baby. I don’t even want to be married to him. I didn’t have a choice. So I’ll pay you. I have money, I’ll pay you whatever you want.”

A moth-eaten old cat rubbed itself against her legs. Florence bit down the urge to give it a kick. She hated this. She hated asking for help. Being vulnerable made her feel weak. The witch’s cottage was dirty and smelled like dirt and sour sweat. There were bundles of dried herbs hanging from the rafters. She did not want to be there.

Stasya drank from her own teacup. She watched the girl in front of her with eyes that were ringed with black liner. For a long time she did not say anything. Florence tapped her foot impatiently.

“Well?” she demanded at last. She could not stand to wait.

“What a stupid little mouse,” said Stasya, more to herself than anyone else. Her voice was thick and oily.

Embarrassment and rage rose to Florence’s face. She was not used to being disrespected. When she spoke, people listened. They bowed or curtsied, they followed her orders. The only one above her was her husband. She stood up with her fists clenched. “Excuse me? How dare you speak to me like that?”

Stasya leaned back. “You’re a stupid girl and I’ll speak to you however I want. No, I won’t help you. A child of noble birth? That is a rare gift.” She took a tin of peppermint candies from one pocket and ate one.“You’ve wasted your time. Scurry back to your husband’s bed, little mouse, your dirty stupid Strath people won’t want to know you’ve come here begging me to end your child’s life.”

There was no controlling her temper. It had always been her weakness. Even as a child, Florence flew into rages. She’d throw things at her mother when she tried to get her ready for bed. It was hard for her. She knew that she was smarter than most people. She read more. She knew things. She knew things about the world, this one and the old one. Nobody else understood.

She would not be disrespected.

Florence drew back and slapped the witch across the face as hard as she could. She used her right hand. Her right hand, with its intertwined lines of Fate and Life. The blow rang out. Stasya’s skin was dry as paper and powdery-soft. The slap must have stung, although she was only 5 feet tall and had no muscles to speak of, the force of her rage saw to that. But the witch did not move or flinch. A red handprint bloomed across her lovely face.

This was only some peasant charlatan, masquerading as a magic user. A liar and a cheat. Not anything like the real ones. At her wedding, the owl-masked High Priest from the blood-magic town of Blagodat had attended, sitting at the left hand of the King. He had sliced into his own arm with a silver knife and compelled one of the serving girls to tear off her clothes in front of everyone. That was real magic. This was nothing.

A terrible smile twisted Stasya’s lips and she laughed. She put a hand to her face where she had been struck, then stuck the other into her pocket and cast down a pinch of herbs. She spat on the floor of her cottage. “Your son will be born broken,” she said. Her eyes glowed green. “Weak. Nameless and shameful, lower than a bastard.”

She knew a curse when she heard one. Florence bit down a scream. She whirled and knocked all the glass bottles and implements from Stasya’s table, sending them shattering to the ground. The cat was within kicking range and she sent a foot into its ribs; the yowl it produced did nothing to ease her fury. She stomped towards the door of the little cottage and flung it open. “You’ll regret this!” Her voice was high-pitched and girlish and did nothing to lend her any power. “I will make you regret this! Do you hear me? You’ll regret speaking to me like this! You should have helped me!”

“Get out of here, stupid girl,” said the witch. “Go back to your riches and your estate. There are worse things in this world than bearing a child. You’ll find that out soon enough.”

Florence slammed the door on her way out.

###

The baby was born 9 weeks prematurely, with a twisted foot and lungs that wheezed whenever he breathed. Rowan blamed her, of course. By that time he was consumed with the idea of seceding the Strath from the rest of the Northern Territories, but he still blamed her. He said that it was because she smoked too much and said that they’d just try again until they got a healthy heir.

Florence knew differently, of course. It was the witch. Stasya had cursed her for her anger. She had cursed her for overreaching, for her ambition. It was a punishment. She had stepped out of place and was being punished for it.

It didn’t work. Now she wanted two things. She wanted freedom for the Strath. She wanted the head of the Hinterlands witch. There was much work to be done.

###

The boy grew old enough to understand that there was something wrong with him. He was not like the other children. Despite everything, it made her feel bad. Her son was weak and broken. He limped when he walked. Even though she had taken him to some quack doctor who had broken every bone in his right foot to try and flatten it out, it had healed wrong and he still limped. There were mornings that he couldn’t get out of bed due to his pain and there were moments where he coughed and wheezed so severely that she thought he would stop breathing.

His name was Phillip but she called him Flick. It seemed more like a Strath name. Maybe it would help him feel less different.

She had grown fond of the boy.

“Why am I like this?” he asked her one morning, after falling into an asthmatic fit that had turned his face blue. Flick never cried. He got frustrated, but he never cried. He was a thoughtful, sly kind of child, always asking questions. He looked like she did. Dark haired and eyed, they had the same sharp faces and strong noses. “Do you know?”

Florence lit a cigarette. “You were cursed by a witch before you were born,” she said.

“That doesn’t seem true. Or possible.”

“It’s true. I was there.” He was only 9. She tried to hide how unwanted he was. Letting him know that she had never wanted him seemed cruel. Florence did her best. She encouraged him to read any book he could get his hands on. She hired men to teach him different skills: lock-picking, falconry, and how to set traps for small animals. She didn’t want him to feel useless on top of unwanted. “I slapped her because I was feeling a little too brave and she cursed you.”

Flick eyed her. His breathing was still shallow and he used a hand to push away the smoke. “There aren’t witches anymore. Reed told me that they all got killed off when Father was my age. Les yeux sanglants helped hunt them down.”

Les yeux sanglants. The bloody eyes.Thinking about what they did to people in their gore-covered town sent shivers running down her back. It was said that their High-Priest wore a mask shaped like the face of an owl, that he read from an ancient Book bound from human skin, and that he carried a sword forged from star-metal. She would get to them eventually. Florence scowled. “There are still witches in the Hinterlands woods. They kill children and make people sick. They can control the plakal'shchitsa mutants that rip people limb from limb.”

“Then why doesn’t Father kill the witches?” Her son put one hand on his chest as if measuring each lung full of air. His breath rattled. “He should kill the witches instead of fighting the Imperials.”

Somewhere to the North, Rowan and his Partisan army were up to their knees in blood, mud, and shit. They had 20,000 men from the Strath. The Imperial forces of Ile de Matane and Kimanka numbered 50,000. It was not looking good. If they surrendered, the King promised that he would not execute all of them, only their leaders. Florence prayed that they would fight to the last man.

What would happen to her and her child if they lost? She didn’t want to think about it.

Years ago, she had prayed to the gods of the Strath every night that her husband would die. Now she prayed that he would live as long as he could against the insurmountable odds. It was ironic. She knew there were no gods but she still prayed.

“There aren’t many witches left,” she said. “But there’s thousands of Imperials and the things they do to us is worse.”

“The Imperials never cursed me and made me a cripple,” Flick said. There was a touch of unusual sulkiness to his voice. It was not like him. He had never complained about being unable to play with the other children. He busied himself with his hobbies, he read. Some of the children of the Duke’s men, Charles Bouvier and Reed Kimble, would make fun of him, but Flick had never seemed bothered. “Maybe they’ll win the war. I could work for the King when I grow up and be respected.”

Florence exhaled smoke through her nose. She looked at her little broken son. “If the Imperials win,” she said. “You’ll find that there are worse things than being a cripple.

DOG AND ANATOLE

Anatole Surkhov’s father was called the Butcher of Kimanka and he was the Commander of the King’s Imperial Army.

All manner of warfare had fascinated Anatole since he was little. He liked the idea of it. It seemed noble to him. He would go to sleep dreaming of holding a bright sword, he’d dream of being a hero and fighting against insurmountable odds. When he was awake, he would study old military strategies and practice his movements in the stables with a long stick. Becoming a soldier was impossible, of course, due to the unfortunate realities of the society he lived in. But it was something to do and it was something to cling on to.

By the time he was 14, he learned that his father was not the sort of brave knight he had read about. There was a reason Mikhail Surkhov was called the Butcher.

“Get out of here, Valushka,” his father told him, giving him a swat. They were in the Great Hall of the estate, having just finished their dinner. His mother and sisters had already scurried away. The fire burned low. “The witch is coming to speak to me.”

Anatole felt himself blush at hearing the baby-like nickname for Valerie. His father had no idea that he had picked a new name for himself out of a book. He would never know, he didn’t want to think about what might happen if he found out. Something bad. He knew that the secret fantasy life he kept inside of himself was bad, but he clung onto it anyway in order to survive. Anyway, he had never been good at being Valerie. His mother said that his smooth tan face and brown curls made him pretty, he just didn’t want to be pretty.. “I’m not afraid of witches,” he said.

The Butcher was a huge man with limp blonde hair and a long beard. He wore his Imperial uniform at all times, the gold trim catching in the firelight. Wherever he walked, people treated him with solemn respect. “You should be afraid. They eat children like you.” He stroked his beard. “When I was a boy, there were witch hunters who weeded them out. Now there aren’t many left. Our new struggle is against the bloody-eyes.” He spat and made the sign against evil, his middle and ring finger pressed against his thumb.

70 miles south-east of Kimanka was the town of Blagodat. It was populated by blood magic users and was not a part of the Northern Territories. The stories that came out of that place were enough to make a grown man shudder. There were whispers about human sacrifice and blood spilt in their black temple. Rumor had it that they had poisoned the land in Kimanka with their magic until it was nothing but stinking bogs where nothing could grow and people starved.

Once, Anatole had seen the owl-masked High Priest of Blagodat. All the great families of the Northern Territories had gathered in the capitol to watch the traitor Rowan Gauthier hang. Anatole had been 10 and had seen men hang before, although the preferred method of execution in his territory was beheading. He remembered how the High-Priest had pointed at the purple-face, twitching body of the traitor on the gallows and whispered something to his own children.

“Why is the witch coming here?” he asked his father.

“I’m making a trade,” said the Butcher.

They sat in silence. Anatole watched the dying fire. His father did not tell him to leave again, maybe he wanted him to see what was about to happen. After all, he was his eldest child and his only son, even though he did not see him that way. The Great Hall was made of stone and grew cold; Anatole pulled his rabbit-fur cloak tighter around his body.

After an hour, one of the Imperials entered the Hall, escorting a woman in her mid-fifties. The Imperial looked nervous and shifty, he stayed a few paces in front of her, sweating in his uniform. The witch did not look nervous at all. Anatole thought that she looked sweet and elegant, nothing like the ugly, dirty witches in the stories he had heard. She had a smooth, heart shaped face, framed by long silvery hair. Long necklaces made of gold and bones hung around her neck and they rattled with each step.

“Count Mikhail Surkhov,” said the witch, without waiting for introductions or niceties. She walked right up to stand in front of the Butcher. “The sword-arm of the King. Have you agreed to what I asked?”

“It would be easy to do. Blagodat is home to less than 800 souls. And half of those are women and children.”

“Even the little ones can tear the guts from a man’s body with only their minds and a bit of blood.” The witch glanced at Anatole briefly. She had almond-shaped eyes as green as poison that seemed to gleam in the firelight. “The King would let you destroy them? Or would that be seen as genocide? He’s allowed the High-Priest into his own home in the past.”

The Butcher scoffed. If he was afraid of this old woman, he did not show it. Usually his gaze would linger on women’s breasts, but now he stared directly into her face. “The King is a stupid old man. I’m the Commander of his army, I’d make him see reason. He has reasons. The rumor goes that those Rift-worshiping pagans cursed his daughter.”

The rumor was that Princess Seraphine had been turned into a monster. All the maids and stable boys were gossipping about it. They said that the High-Priest had mutilated her after the King had begged him to help heal his daughter’s illness. They said that the Princess’s body was bloated and twisted, that she resembled one of the plakal'shchitsa, the crawling, crying mutants that wandered the borders of the Northern Territories in great packs. Anatole knew one thing for certain: that monsters must be killed.

The witch held up her hands in an understanding manner. Each palm had been tattooed with strange circular symbols. She smiled. “I don’t doubt your abilities, Commander,” she said. “I want them all dead. Their dark magic interferes with my own, makes me weak. I am just one old woman. I’ve told you about the High-Priest’s Book. I need it in my possession.”

The Butcher had no use for books. He did not read, he only had use for steel and the strength of his own hands. “You will have this Book. I only want the sword.”

Anatole’s ears pricked up. He loved all the old stories, the legends about magic swords, ones with names. When it came to learning about the lineage of the great families or about fashion, he felt like falling asleep. But swords? Great battles? Noble heroes who sacrificed themselves to save the innocent? That was what he liked best. So his father wanted a sword. Maybe it was a magic sword, if it came from Blagodat.

Bad magic. Blood magic.

The witch shrugged. “I have no use for such a tool. If you destroy everyone in the town and take it, it is yours. I only need the Book.”

“And what do you need that for? A Book of spells?”

The witch only smiled.

Anatole shrank down in his seat as he watched. He didn’t like the idea of slaughtering women and children. He remembered the High-Priest’s son and daughter, he had seen them years ago at the traitor’s execution. Fat, haughty, red-eyed things. The Butcher had no mercy for children. They would die screaming too.

The Butcher ran a hand through his long beard. “The town is surrounded by an iron gate that’s been fortified by their blood magic,” he said. “When Ray Gagnon attacked it 60 years ago, he could not get in. Even if my men take them by surprise, they might wait us out. If I do this for you, it will mean a siege. You’ll have to wait.”

“I’ve waited too long already,” replied the witch. “No. As a symbol of my trust, I’ve provided you with a weapon. Go to your kennels, Commander, you’ll find a boy there with the Ability to tear things apart with his mind. Your interest in people with powers that exist outside of magic is no secret. Use him and the iron gate of Blagodat will crumble.”

There were people who were born with powers in the world. Anatole had seen a few. There had been an old man who could send electricity coursing down his arms, there had been a girl who could read the thoughts of others. The Butcher had the old man torn apart by his hounds. He could still remember the screaming. The girl just went missing one day, but her fate could not have been much better.

It was better not to think about it. Anatole felt a twinge of pity, but it was better that his father focus his cruelty on people who were not him, his mother, and his sisters.

“A boy who can tear things apart with his mind,” mused the Butcher. “A useful tool, but a profane one. No offense to you, witch, but all this unnatural business is an affront to nature. All of you are no better than the crawling plakal'shchitsa mutants. They say that the High-Priest’s sword can cut through magic like a knife through butter and I’ll be glad to have it.”

The witch’s eyes glimmered. If she took offense, she did not show it. She was as sweet and lovely as ever. Her silver hair was like starlight. “A useful tool,” she repeated. “Think what you want. I only want the Book.”

“You will get it. You have my word. Every soul in that town will die at the hands of my men.”

The witch responded by bending in a curtsy. This act of polite submission was somehow chilling. She turned and left.

The Butcher made a fist and pounded it against the table. The sound reverberated against the stone walls. It made Anatole flinch.

As much as his father terrified him, he was still desperate for his approval and love. So he didn’t move. He didn’t leave. He wanted to appear brave. A little nervous, Anatole brushed a few strands of brown curly hair from his face to look more presentable. “What was that?” he asked.

“Witches,” said the Butcher. “Dirty witches. Never get involved with witches. That bitch wants a Book? I’ll get her that Book. She won’t be happy once I get my hands on the sword that can split the universe.” Again, he pounded his fist against the table and stood up. “I’m going to take a look at this boy in the kennels. You go to bed.”

Afterwards, in the silent cold of the Great Hall, Anatole practiced banging his own fist against the table.

###

3 months after the witch came to Kimanka, the Butcher took 400 men and destroyed the blood-magic town of Blagodat. Every man, woman, and child was put to the sword. The maids and the stable-boys whispered about it for weeks, they whispered about how Mikhail Surkhov brought down the iron gates and destroyed the black pyramid.

Anatole didn’t know anything about that. All he knew was that his father returned with the high-priest’s star-metal sword. The metal was black and shining. It was as long as one of the great-swords that the Imperial Army carried, but light enough to be swung one-handed. He watched his father sparring with his men and recognized deep feelings of envy.

He heard all about the boy in the kennels, the one his father called Dog. The Butcher laughed about that. He talked about all the ways a person can be made into an animal. Anatole never visited the kennels. He didn’t want to find out what was inside.

The witch came back soon after that.

“Where is the Book?” she asked the Butcher. The witch looked different. Her face was no longer sweet and gentle. Her eyes were as green as a snake’s. This time, the Great Hall was not empty. Dozens of men stood watching the witch with their hands on their swords and firearms. Anatole was there too, with his mother and sisters. He kept his arms around the littlest one to keep her safe.

The Butcher watched the old woman lazily. “It wasn’t there. I couldn’t find it.”

“Someone took it then. You let someone live.”

His anger flared. “Nobody survived. The men died first. We had our fun, then put the women and children to death as well. Everything burned to the ground, and the crawling wailers came afterwards to feast on the corpses..There was no Book. There was nothing.”

Anatole’s mother stared at her feet. All the light had drained out of her face years ago. She was nothing more than a dead woman walking around. Hearing the Butcher talk about the things he did during war no longer bothered her.

The witch smiled. Her red mouth was too large for her jaw. It seemed like it could unhinge. It seemed like it could swallow all of them up. “Nothing?” she said. “Someone took it. You have no idea what you’ve lost. You have no idea what was inside of it.”

The Butcher waved his hand at her. “Get this creature out of my sight,” he said.

Some of the Imperials approached her with their weapons drawn. A crack rang out and the witch’s face seemed to ripple. She shook her head. The men were unable to reach her, some infernal, invisible force prevented them from doing so. “Stupid,” she said. Her voice was thick and oily. “So stupid. Fine, Mikhail Romanovich. I’ll leave your stinking, cursed Territory. In three years you’ll be dead. And I’ll be back. Your people will suffer and bleed for your failure. Keep the sword and keep the boy. You’ll be needing them.”

It was a threat heard by everyone. It could not be permitted. The Butcher nodded to one of his Captains. “Petya. Shoot her.”

The man aimed his gun. Stasya flicked three fingers at him like she was swatting a fly.

Then the side of his head caved in like a ripe pumpkin. Brain matter splattered onto the floor and the man crumpled, his body twitching. It took more than 30 seconds to die and he died by pieces, painfully. All the witch had to do was look and point to release her terrible magic. One of Anatole’s sisters screamed.

The witch left.

It was the last anyone from Kimanka saw of her for a long time.

####

Everyone has a breaking point. There is only so much that a person can take. When Anatole turned 18, he decided that he was tired of the way his life had turned out. He realized that he knew someone who was even more tired. And he had let Dog out of the kennels. And his father had died.

Staying in their homeland was a death sentence. They left for the Strath to join Florence Gauthier and her Partisans.

Anatole took the Butcher’s star-metal sword.

He never forgot about the witch.

INTERLUDE: A STORY THE HIGH PRIEST TOLD HIS CHILDREN

A thousand years ago, God opened a door so that he could communicate with humanity from His place beyond the Rift. The world back then was very evil and the people had no sense of right or wrong. God came into the world to change that and to help them.

Now, God has no Form, but is the Form of all things. Removed from time, from space, surpassing all things, and existing in all things as a kind of foundation underneath. The holy Book which is kept in the hematite edifice, is where God lives on earth, transubstantiated.

In opening the door, He had ripped countless numbers of weak, mewling creatures made of slime from where they belonged and trapped them on a foreign planet. Their purpose where they had come from was to be prey for the hungry Beasts of the Void. Now? They were disgusting and pitiful and the faithful utilized their ichor to better communicate with God and share his power. The faithful became very powerful. They spread the word of God.

But there were some who were jealous of the faithful’s power. These were the witches. Their own magic was weak and twisted: instead of coming from God, it came from inside themselves. This self-serving magic perverts the will of God. The faithful made a covenant with Him to rid the earth of these witches. For the wrath of God is revealed from beyond the Void against all evil and unrighteousness of these witches, who by their unrighteousness suppress the truth.

It is the will of God that all witches be wiped from the earth.

JULES AND MARTY

Julia LaBelle was more excited for the baby to come than its own mother was. She had always loved babies. When she was a little girl, she’d carried a doll around with her everywhere and pretended to be its mother. Now she was 13, and the idea that there was going to be a baby in the house soon made her so excited that she could hardly sleep.

“What are you going to name it?” she asked Ivy one rainy morning. It always rained in the Hinterlands forests. The earth was spongy and the sky was always gray. Jules didn’t know anything different, but Ivy had lived in the Strath before Stasya took her in, and she said that the land there was green and gentle. “What about Daisy?”

“I don’t care,” said Ivy. She stared dully out of the window. She was plump, with big black eyes and a soft round face and could look pretty even when she was doing nothing. “Sure.”

Jules busied herself tidying up the small cottage. There was always so much to do. She had only lived there for a year, but she wanted Stasya to know that she was grateful. Not only for sheltering her, but for teaching her magic. Jules cooked and cleaned, she always kept her hair brushed and braided, and she never talked back. She was good and she worked hard. Someday Stasya would appreciate her for that.

On the other hand, Ivy was sullen and ungrateful. If their places were reversed, Jules certainly wouldn’t lay around all day staring at nothing. Maybe Jules was jealous. Stasya had told her that she was too young to carry the child, but she had always suspected that it was because Ivy was prettier than she was and Martin Bonneville had just liked her better.

Jules’s surname was a cruelty. LaBelle. The beauty. She was no beauty. She was scrawny as a rail, her hair was thin and limp. Her severe overbite gave her a permanently dull look.The illness that had taken her parents' lives had left her face scarred with crater-like pockmarks. No man would ever look at her twice.

Stasya had traveled to Kimanka a month ago. Something about a Book. Since she was away, Bonneville checked in on them now and then. The Hinterlands were a dangerous place for two teenage girls, regardless of their magic.

“Rose is a good name too,” said Jules. She grabbed the kettle and set it on a metal shelf over the fire to heat up. The cottage was small. It was too small for 3 people, and would certainly be too small for 4. Sometimes the thatched roof leaked. They did not have electricity, they could not watch television for the news. But it was their home. “What do you think?”

“I think,” said Ivy, putting her hands on her swollen belly. “I don’t even want this baby.”

“Don’t say that. You heard Stasya. It’s going to be a special baby, It’s going to be half-witch and attuned to the Other Place. It might even be able to go to the Other Place. There aren’t many of us left, don’t you want there to be more witches in the world? Stasya’s working hard on making it safe for us out there.”

“She’s lying. She doesn’t care about us at all.”

Jules felt a flash of irritation.She didn’t understand how someone could be so selfish. When the baby came in a couple months, everything would change and be better.

The one-eared old tabby-cat, Ames, wound herself through Jules’s legs. She was a fierce mouser, without her efforts the cottage would be overrun by vermin. Jules bent and picked her up to pet her as she waited for the tea to boil. The cat nuzzled against her face.

Rain came down hard against the window. When the kettle began to whistle, Jules poured water into two cups over raspberry leaves. That kind of tea was safe for expecting mothers. She drank her own tea slowly and read over a book about the magical properties of different crystals. Agate for strength and courage. Rose quartz for love.

The cottage door blew open and Martin Bonneville stomped in, followed by a torrent of rain. He was a stocky fur-trader of 20, tanned, with dark curly hair and a mischievous countenance. It was said that he could hear voices from the Other Place. Once Jules had asked him what he heard. Bonneville had only shaken his head and told her that he didn’t understand the voices, but that throughout it all there was a low, oscillating drone. The voices chattered to him all night long.

Jules didn’t understand the Other Place. Stasya said that it was a Void beyond the Rift and that their powers came from it. A Void populated by monsters. The blood-magic users of Blagodat worshiped a creature they said came from there. She felt like hearing it all the time might have driven Bonneville a little crazy. He was harmless and nice enough, but something was just…off.

It was called being a psychic. As far as Jules knew, there weren’t many of them in the Hinterlands forests, and even fewer were attuned to the Void. This was all a part of Stasya’s plan to make the world a better place for witches: she had to strengthen their bloodlines. In a few years, she would find a man for Jules too, either one with witchblood or one who was psychic.

“Girls,” said Bonneville. He shook water from his hair. “It’s really coming down out there. I'm soaked.”

“You want a cup of tea?” asked Jules.

“That’d be nice.” He set a brace of ermine down on the table. Their white pelts went for good money in Ile de Matane, where the Imperial Army used them for trim on their winter uniforms. He stepped up to Ivy and put a hand on her belly. “You hear the news?”

“What news?”

“The Butcher of Kimanka went and killed all the blood-magic bastards in Blagodat. Imperials burned the entire town to the ground. You two must feel a bit safer, eh?”

Jules made the sign against evil. That was what she got for just thinking about them. Blood-magic users were their old enemies. 70 years ago they had been witch-hunters. It was good they were dead. They were worse than animals. People said that they spilled the blood of children for their dark magic. She busied herself with the tea again.

They had something Stasya wanted. The magic Book. Other than the baby, it was all she could talk about any more. She said that there was great evil in the magic Book.

“I’m thinking about joining the Imperials,” said Bonneville. He gave one of Ivy’s breasts a little squeeze and she yelped. “Better than yanking weasels out of traps. They always need more men. Plenty of work these days, what with that mouthy cunt from the Strath who leads the Partisans. Those fuckers need weeding out.”

Jules handed him a cup of tea. He nodded appreciatively. As he drank it, his expression took on a far-off quality, as if he was zoning out. Probably listening to the chattering voices of the Other Place.

Bonneville’s hands were big and rough, scarred from the teeth of the animals he pulled from his traps. Two of his knuckles were split.

“Will you go kill one of the chickens?” asked Jules. “I can fry it up and we can all have supper.”

“Sure.” He stood and gave Ivy’s belly one last little pat. “Gotta keep this wee bugger fed so he can be strong like his papa when he comes into this world.”

He left to go back out into the pouring rain.

Jules sniffed. She gathered up the dishes and dumped them into the wash basin.

For once, Ivy got up to help her. She washed her hands and patted them dry on the front of her dress. Her big black eyes were glazed and dead. “If it’s a boy,” she said, “I think I’ll name it Martin.”

###

When Stasya finally returned from Kimanka, she was in a deep rage. She slit Martin Bonneville’s throat like a hog’s and collected his blood in a white basin. She did not say why. She did not say anything to Jules, other than that everything that could have gone wrong, had gone wrong. The town of Blagodat had been destroyed, and the mysterious Book alone with it.

The baby came soon after that.

Jules was only 13. But by then she had learned to harden her heart. The Hinterlands forests were not a kind place to live.

###

Jules woke with a jolt to the sound of truck engines and men’s voices. The sound filled her with terror in an instant. The cottage was 5 miles from any road. Nobody was supposed to be there! Not in the middle of the night, not ever.

She did not know what was happening, only that it was wrong, that it was very wrong. Nobody visited the witch’s cottage in the Hinterlands. Jules scrambled from her bed and pulled her robe around herself. It was a warm night and she hadn’t been wearing anything but a slip. “Oh no.”

Outside were 8 men and 2 trucks. The men wore the green camouflage uniforms of the Partisans. The paint they wore on their faces was smeared and distorted. She could see the silver light of the full moon reflecting off their smiling teeth. Each of them was armed.

They had come to kill them. It was the only conclusion.

Jules raced from her cramped attic bedroom and down the stairs to where Ivy and Marty slept. She almost tripped in her haste. They were already awake. Ivy sat frozen on her bed. Marty stood by the window, clutching Ames the old tabby cat. Both of them looked bloodless and terrified.

“Cellar,” said Jules. She yanked Ivy out of bed, then grabbed Marty by one arm. The little boy whined. He was only six. He hadn’t even started talking, there was something wrong with him. “You two hide in the cellar. Don’t come out, don’t make a sound until you know they’ve gone.”

Ivy started to cry. Her whole body trembled. “What do they want?!”

There was no answer for that. The Partisans were like animals. Their numbers were less than a 3rd of the Imperial Army, but they made up for it with their startling brutality and focused on non-military targets to destroy the supply chain and sow terror. They burned down fields and slaughtered livestock. There was no controlling them.

The cellar was in the kitchen. Jules pulled up the door and shoved Ivy and Marty down into it. The cat yowled and ran away. Marty’s eyes were huge and scared and all she could do was pray that his fear did not trigger a seizure. “Hide,” she said. “Don’t even think about moving.”

“Come on out, little witches,” called a man from outside of the cottage. He spoke in French, but his voice had the musical, slightly nasal accent of the Strath. “Don’t make us burn it down with you inside.”

Jules bit down on her tongue to keep herself present, to keep herself from freezing in terror. She didn’t even know what she was doing, all that she knew was that she had to keep Marty safe. She would die before she let him get hurt. He was just a child, she couldn’t let him get hurt. Maybe if Stasya was there, things would be different, but she wasn’t and it was all up to Jules. She was 19, a fully grown woman, and she had responsibilities.

What could she do against 8 soldiers with guns? She didn’t have any weapons to protect herself. Her magic was for healing, not for defending herself. They would kill her or worse.

She looked at Marty one last time. He clung onto his mother like a baby possum. Most of the time he screamed when anyone touched him, so Jules didn’t want to think about how scared he was. “I’ll be back,” she lied, then closed the cellar door and quickly kicked a rug over it.

Jules opened the front door to stand out on the stoop. She crossed her arms in front of her and tried to keep her face composed and a little fierce. She knew that she was hardly a threat. Some of the Partisans laughed when they saw her. They were all boys her own age– after Rowan Gauthier’s rebellion 9 years ago, the King executed every man involved. She hated them and their trucks and their guns.

“You’re all far from the Strath,” she said. “This is Imperial land.”

That got another laugh. “Where are the other witches, girl?” asked the one who seemed to be in charge, a sandy-haired young man with a face like a knife. He kept one hand on the pistol at his side.

“I’m the only one here.”

“Oh, Miss Julia LaBelle, we know that’s not true,” said another one of them. He was young, dark and handsome in a lanky way, and leaned heavily on a cane with an ornamental head carved like the skull of a fox. Unlike the rest of them, he wore plain black trousers and a matching coat. Maybe not the leader, but close to it. He had a self-satisfied look about him.“The villagers down the road say that you live here with a girl named Ivy Violet and her child. And the old woman. Why don’t they come out here to talk?”

“This is Imperial land,” Jules said again. She drew herself up. She was no loyalist, but she had followed the King her whole life. “Go home.”

A few of them made comments in English, a language she did not speak. The one who was in charge shook his head. “I like it better this way,” he said. “Fine. Ridgeway, grab her. Lambert, go inside and drag out the other ones. Find the old woman.”

One of the soldiers approached her. He was twice her size and had a gun. Jules tried to shove him away from her but he just grabbed her arm. Another shoved past and went inside. The man’s grip on her arm was tight. She twisted and slapped at him and her robe came open, revealing her bare legs. Some of the Partisans laughed.

“Kimble, maybe you’d like to remind your men that Lady Gauthier will have them all flogged if they behave indecently towards this girl,” said the young man with the cane.

“Don’t tell me what to do, you gimpy faggot,” snapped the leader, Kimble. “Relax, nobody is interested in this scrawny pox-faced witch.” He snapped his fingers and some of the men began to pour gasoline around the cottage.

Now Jules was past scared. It was useless to fight, but that didn’t stop her. She didn’t care about herself, she couldn’t let Marty get hurt. If only Stasya had thought she was ready to learn defensive magic, maybe she could do something! But Stasya had never believed in her. Stasya never showed her the old spells, Stasya never explained their components, and because of that, something really bad was going to happen! Again, she slapped and shoved at the man restraining her, she kicked him with her bare feet.He yanked on her hair.

The other one came back, shoving Ivy through the door and dragging Marty by the scruff of his pajamas. The little boy struggled and squealed, his face was turning red. Ivy just fell down to her knees crying stupidly. “Old woman’s not in there, Flick,” said the man.

“Well she has to be somewhere,” replied the one with the cane, Flick. He smiled tightly. “Did you even look?”

“Nothing’s in there but herbs and a mangy cat.”

“Lady Gauthier is not going to be happy,” said Flick. He looked at Marty. “We want her to be happy. Where’s the old woman, girls?”

Jules wanted to scream. She wanted to hurt them. The men continued to pour gasoline around the cottage. “My teacher will hurt you!” she said. She twisted uselessly. “When she sees what you’ve done, she’ll make you wish that you’d never been born! She’ll melt the flesh from your bones, she’ll make you rot! Let us go! Get your hands off him!”

“Fine. Where’s the old woman?”

“I know ways of making people talk,” said Kimble. He pulled a book of matches out of a pocket and used one to light a cigarette. “Me and the lads worked on that Imperial spy last summer.”

Flick coughed and waved smoke out of his face. “That isn’t necessary.”

Marty suddenly stopped wailing. His eyes unfocused and his body stiffened, then went completely limp. He would have fallen over completely had it not been for the soldier’s grip on his shirt. Violent spasms made his arms and legs jerk uncontrollably.

An epileptic fit was the worst thing that could happen at a time like this. They came out of nowhere, but could be triggered by stress. Most of them were small. The last bad one he had came after Ivy got into one of her moods and screamed at him for breaking a plate. Jules made a fist and drove it into the arm of the man restraining her to no effect. “He’s having a seizure, let go of me! Let go of me!”

“Quit fighting me, bitch,” said the soldier holding her. He gave her a hard shake.

Jules lashed out and clawed his face with her long nails, leaving deep gouges. The man screamed and clutched his bloody cheeks. Jules lurched away from him and towards Marty, whose eyes were rolling back in his head and had urinated on himself. Her only thought was to get to him. He had to be so scared.

The man holding Marty must have been surprised, either by her sudden lunge or by the convulsing child, because he did not react immediately. Jules shoved his hand from Marty’s shirt and gently got him onto the ground. There were no rocks or glass that he could hit his head on. The little boy’s arms and legs continued to jerk and his mouth hung open in a silent rictus.

“It’s OK,” said Jules. There was only Marty. She wanted to hold him. “It’s OK, it’s OK.”

“Ridgeway!” Kimble snapped. “Will you do something about that?! We don’t have all goddamn night to waste on this!”

Someone must have hit her. Maybe with the butt of a gun, Jules had no way of knowing. She felt a sharp pain on the back of her head and then the world went dark.

The warm summer air soon filled with the smell of smoke.

####

THE COUNCIL OF MINISTERS DISCUSSES OLIVE

Beatrice Kosarin, Florence’s Minister of Propaganda, called a meeting of the Council of Ministers one autumn afternoon. All of them attended. Reed Kimble, the Partisan Commander. Anatole Surkhov, Field Marshal of the First Army. Prime Minister Florence Gauthier herself, of course.

And Flick. He had no fancy name or title. But he was invited to attend each meeting. He sat down in the chair next to Kimble because somehow that felt safer than sitting next to the others, at least they were countrymen. And he certainly did not want to sit next to his mother. She hadn’t even shown up yet. She was always late. Maybe that was for a good reason: after all, she did have a war to oversee and was the de facto ruler of the Strath and Kimanka. The Hinterlands and Ile de Matane would soon follow.

Beatrice eyed Anatole. She was a big woman with the kind of cut-throat intelligence that Florence favored. She looked exactly like her twin brother did, with her huge doe eyes and weak chin. Of course she looked like him, but she had the privilege of growing up on the streets instead of in a cage. Over the last few years she had released countless press-conferences that had slowly turned the will of the common people to Florence’s favor. “I’ve noticed that my brother has been spending more and more time with that awful little witch,” she said. “You know anything about that? He belongs to you, you should be keeping a closer eye on him..”

“I don’t control what Dog does in his free time,” said Anatole dourly. The war had left his eyes dead and hollow. All those men dying in the mud. He never went anywhere without his heavy body-armor. It had to be exhausting to live that way. “He’s fond of her and Marty. It’s good for him.”

“I worry that she’s bewitched him.”

Reed Kimble laughed. He was Florence’s right hand, but the unrelenting cruelty of his burnt-earth approach to warfare was concerning. “That witch girl must like big cocks,” he said in his rough voice. 3 months ago a Loyalist peasant had tried to slash him across the throat and it was only just healing. “Can you imagine them fucking? It would be like a bear trying to hump a rabbit.”

“Don’t speak that way when there’s a lady present, mon cher,” Flick said pleasantly. “Have some civility.” He did not want to get into it that afternoon. His pain radiated dully up his right leg, all the way to the hip. Some days were better than others, but it never went away completely. He would never be quite free. Taking morphine helped, but he tried to avoid that since it affected his lungs and made his asthma worse.

But Beatrice never took offense to that kind of vulgar talk. She had heard worse growing up on the streets, and even worse than that among Florence’s armies. The men treated her like one of the lads. She could relate to almost anyone and used her words to blend in, chameleon-like. There was a reason that Florence had appointed her Minister of Propaganda. “Maybe Jules hasn’t bewitched Ivan. She doesn’t seem very good at what she does. Marty is what? Six years old and he doesn’t talk. Have you heard him squealing and grunting like he’s some kind of wild animal? Poor little thing..”

“That’s probably why Dog likes him,” said Kimble. “They can communicate through yap-yap-yapping.”

Flick kept smiling but he felt a twinge of protective irritation. He saw a bit of himself in the half-feral witch boy. Both of them had been born with disabilities to mothers who didn’t want them. It was easy for him to remember being six years old and the frustration of being different. “Marty’s just slow. His fits can’t help.”

“In Kimanka we leave crippled and abnormal babies in the swamp.” Anatole’s face was contemplative. “It’s more merciful than letting them live.”

Beatrice laughed. “Your people are all sadistic barbarians. In Ile de Matane, we send the interesting ones to the freak shows. When I was 15 I saw a girl there with nubby flippers for arms and legs.” She nodded at Flick. “Maybe you have a back-up career for if this war doesn’t work out.”

It was pointless to say anything to defend himself, and why should he? Flick knew that his body was of no use to his mother’s cause. He had accepted that a long time ago. He lived in a world where there was no space for him, but the whole point of the Revolution was to make a space. Florence wanted to make their land a better place for people who were different.

It still hurt a little. He was only 19 and had never had friends.

Flick tried to meet Anatole’s chilly gaze. Out of all of them, he at least should understand what it was like to be different. But Anatole hid it better than he ever could. All he got was a disdainful little sneer from the arrogant pup.

He hated all of them.

No. They all hated each other. Their differences and motivations were all too great. The only thing holding them together was their near-fanatical loyalty towards Florence.

Speak of the devil. Florence slammed into the council room. Even though she was in her late 30’s, she had the unstoppable energy of a teenager. Everything she did was passionate. She had a fire inside of her heart that could not be dimmed. Sometimes Flick hated her, but he would never stop following her. You cannot stop following a person like that. It occurred to him that he would probably die for her if she asked him to.

“Friends,” said Florence, half breathlessly. She had worked herself up into a frenzy for this. Her black eyes shone and there was a flush to her dark brown skin. The dress she had chosen for the day was made of red velvet, with fur trim. “This is a big one. I’ve received intelligence that a survivor of the blood-magic cult of Blagodat is living in Ile de Matane and serves the King.”

‘Received intelligence’. That was a nice way of putting it, after all the work Flick did to get her that intelligence. He could have died. All she cared about was her information.

“Why do we care?” asked Beatrice Kosarin, ever the skeptic. She rested her chin in one big hand.

Florence smiled at her. It was more like she was baring her teeth. “I care,” she said. “That’s all you need to know.”

“Not exactly motivating, Prime Minister.”

“My father killed every man, woman, and child among the bloody-eyes six years ago,” Anatole’s tone was stiff and haughty. “There were no survivors.”

“Maybe the Butcher missed a few,” said Kimble, reclining in his chair. “Or took a few home for his dogs. They say the High-Priest’s son’s body was never accounted for afterwards.”

“Partisan rumors and lies.” Anatole’s face was getting red. He had never been able to hide his emotions. That was a little trick Flick had learned from his mother.

“Will you people stop arguing?” snapped Florence. She took a cigarette out of a silver case and lit it. “Flick, tell them what you told me, boy.”

They all looked at him. Flick cleared his throat. He knew he should stand up to keep their attention, but with the pain it wasn’t worth it. “One of the King’s concubines is a girl named Olive Vernier. Rumor has it that she’s risen through the court quite quickly and has become one of his favorites. She sits at his right hand and has become pregnant with his child.” He used two fingers to smooth down his mustache, a nervous habit. “I’ve heard that this girl has red eyes and the power to bewitch the minds of men.”

“And how did you hear that?” asked Beatrice.

Flick looked at his mother. She shrugged, exhaling smoke. Throwing him under the bus. “I was in the Capitol last week and had a dalliance with one of the palace guards. Considering the delicate position he was in, I don’t think he had any reason to lie to me.”

Over the years, Flick had found that one of the best ways to get information was to act as a honeypot. He seduced people and got them to tell him their secrets. An easy way to spy. It worked best with men, since he could use blackmail afterwards to ensure their silence or service. It didn’t bother him. He liked sleeping with men and women. It was taboo to do so in the North, but it made his job easier. All he was really good for was getting information.

Reed Kimble’s mouth twisted and Beatrice grimaced after this blunt explanation of his own deviance. They wouldn’t dare say anything though. Not in front of Florence. Anatole, on the other hand, was not a thinker. “You pimped yourself out to some Imperial for useless information?” he asked with disgust. “You let this man do things to you? Are you sick? What’s wrong with you?”

Flick gripped the handle of his cane but his smile was light and easy. “Don’t test me, Tolya, you won’t like what I might say about what’s wrong with you.”

The flush was spreading down Anatole’s neck. The overly-intimate diminutive made it worse, Dog was the only one he allowed to call him that. It was so easy to provoke him. For someone who clung to stupid ideas like integrity and courage, he had a terrible temper. His hand twitched towards the sword at his side. “The only reason I haven’t challenged you to single combat is because beating a cripple into the floor would bring me no honor.”

“I guess it’s a good thing I’m a cripple, then.”

“I told you once to stop bickering like little boys,” said Florence. She flipped through some papers on the table. “I won’t tell you a second time. Flick, shut your big mouth for once. Field Marshal– I don’t know what to do with you, you need to calm down. The only thing you people need to know is that I need this blood magic girl here. I need to speak to her. I need to know what happened that night, I need to know about the witch’s Book. Go get her for me.”

It was no use fighting her on this. Once she made up her mind, that was that, she would never let go. Florence was prone to bouts of manic passion, but beneath it all was a dogged focus.

“You seem to be collecting magic users, Prime Minister,” said Beatrice. Glancing at Anatole, she shrugged. “I want it on the record that I think it’s unwise. We’re already babysitting two untrained, half-feral witches. We all heard what happened to the Butcher of Kimanka when he failed to control his pets.”

Florence’s face was wreathed in smoke. Her black eyes glittered. “I am not the Butcher,” she said. “And there’s only one magic user I’m interested in: the Hinterlands witch.”

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life-rewritten · 3 years

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Manner of D*eath (MOD); Hansel and Gretel, Victims or Victors?

I don't know if anyone is like that shocked by the ending of episode 10 of MOD, I mean I think we can all tell it was fake, and I think we also are coming to terms with the villains/ the actual suspect of Jane being revealed. I don't think the show is still mysterious or still has so many hidden plot twists left. If there is then, I'll be happier. Anyway, episode 10 was intense and crazy in terms of what was shown on screen however as always I try to show you how the show gives you clues apart from piecing together what's on the surface, about the MOD of the characters, their actions, choices and who the suspect is and what their plans are now? We get a new fairytale, and can I just say I am loving the use of these fairytale meta for the show: this time Hansel and Gretel foreshadows the secrets of episode 10, clues to our villain and more deeper looks into family dynamics and dimensionality of our characters especially Tan. At the end of episode 10, Tan is forced to eliminate the person he loves (calling back to Little Mermaid analysis here that foreshadowed this) and also becomes a victim to a powerful person that has him entrapped with no escape. So I have a lot to say about these two fairy tales again and why MOD is creative when it uses them, how it makes things more fun to analyse and watch see unfold. Let's begin:

Hansel and Gretel: Victims or Victors

So as always you get a small recap of the fairy tale from me. If Little Mermaid was about forbidden love and betrayal and sacrifice, Hansel and Gretel is more about torn families, more betrayals, trickery, trauma and plot twists. Let's recap: Hansel and Gretel are the children of a very push over dad, with a very cruel mother figure, when a famine occurs in the land, the father is forced to let his wife discard their children in an abandoned forest, left to fend for themselves, so there is more food for their neglectful parents. Hansel though is brilliant, so he overhears and discovers the truth and prevents his sister and him from being lost at first using pebbles to find his way back home. However, the mother continues to send them out and abandon them; unfortunately, Hansel tries again to do so, but he uses bread crumbs as a way to track and sadly has bread crumbs eaten by birds, so he loses his way back home. So after they wander in the forest now fully scared of their situation, they get lured in by a candy house, which has the food they want and is sweet, it's owned by this older woman who is seen as sweet to kids, and friendly and protective.

However, once they enter the house, Hansel is imprisoned and is going to be eaten by this blood thirsty witch(the older woman's true form). So Hansel has to find again a way to trick her into thinking he's not yet ready to be eaten, he uses a bone to make her believe he's still not eating well enough to be plump for cooking. However, the witch grows impatient and decides to eat him just like that. But instead of just Hansel, she also decides she wants both the siblings. Gretel is still able to walk around and also the witch is blind, so she struggles to see, and she's slow to things. She tries to trick Gretel into entering the oven so that she can eat her, but Gretel like her brother is smarter. So she knows what to do, she ends up tricking the witch into thinking she needs help entering the oven and the witch in annoyance bends down to check the issue and ends up being pushed into the fire and burns. Gretel frees Hansel they discover a lot of treasure at this witch's home, and they take it and go back home with the help of a swan (I don't really understand how it found them and led them home, but you know it's a fairytale) and they reunite with their father who apologises for being a pushover, he didn't want to let what happened to them happen, but the woman forced him to do so, now their mother/stepmother, was eliminated by the famine and so she wasn't there no longer to abuse them and make him do things he didn't want to do. Hansel and Gretel because of the treasure they found, live successfully, wealthy and happily ever after with their father. The end.

First, it's not as romantic as Little Mermaid is it? I feel like Little Mermaid was more dramatic, painful and sad and had many selfless characters. But Hansel and Gretel is interesting. One, as Tan calls out it's not a romantic storyline, it's about siblings, but Bun and Tan (one of our mirrors of Hansel and Gretel) aren't siblings, you know they're lovers, and so that's also interesting. However, I find it really fascinating and interesting that Tan does mention that because it's important later on in again helping unveil who the villain is. I'll explain later on. Let's look at what we should focus on when talking about this fairytale.;

1. Hansel and Gretel were victims of family dysfunction; they had an abusive family member who was looking for a way to get rid of them no matter what because of selfishness and greed and lack of love. 2. Hansel tries to survive his fate three times, by being smart and creative about how to escape his situations. The third time Gretel is the one who helps him escape. 3. Things that seem sweet and protective are actually not but traps for someone else's gain. The witch was trying to look like someone who was trusting for kids and who had what they need to run away but she actually wanted to get rid of them and keep surviving and being strong. 4. The witch is blindsided by Gretel because of her little weaknesses and her ability to overlook the kids. 5. Hansel and Gretel survive their trauma by trickery, cunningness and thinking ahead. They reunite with their family member and get rid of the witch (the powerful source holding them hostage), they gain money, wealth, and love by the end of the story.

Alright so let's keep those in mind and carry on with analysing the past episodes 7-10.

Family Dysfunctions and Cruel Abandonments

So I found it really interesting, in episode 10 when Tan starts to speak about his plans for his mother in the past, his relationship with Por and his relationship with Pued. We knew the family was going to be a focus because Tan, Pued and Por looked dysfunctional and also had severely different dynamics with each other. First of all, Tan and Pued apparently were loyal to each other by default; they loved each other despite disagreeing and fighting; they'd do anything as long as the other is safe. Pued may be this horrible person that we unveiled him to be, but he did have some kind of heart, and he did care about Tan, Bun and maybe even Jane though I don't want to say that about him. Pued paid attention to Tan despite his other family members abandoning him and leaving him as a puppet with no love and no care.

In fact, once Pued is eliminated and Por has a chance to react, Por immediately closes his mind and abandons Tan because he had no love, loyalty or trust for him. He's been looking for a way to get rid of Tan from the beginning. Who does that sound like? It sounds like the mother in Hansel and Gretel. The thing in the fairytale is that it's not evident if the mother is their blood mother or if she is a stepmother or if she's even the witch they later encounter there to lure them and get rid of them. But I'm seeing her like Por, someone who is forced to deal with Hansel and his sister not because she loves them but because she had to put up with them because of the father. The father is a failing figure like Tan's father; he's put the children under the care of someone who doesn't even care or respect them enough. And that's how Por treated Tan. So Family dysfunction is real in Hansel and Gretel, and Tan like Hansel is also deserted by a family in 7-10 as he struggles to stay safe and fend for himself and his lover. And the thing is it's messed up because Por loves Pued so much despite knowing how cruel Pued can be, (Por knows about Rung and Pued's involvement in the drug ring) but for Tan, he sees him as a nuisance, someone who's taking from him not helping him, same as Hansel's 'mum' saw him and his sister. And it makes you wonder what kind of family can become this way, why are people so cruel and why do they not treat people equally with respect. Just like the mother is the one who put Hansel and Gretel in danger, and she ensured it because remember they tried to come back and she sent them off, even more, deeper into the forest. Por also did the same thing, he chased cruelly after Tan and wanted to get of rid of him for Pued twice after he discovered Tan escaped from jail. Make it make sense. Like that's your family member.

Anyways so that's the first reason Hansel and Gretel were mentioned. But before I continue, I also wanted to bring up that Tan and Bun weren't the only mirrors for this character. That as always being Tan's shadow character also actually held more resemblance to the kids, he's younger, he's also imprisoned, and he had a girl to protect and watch over like a sister;Nam. Nam and That try to escape this episode with That being the one to make up the way for them to run away, but they get caught. I just wanted to show that imagery as well and connect it to Hansel and Gretel because as Tan mentioned, they weren't lovers, they were siblings.

However I think there's two more people not mirroring them but is being foreshadowed by them, that's Rungtiwa and Pued. Hear me out before you get confused. In episode 9 Rungtiwa that witch, she said that Pued, Tan are like brothers to her. And it made me laugh because obviously using little mermaid analysis, Rungtiwa and Pued were having an affair, and she's the one probably who got rid of him. Also when Pued was eliminated Por said only a family member knew about his condition, well Rung knew about it because she was acting one on the surface like a sister figure to him, but also she was his lover probably. But why I think it's interesting, it's because Tan misunderstands if Hansel and Gretel could have been lovers before Bun corrects him, and since Tan and Bun are mirroring them, I also think Tan was also foreshadowing the confusion and connection of Rung and Pued. People think like Hansel and Gretel, she's a sibling figure to him, but actually, she was his lover theoretically. Just like Tan confused the dynamics between the two siblings. Some people who are meant to be seen as 'siblings'/'friends' are probably more. That's just me just picking on things. Let's continue with what the show is showing in episode 10 through this fairy tale.

Futile Escapes and Cunning Mindsets

In episode 7-10, Tan has to had to escape a situation he was set up in just like with Hansel in the fairy tale trying to protect Gretel. Can I first mention how similar the roles of Hansel and Tan are in the protection role. They have to be one step ahead, to protect the person with them, like Tan has to use the information he knows to protect Bun and escape Por. So like Hansel, Tan has to escape his situation three times before see him fail entirely in episode 10's ending. The first time he gets set up is jail where he is beaten and has to use his strength and will to stay safe until he's bailed out, the second time he escapes is his own house with Bun because Por wants to get rid of him, and the third time he's in danger is at the cottage house (he ran to, to think ahead, also the house Bun calls a trap/candy house this episode) where he again has to escape by hurting Bun and getting eliminated at the end of the episode.

By the end of episode 10, like Hansel also captured in the iron prison with no way of escape, Tan also ends up having no way to escape and is shot and pushed of a cliff on the run. He basically has a reached a point where all his energy and hard work to protect has been for nothing. Like Hansel realising the witch losing her impatience meant he and Gretel were both doomed, he couldn't protect her anymore. Just like Tan with Bun realised, he couldn't save Bun anymore; he couldn't save him self anymore, they were truly imprisoned by a powerful source. Obviously this is what the show is saying on the surface, that Tan and Bun like Hansel and Gretel became victims with no way out. And it's depressing if you let your self follow the storyline, it makes it even more scary and sad when you see both Bun and Tan get shot by people they trust like Inspector M. So Hansel and Tan both find themselves in a place where they can't use anything else anymore to escape and run away from their troubles, they're screwed by the end of the story at first. And things look dark for a while until Gretel shows up. This is why I think Bun like Gretel also has used his own mindset to think of way out, and be one step ahead. But before I explain about that, let' talk about our suspects, our powerful sources and our witch.

Candy Houses and Powerful Sources

These three previous episodes of MOD have been a ride. We unveiled that the Police Commander and Mayor are dangerous and will do whatever happens to ensure their secrets aren't unveiled. Like being happy to frame Tan for something, he didn't do. I just want to keep repeating however that they are not the suspect we are looking for, they're the red herrings, they're baddies but actually not that threatening. They don't like to take a life, apart from maybe Pat but they don't normally use that as a way of power, they're cowards, they do kidnaps, shipping people of, framing etc. but to actually use their hands to take a life is not on their agenda. That's why they're not the suspects of Jane's MoD, or Pued's either. I think they're being shown now because they're meant to represent one of the links to the witch in Hansel and Gretel, Power. But they're not the actual witch.

Let me explain more, you can see they don't get their own hands dirty, they have puppets to do so for them, for example, Tan to get rid of Bun, Inspector M to get rid of Tan, they're not the ones who used their own hands to take Jane's life, they either had a puppet do it (Pued), or they didn't know she was going to be eliminated yet. My theory is yeah, they had Pued do it, but they also had Rungtingwa who they underestimated. So I don't want to spend all the time talking about these two like I said we find out how wealthy and powerful the witch was in the tale and how her demise led to Hansel and the family living happily and successfully. Getting rid of the mayor and police commander will do a lot of good for the people at the end of episode 10, it'd promote Inspector M (if he is on the good side like I'm suspecting), it'd also give freedom to Tan and Bun and raise their reputation in a good way. Those powerful forces won't be able to hold them captive anymore. But LR you say, isn't Tan and Bun gone? Didn't Inspector M go bad and shoot Tan? Yeh, that's what the show is showing on the surface, but as I'm slowly getting to, the plot is shadowed by Hansel and Gretel, tricksters, cunning mindsets, one step ahead, it's foreshadowing; a ploy and M is part of that. But I'm getting ahead of my self, let's focus on Rungtingwa and her witchy ways.

So in episode 9, Rung starts showing up again. In fact, she's our prominent supporter, she helps bail Tan out of jail, and she believes in him like a brother wholeheartedly, she calls Por out on his behaviour and callousness, and she also shakes her head at the police for their slowness with her sister's case. She's so elegant and pretty and smart and protective. She is the family member Tan needs in his life; she cares about them so much. In episode 10, she's even more of a saint-like at first. Because you got to start soon realising things aren't adding up a bit with her. One she's trusted by the police that they send her girls who are in need of money, home, safety to stay at her spa because they were going to be arrested to investigate their illegal whereabouts, this well off company that protects and keeps them taken care of.

Only all of a sudden for those same women to be transported to the mayor and the police commander to be abused and drugged repeatedly. Getting it? Rung's candy house is her spa. Like with Hansel and Gretel, the witch doesn't first show up as a witch to them, no she lures them in with the idea of one protection (they didn't have anywhere else to go), provision (they were starving and her house was made of cakes, bread etc.) and prevention (of them being alone, of their lives etc.), Rungtiwa shows up and does just the same thing. She offers protection by helping Tan leave the jail, and calling him her brother, a family member that he craves for because of his own dysfunctional relationship with Por. She offers him provision of information, she offers not just them but the women and the police a space for the women who think they're safe with her in her spa, food, and anything they want. And she offers them prevention because these women weren't meant to be running away or being shipped, don't remember properly what the mayor said, but this was meant to be a safe spot for them, they were wowed by her spa, they felt comfortable and at peace. Like Hansel and Gretel were the first time they entered the candy house.

But looks are deceiving which is Rung's link to the tale. The witch sheds her skin and transforms into someone who's not only blood thirsty, (Rung is our suspect and has probably gotten rid of two people her sister and her ex-lover) and someone who only lures people in for her benefit, for her greed, power, satisfaction, strength. Remember Rung like Pued is doing all of this for power and reputation, and she's hiding the truth so she can be saved and protected by society because she's innocent. And the thing she's cold-hearted, she doesn't care about anyone in episode 9 she stands up for Tan and believes he's not the suspect (well because she knows he's not she is), but then she switches in episode 10, she blames him for taking the life of Pued in front of M and she says it in an anxious and shocking way that the brothers were this awful to each other when she said previously she knows Tan didn't do it. It's how she covers her self, how she hides who she is, as the witch to lure the kids. Hansel and Gretel weren't the first kids taken by this witch, that's what the bone was remnants of another kid eaten and destroyed by her. Rung is like that she leaves trails of people being discarded wherever she goes, she plots, and she plans her own way out. And if Pued wants to talk, then she has to get rid of him. This is why I know she knows who helped her take her sister's life. Sigh. But again I commend her villainy. She's cruel, but it's very very wanted in a villain, she isn't weak, and she doesn't let people get in her way. That's w a villain hatis meant to be. Right now she's winning because no one has suspected it's her, but I think she forgot one thing like the witch; Gretel, but also she was blindsided. Let me explain

Shocking Additions and Sneaky Weaknesses

Rung didn't expect Inspector M to be one of her weak spots. In episode 10, Inspector M discovered some of the truth and started to notice that he was in a corrupted system. Right now, Commander is thinking Inspector M is on his side and has given into corruption because of fear and power however no matter how dumb he is, Inspector M has always been for justice that's his flaw and character, like Bun he's been trying to do the right thing. Now he's slowly piecing together that some people are not to be trusted in this scenario; for example, Rung's spa because she's aiding the commander in hiding those girls. She underestimated him, and that's going to be her downfall.

Also, the commander and mayor are ruined because they've let in someone also in a mask, Inspector M is working with Tan and Bun to hide their plans. So like Hansel, Tan has found a way to think one step ahead. Like Gretel Bun has let himself be the one that is sacrificed as a guise actually to sacrifice the witch, to lure all of them out in their pride and triumph, to expose them. Tan pretended to get rid of Bun this episode 10, to make everyone involved calm and weak and unsuspecting and that's important, that's how Gretel tricks the witch, however, the witch's blindsight is pointing to Rung and the others not knowing Inspector M is involved and is determined to help solve the crime and find the suspect. So Tan, Bun, M have all joined together to find a way to expose the powerful sources and get rid of their captors also to save the other people especially Nam and That. So everyone who is still in shock by episode 10, know this, Hansel and Gretel is about being one step ahead, Tan and Bun are one step ahead of the chase, the only way to win and overcome their captors was to surrender or pretend to surrender (like Gretel and Hansel did) and next week all of them will start to crumble one by one. But if you're still worried about how the show will end, then focus on the ending of Hansel and Gretel

Triumphant Victors and Enhanced Reputations

So let's review the ending to make you all calm down.

One Hansel and Gretel come out alive, they get rid of the witch. Everyone is safe. That's important to know Tan and Bun, That hopefully as well (not sure about him though) are safe, they're going to be okay.

Two they get rid of the witch, Inspector M will get his answer and find the culprits.

Three, they reunite with people, especially family and are seen in a different way, apologised to and taken care of. Tan and Por will reunite, and the truth of Pued will come out, making Por realise the error of his ways. Tan will reunite with his family and get the love he wanted and craved.

Four they end up all successful, happy and wealthy. I think this one is pretty obvious getting rid of the powerful sources of the town opens up places for change and for more people to be put in authority. Bun's words will be taken seriously and respected. Tan gets a job he's happy with, and M will probably be promoted. In a way, M is also like the father figure that needs to apologise and say he's sorry because he's also been like Por neglectful and troublesome, an obstacle and so he also needs to agree he's wrong and reunite his friendship with Bun.

So Hansel ends up actually surviving after being helped by others to get to his destination and reunite with his family again. Tan will finally have that happy life he wanted, and he no longer has to be a puppet for others and do things without his will. He also has love differently, he also has Bun, and the two husbands can go back and be domestic and happy solving other issues and crimes whilst mourning Jane and maybe others and letting her go peacefully.

So you see why I love fairy tale meta? It helps you uncover the truth, leads you to knowing why they add some dialogues or hints in the show. It also reveals the facades of people who are not what they seem. Rung is getting away with everything she does, and we the audience picked up on it in the surface, we also probably understood it was a staged event that Tan shot Bun but it's nice to have something else that shows you the show is clever and one step ahead. When I first heard Hansel and Gretel, I panicked because I was like what do you mean Hansel and Gretel like that's sibling bond, I don't know what similarities they could possibly have with the show like Little mermaid made so much sense because I could tell Tan would be forced to get rid of Bun, and that's a theme in the fairytale. Still, Hansel and Gretel, I couldn't put my mind to it. And yet here we are, the show is brilliant, there is meta, there is foreshadowing not just with on the surface clues but also with subtext, there's a reason why the plots in episode 10 went the way they did, there's a reason why we ended up hearing about certain things, and I think that's a good sign of a good show, more in-depth and thoughtful. So I can't wait to see the reveal that our husbands are okay and they are going to win this battle however we still have four episodes so maybe let's not yet get comfortable. I still hold on to my theory. Pued is one of the suspects of Jane, and Rung helped him, but she also is the one who got rid of him. If not, maybe someone else Oat? Haha, but no seriously I would really love another plot twist. But I also like the show having layers and being so thrilling every episode, always making us want more. Well done to the cast and crew for a good BL, unique, smart, and one step ahead. I enjoy it. Thank you.

#manner of death #mod #tanbunn #tanbun #cwg #january #maxtul #thai bl #bl series #bl drama

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