Going to the Hill

Summary: It’s normal to visit a lover’s home. The problem is that your lover is Fae and her home is Underhill. (A second person, dark romance. TW mentions of abuse and injury)

——–

The only thing saving you is that you lied ten years ago.

“Hyacinth,” Magna whines, “hurry up!” Her hand is extended back towards you, half of her body already past the treeline. Her black eyes are bright as she stares at something so deep in the forest you have no chance of picking it out. “We’ll be late!”

You take her hand. It’s cool to the touch, like touching the window in the little hours of the morning while you’re still wrapped in your sheets. If she’s bothered by your slow pace, she doesn’t show it. Like always, she keeps to your speed, neither pulling nor pushing.

It’s the little things like that that make you love her. She never makes you feel lesser than or slower than like so many people have. She waits without making it look like she’s waiting. She smiles at you without malice or sympathy or pity. Like most of her kind, she doesn’t know how to joke, but she makes you laugh anyway.

So even though you know you are signing your death warrant, you follow her deeper and deeper into forest.

You gratefully accept her help over a fallen log. She doesn’t seem to notice that she’s doing it, easily turning to offer you support as you force your knees to lift and bend. She talks the entire time, even when you drop what must be half your weight against her shoulder when your foot catches on the log. Her voice doesn’t even tremble, easily lifting your entire weight to put you back on more even ground.

“—didn’t tell anyone you’re coming to the Hill, but that’s better so I can keep you all to myself—”

Magna has never tried to hide the fact that she’s other. You’ve never outright asked her and she’s never outright told you, but it’s hard to hide when she does things like lift you with her slender arms or call her house “the Hill.” Sometimes you see her watching you when she slips up, eyes black like the night sky. When you don’t react, she nods and keeps talking. When you do react, she leaves.

You’ve learned to take a lot of things in stride just to avoid her leaving.

Like, for example, accepting an invitation to Magna’s home.

“I still think I should have brought something,” you say when she takes a breath. The things you gathered are still sitting on the counter in your apartment. While you can understand the gift cards not being appropriate (“You’re not giving them gifts,right?”) you think that the bottle of wine would’ve been acceptable. “It feels weird to meet your…family with empty hands.”

If she notices the pause before the word family, she doesn’t say anything about it. “Your hands are never empty to me,” she says cryptically. She throws a blinding smile over her shoulder. Are her teeth a little sharper? She winks. “They’ll see how much I love you. That’ll be enough.”

You allow her to direct you off the main path and onto an animal track. She takes up her chatter again, voice happy and lilting, as if to distract you from the way the foliage slithers out from under your feet. It’s hard to see the ground with the dwindling light, but even your eyes can see how rocky the terrain is getting. You don’t struggle at all with Magna’s hand tight around yours.

“—there are silver ceilings, so much betterthan the cathedral you talk about, you’ll see! You’re going to never want to leave when you see how beautiful the city is. I’m positive you’ll love it—"

Contrary to your family’s belief, you weren’t born magic-blind. You can smell the power in Magna’s words, the sweeping compulsion and prickling calming charm. Her voice is like a siren’s song, stealing the lethargy from your body and easing the panic beginning to claw at your mind. You aren’t scared, not really. But the scent of power is rising the further into the woods you get and a little voice is telling you to run.

Or,you muse, staring at the way her pale hand contrasts against the mottled scars on yours, or at least don’t go willingly.

As if she can hear your thoughts, Magna’s voice deepens until you can feel it rattling your bones. The compulsion she’s weaving tingles under your skin. Calm, calm, calm, stay, stay, stay—

“You know,” you say, “I don’t regret being born a witch.”

Magna’s hand spasms around yours. It is the first time you’ve called yourself the wword since leaving your family behind. You’ve avoided using it, considering what witches have done to the both of you, but the time for avoidance is over.

The two of you, you decide, are going to talk.

“You should never regret being born,” she says lightly. She slows down as the hole in front of her fills with dirt by itself. When the ground smooths, she still helps you across it just in case. “I’m very happy you were born.”

You nod your thanks. Another reason why you’ve known her for ten years and this is only happening now; you have never saidthank you. “I don’t regretbeing born a witch.”

“Why not?” The spell is obvious not that her voice isn’t happy and chirping. You can feel the weight of it against your threat as her tone darkens. “They hurt you because of it.”

You resist the urge to touch the web of scars curling along your jaw. “Actually, they hurt me because they thought I wasn’t born a witch.” A handful of years ago, you would have been bristling at the reminder of what your family did to you. But the years spent under Magna’s unrelenting kindness have been as good as a balm to your soul. You say, “I think I survived it because I met you.”

Magna stops. She doesn’t turn to face you nor does her hand tighten around yours, but you can feel her aura ripple as your words hit her. “You give me too much credit.”

You hum. “No, I don’t.”

——————-.

You’re twelve and you aren’t going to make it to your next birthday.

Your family’s estate is empty at this time of night. You limp through the halls like a wraith, arms held carefully away from your body. The bandages on them are still pristine and you don’t want to risk soiling them by opening any of the cuts. The doctor your family allows you to see won’t be back until next week.

The carpet muffles the sound of your footsteps as you drift past your siblings’ rooms and their ajoining work rooms. It’s after 3am and the only light in the entire house comes from the full moon shining through the windows.  You wonder why none of your siblings like being awake at this time of night. Couldn’t they feel the soft power of the moon all around? Didn’t they want to drink in the soothing howls of the stars?

On nights like these, you don’t mind not having a room quite so much. It means that the entire world is your room, the moon shining just for you.

You frown. Well, it’s shining just for you now. You aren’t going to be alive on the next full moon. You overheard your family’s plan for you while sneaking through the kitchen for leftovers.

“The power that thing gives is no longer needed,” your father told your mother. “Especially now that our youngest has fully matured. It’s time to end it.”

Your mother hummed. You could hear the ice melting in her glass. “We will need to sever the blood ties beforehand. Though not a witch, she has enough magic for a death curse.”

You hope down the stairs as best you can on your uninjured leg. You’d listened silently, invisible, as your parents talked calmly about the ritual to destroy your soul. You wonder what they would have done if they’d caught you eavesdropping. Kill you?

They’re already going to do that.

You can’t run. The injuries aren’t healing like they used to. Your second eldest brother boiled the blood in your leg to practice his curse work. Could that be why it’s not better yet? Is it a curse? Or just unlucky? Whatever the case, it prevents you from running away. Your family’s estate is large and in the center of a large plain. They’ll catch you long before you make it to the valley’s edge, much less before you make it over the mountains.

You stop on your way to the kitchen. You’d been going to get something to eat, your appetite only just now returning after hearing the news of your impending death, but what’s the point? Your death at their hands won’t be painless. You might as well just starve now.

“Not like this.”

The whisper is so faint you think it’s in your head at first. But then you hear the clinkof metal against metal and the slow drag of chains coming from a long way off. You freeze, head cocked to one side. The dragging sound comes again and you track it to the air vent in the floor.

A muffled sob comes from below.

There’s someone in the basement. You know that’s where your family keeps their experiments. Witches from other covens captured in battle, cryptids, and mutated animals. You’ve heard them screaming before but have never been allowed down to see any of them.

You have never heard any of them speak.

You aren’t allowed to, but you stagger to the basement door. It is a quick work of magic to make the locks drop to the ground and to convince the heavy steal door to open. You aren’t allowed, but what is the worst thing that can happen? Maybe this guest will kill you before your family has the chance to.

You lean against the stone wall as you carefully make your way down the stairs. The sound of sniffling seems loud in the quiet of the underground. It’s dark down here, only a sliver of the moon’s light coming through a few small windows near the ceiling.

In the dim light, you can make out three cells. One is empty, door partially ajar. The other is stained black with what looks like old blood. And the third, door light tight, has a girl in it.

“Oh,” you say.

The girl’s head whips up. Her eyes are as black as the shadows, no sclera at all, and her hair is a tangled riot of curls. There is something otherabout her that you can smell even through the magic-suppressants of the basement.

“Help me,” she says in a trembling voice. Her eyes are human and you wonder if you were only imagining the black from before. “They-they kidnapped me.” Her gaze lights on your bandages as you step further into the light. “I can help you too.”

There’s something different in how she says that last part. Her voice doesn’t tremble. It sounds like a promise. Or a deal.

“There are magic-suppressors down here,” you say. You hesitate five feet from her cell door. You’re going to be killed if you’re found down here. But also… Why should you both die? “I’ll have to find the key. It’ll be upstairs. I’ll do it.”

“Yes,” the girl says. “Yes, help me and I’ll help you.”

You smile without humor. “You can’t help me.” It’s a lovely dream, but you know your family. It’ll be nice to help this other kid before they flay you alive. “I’ll free you anyway.” You turn to go find the key.

“I can’t…Wait!” The girl is sitting up on her knees now, hands hovering over the bars of her cell. “I canhelp you. Just tell me what you want!”

It strikes you suddenly that you don’t wantanything. You press a hand to your chest. How long has it been since you’ve wanted anything? You’ve only ever acceptedthings. Pain and ridicule and hurt. “I,” you say, “will go find the key.”

There’s the sound of scrambling. You turn to find the girl on her feet, eyes wild. “If you don’t want anything from me then…then tell me your name!”

You blink at her. What a strange person, first demanding to give you something and then demanding something from you! “My name?”

The girl nods frantically. “Yes, your name. You can call me Magna.”

The way she says that is wrong too. You can call me Magna. You can’t tell howit’s wrong through, so you shrug. “I’m Hyacinth.”

“Hyacinth,” she says behind you. Then, almost to herself, “Hyacinth.”

“I’ll go get the key, Magna,” you say. There’s a darkness in the way she says your name. Part of you shivers at the sound of it, but it’s also…comforting.

“Yes,” Magna says. “I’ll be waiting.”

——————.

“You saved my life,” you say. She’s not walking so you take the initiative, sliding around her so now you are the one leading her deeper into the forest. You squint through the dark. Do you see a light up ahead? “I don’t think I ever told you that.”

“No,” she says quietly. “You didn’t.” She follows you with careful steps. You can feel her eyes on your back, waiting to see if you’ll need support. “You didn’t tell me why you went to the basement that night either.”

You smile where she can’t see. She’s always been as quick of mind as she is quick of tongue. “I heard you. I heard you say you didn’t want to die.”

“But why did you come down?” she asks. Her free hand ghosts against your elbow when it looks like you’re going to trip. “You knew about the others your family took. Why me? Why then?”

“Because they were going to kill me,” you tell her. There’s definitely light up ahead, a soothing blue glow that almost looks like moonlight.  “I didn’t think two of us needed to die.”

Magna’s rage is quick to surface. Her skin heats in your hand and then cools just as rapidly before it can burn you. “You didn’t tell me that,” she says through gritted teeth.

You shrug. “You asked me what I wanted. I knew my days were numbered. All I wanted was for you to be free in my place.”

Magna swears. “I would have—if I’d known–!” She takes a deep breath. “They are lucky I did not make them suffer.”

It had been a surprise when Magna, free of her restraints, slaughtered your family in only a few minutes. She’d left you to live in the family’s mansion, alive and free for the first time in your life.

It had been a bigger surprise when she came back.

You hum. “I was glad to have them gone.” The light is growing brighter. It doeslook like moonlight, but you are a witch of the night sky. You know what moonbeams look like. “I was never family to them. I was a burden. An experiment. I grew up my whole life living like a caged beast, free for them to use.” Your eyes slide back to see her pale face in the fake-moonlight. “I don’t ever want to be trapped again.”

Unease flashes through her eyes, there and gone in a flash. “I…know.”

“I’ve thought about it,” you say. Your legs don’t feel so stiff anymore. You hop over a vine before Magna can move it out of the way. “What would I do if my family came back? Kill them, definitely. But what would I do if they locked me up? Caged me once again?” Your voice is very quiet as the light ahead grows brighter and brighter. “I would do anything to avoid that.”

“Stop.” Magna tugs your hand until you obey her, freezing before you can take another step. She won’t meet your eyes. “Stop, Hyacinth. Just for a…just for a moment.” The magic in the air stutters.

You grin as warmth unfurls in your chest. You expected this reaction, but it’s good to see it nonetheless. It means you aren’t about to make a mistake. “What is it? Is there something wrong?” Because you are cruel, you pull her hand to your chest. “Didn’t you say we were going to be late?”

She jerks and her beautiful black eyes find yours. She searches you for a long moment. “You know?”

You step into her space, a taunting smile on your lips. “Know what? We are going to your home, aren’t we?”

“You know what I am,” she says. Her free hand curls into a fist and uncurls. The shadows on the trees darken and twist. “You know where I’m leading you.”

You’re sure she can feel the steady beat of your heart.  You widen your eyes. “That can’t be true. You’ve laid so many spells on me over the years to hide the truth, haven’t you? How could I have ever seen through them?”

“But you have,” she says. She is still as a statue, as firm as the forest around her. She stopped running from you years ago. Does she even know how hard you worked to ease her fears? Her brow furrows. “You know. You’ve known.”

You nod, dropping the fake innocence. “I have. Your spells have never worked on me.”

The magic she’s been weaving disappears. The smiling, chirping Magna is nowhere to be seen and you’re left with the Other. “So you’ve been pretending.” She shakes her head and still doesn’t pull away. “Putting aside why my magic doesn’t work on you, I don’t understand. Why let me lead you here?”

“Before I tell you that,” you say, “perhaps you should be asking me a different question.” Your eyes flash and you imagine Magna can see the moon in them. “Why have I stopped pretending now?”

She’s on edge, watching you like she might watch a predator. “Because you know where I’m taking you and the consequences of walking there of your own free will,” she says like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. She cocks her head to the side. “Is that the answer?” Something like hope flutters through her aura. “You won’t let me trap you and you know you can’t leave if you walk in freely. Do you want me to force you across? So you can leave?”

You reach out to thread your fingers through her hair, your other hand still holding her hand to your chest. “Not quite.” You look at her, the complete trust in the way she turns her face into your hand, seeking your heat. Even now as you throw her plans into disarray, she trusts you. It is time to reward that trust. You take a deep breath. “I have a confession.” And your words catch in your throat.

This is it. There will be no turning back from this point forward. Ha. There’s beenno turning back for for a long time. Not since Magna wandered into your home again, arms full of berries as a silent thanks for your rescue.

“What confession?” Magna prompts.

“My name is Lily,” you say without fanfare. Your thumb strokes the soft skin behind her ear. “My real name is Lily.”

Magna gasps as the power of your true name hits her. Her eyes flare with stars and the hand pressed to your chest curls, nails digging into your skin. “But you—your name—” Her eyes find yours again. “You liedto me back then.”

She sounds impressed.

“And now I’ve told you the truth,” you say. You reel her in until you can press your forehead against hers. She comes willingly. You can feel her breath against your lips. “I want you to know that, when I walk into Underhill, I’m doing it for you. Because I love you. Because you have every part of me that’s ever mattered.”

“Oh,”she says. She’s trembling now. “Oh.”She takes her head from yours so that she can grip your hips. “You love me.”

“I do.”

“That,” she breathes, “is really good news. I was worried for how long you’d hate me once you realized where I’d led you. You can hold quite the grudge.”

You laugh. “Good thing you don’t need to worry about it then.” You pull back so you can meet her eyes. “I’m willing. I’m ready.”

She grins, the beauty of it blinding you for a moment. “My family is going to loveyou,” she promises. She takes your hand again and leads you past the last few trees into a clearing. A mushroom ring glows like the moon in the center. “Though, of course, not as much as I do.”

You grin and don’t feel your old scars at all as you step into Underhill with Magna’s hand in yours.

——————End———————

Thank you for reading! I am always obsessed with the sort of intense love where both partners walk into it with eyes wide open, so I hope you enjoyed my interpretation of that in a dark fantasy way!

If you’d like to see stories like this a week earlier, please consider supporting me on Patreon (X) where next week’s story is already up! I’m really excited about it because it takes place in this (x) universe which was so fun to write before!

Next week’s story’s summary:  Summary: You are a Villager. You aren’t the Hero, but when danger comes to your town, you’re ready.

TW: v3nt, m3nti0ns 0f $uicid3, s3lf-h4t3r3d, m3nti0ns 0f S3*u4l 4bu$3

It’s getting worse day by day.

I’m staring to feel the need of cuts, craving the sight of my own blood as a punishment. The things that helped me before, are not working anymore.

I often catch myself degrading my whole being, like as I am an outsider. The memories he made me suffer through are not fading at all, as the doctor has said they will.

Everything is useless. I’m staring to think If It’s worth staying alive or not at all. This is not the usual kind of post, this is much longer and deeper this time.

I’m counting the days I should stay alive but my pen is getting useless day by day. My body feels like It’s rotting with every breath I take and every movement gets me closer to the edge.

His hands made wounds that will never heal, but get nastier and nastier everytime I see them. I wish I never wore a skirt. Especially not that day.

I’m begging for the world to end me in any way. Give me the sweet release of this lie, this false reality. I don’t want to live like this no more.

I’m waiting for the lovely day of my death, the freedom from this suffering. Heaven or Hell doesn’t exist. Hell surely don’t. There’s no worse place than Earth itself.

The sour taste the pills, lefr on my tounge never faided since that day.

I wish I never decided to look that way.

I wish I never decided to go out that day.

I wish He didn’t call me sweetheart.

I wish He died.