Flash Fic February, Day Seventeen (02/17/2022) Prompt: Mood
“How have you been feeling, Hecate?”
Lysidias’s gentle voice snapped her out of her focus. Her hands, working a mortar and pestle, paused, the insect husks she had been grinding into a fine powder resting at the bottom. She set the mortar down on Lysidias’s marble counter, resting her aching hands. Lysidias, sitting next to her, had not stopped his work, his tattooed hands continually moving, though he would occasionally cast glances at her.
It had been three weeks since her funeral. Three weeks of adjusting, of crawling out of her home and participating in Kindred life, of learning how to live in Percy’s body. She knew Lysidias had been surprised when she finally took him up on his offer to learn blood sorcery, but she needed something to do. Something other than staring up and the sky and begging the stars to speak to her again. So she’d found herself at Lysidias’s apartment nearly every night now, working with him and learning the intricacies of the Kindred magic. Though, if she were being truthful, she was a bit more like Lysidias’s assistant than student, but she didn’t mind. The menial tasks kept her anxious thoughts at bay, and numbed her mind enough to make it easy for her to fall asleep once dawn crept up on her.
She didn’t look at him, her eyes on her abandoned mortar, the pestle still clutched in her hand. “It’s… complicated.” She still didn’t feel like herself; she felt exhausted all the time, like even moving took all of her energy. But she hadn’t felt as hopeless the past few days, which was a vast improvement. And she was feeding regularly, though, if she hadn’t, she was sure Lysidias would force her too anyway. “But, better, I think.”
He gave her a soft smile. “Good. Healing will take time, but every step you take will help you in the end.”
Hecate had been enjoying her time at Lysidias’s, if she were being honest. It was quiet in his apartment, and he had the top floor penthouse with windows that gave a breathtaking view of Staten Island. And, of course, there was his young ward, Rosie, who would continually give Hecate “gifts” of things she found pretty; stones, buttons, arts and crafts projects. And Hecate had accepted them all with a smile, and placed them all in places of honor around her house. Rosie was currently laying on the floor beside them, furiously scribbling something on a sheet of paper with her beloved crayons. Rosie was a kindred, just like her and Lysidias, but had been turned so young, she was frozen forever at twelves-years-old, both mentally and physically. It had broken Hecate’s heart to learn that the person who turned her had not been caught, and not for the first time, she wished she could consult the stars for answers.
Her mood shifted to something more hot and angry. We’re monsters. Her motions with the pestle became aggressive. Persephone, Carter… all of them. But her anger quickly turned into a nauseating guilt. Hadn’t Persephone all but told her what she was going to do? Hadn’t the stars warned her? But she had let Persephone carry out her plans, and had stolen her body as a result, instead of warning the Prince like she should have. And now Percy was dead forever, and Hecate was a stranger in her body.
How could she feel so angry at someone, and still feel like everything that had happened was her fault? How could she ever heal when she was trapped in a body that didn’t belong to her? A body that felt wrong.
The mortar shattered in her hand, scattering shards of granite and its contents scattering across the counter top. “I’m sorry,” she whispered. She’d forgotten that Percy had been stronger than she was; that awful, inhuman strength that Hecate’s body hadn’t possessed.
She moved to clean it up, but Lysidias put a hand on her shoulder, keeping her seated. “We’ll take care of it later, don’t worry about it.” She nodded, lips pursed as she settled back into her seat. “Take a break for a little bit,” he said as he went back to his own work. Hecate watched him take a silver knife and resume carving small, intricate symbols onto what looked like a long, rounded piece of bone. She watched him for a few minutes, the only sounds in the apartment the soft scrape of his knife against the bone, and Rosie scribbling away with her crayons. Lysidias glanced at her again. “Do you wanna talk about it?”
“How am I supposed to feel better when… when I’m not me anymore?”
“Aren’t you?” He continued to carve, his eyes no longer on her. “Even if the outside has changed, the inside is the same.”
She shook her head. “I lost my Sight, I wouldn’t call that the same.”
“You’re right. But you’ve gained other things. Blood sorcery one of many. Persephone never bothered to hone her many gifts; I have the feeling you will prove to be very different. And it may never be the same as your Sight, but you may find it something that helps you all the same.” Hecate looked down at her hands, unmarred and perfect. Persephone hadn’t earned a single one of the Tremere tattoos in the years she’d been a Kindred. She’d always hated tattoos, and it seemed her opinion hadn’t changed at all once she joined the Tremere. But Hecate had felt it from the moment she had awoken in this body; Persephone had power lurking beneath her veins.
“Do you know what other powers she had?”
He shook his head. “No, unfortunately. Her Sire-” he grimaced at the word. “-chose not to share that with me. But there are ways to find out, ways to learn, and I can teach you, hopefully.” He smiled at her again. “Assuming you want to, anyway.”
She thought about it for a moment. She remembered Artemia’s lessons, given to her from the moment she had been Embraced. She’d been lost in grief at that point, too. But this time, it felt different; this time, she didn’t have her closest friends around her to help her. She didn’t have Artemia, or the other Malkavians, who seemed to understand her grief on a visceral level.
But she did have Lysidias, and Rosie. And, when she was ready, she’d go back and talk to Stephen, and hope he would forgive her.
“I do,” she said with a confidence that surprised her. “I want to learn, I want to be helpful. So, please teach me what you can.”
His eyes met hers, and her watched her for a moment, assessing, before nodding in approval. He smiled again. “I had a feeling you’d say that.” And without another word, he turned back to his carvings.
Hecate stood to finally clean up the mess she’d made, but as she did, there was a soft tug on her shirt. Startled, she looked down to find Rosie, hanging onto her shirt and holding the paper she’d been scribbling on up to Hecate. On it, she had doodled stick-figure renditions of herself and Hecate, with her blue eyes and blond hair, holding hands, looking up at the night sky. She’d drawn shooting stars and, inexplicably, a rainbow coming out of a smiling moon.
“Do you like it?” Rosie asked, her blue eyes wide.
She could see Lysidias grinning, but he didn’t say anything as Hecate got on one knee, pulling in Rosie for a tight hug. “Of course, Rosie,” she said, smiling widely. “I love it.”
For the first time in weeks, she had the feeling that everything would be okay.
