“My darling bird, it seems as though our swamp witch is in need of your gentle disposition,” Myrtles crooned into Cordelia’s ear.
Cordelia hummed in confusion. Sometimes she wished her aunt would be less cryptic if only in the moments she had no energy to decipher her true meanings.
“Look,” she said, urging her to see through her eyes rather than her own. A skill she was still learning to perfect.
The picture was fuzzy around the edges and lacking in color, but she could still make out the scene before her.
Misty stood in the corner of the portrait room, her back to the wall, staring at the body of the axe man lifelessly laying on the floor.
A thick dark substance covered her face and matted some of her hair against her head. Her fingers slowly and disbelievingly touched her face, slightly smearing the substance Cordelia assumed to be blood. She brought her fingers back and stared at them, betraying no emotions. Though her mouth hung open slightly and her hands trembled just enough to be noticeable.
She brought her fingers back up to run through her hair, exhaling shortly when they got stuck in a clot of blood. Her eyebrows stitched together and her forehead wrinkled.
“I’ve seen enough,” she told Myrtle quietly.
Slowly the picture faded away until the witch was once again living in darkness.
“Thank you Myrtle,” she said before breaking away from their embrace.
Using her stick as a guide, Cordelia made her way to Misty. The closer she walked, the better she could hear her soft breathing. When she could nearly feel her exhale on her face, Cordelia stopped and slowly reached out her hand.
Misty regarded it then accepted it. One of the few, if not only, unafraid of what Cordelia might see.
Misty embraced her hands with both of her own, grasp firm and gentle. Cordelia could’ve cried at the unassuming purity that existed within the woman before her. At how thoughtless sharing her own warmth with someone else was. Her hands were soft; fingertips calloused from months of labor that came with living by herself in the swamplands. But above all, her hands were warm. Not cold like Fiona’s or Myrtle’s. But warm. And welcoming. But under her skin, as if it were a layer in and of itself, Cordelia could feel Misty’s despair. Her despair over her own actions that had resulted in the life lost of another human being. Well, ghost turned human being.
“Misty,” she breathed and squeezed her hand.
No response came from the witch save for a small squeeze from her hands.
“Will you help me upstairs?” She asked. Cordelia knew the best way to gain Misty’s attention and compliance would be to ask her for help rather than ask her if she would come with her.
“‘Course,” she spoke softly. One of her hands grasped Cordelia’s tightly and the other wrapped around her arm as they walked side by side up the grand staircase.
Being kept closely, pressed against Misty’s side like so, Corelia felt safe and secure for perhaps the first time in her adult life. Certainly the first time since she’d lost her sight.
She could feel every point in which their bodies touched, the sensation warming her and settling low in her stomach.
When they entered her personal quarters, Cordelia knew immediately, smelling the oakmoss reed diffuser on her nightstand.
The room carried a faint chill, so with a quick flick of her wrist, Cordelia lit the fireplace.
Misty startled at the sudden roaring of flames and her grip loosened as she felt her presence was no longer required. When Cordelia sensed her pulling away, she held onto her hand.
“Stay?” she asked, half expecting the other woman to decline.
Cordelia was tired. She couldn’t find it within herself to pretend, or be anyone other than who she was. It was late. Her mother was dead. She would put niceties aside for now.
“What can I do?” She asked. A question Cordelia was certain had never been asked of her before.
“You can let me clean that blood off your face,” she said with a light tone and made her way to where she remembered her bathroom to be. She pulled the hand towel off its hook and dampened it with sink water before tapping her way back into the bedroom.
“Miss ‘Delia-”
“None of that. Come here please,” Cordelia interrupted. She heard Misty give a disbelieving exhale, but the witch shuffled over to her anyway. Misty grabbed her hand and led them to sit before the fire’s heat, hoping it would provide a practical excuse as to why her cheeks were about the flush.
The two witches sat side by side now, close enough that their sides pressed against each other.
In Cordelia’s right hand was the wet towel, so she used her left to hesitantly reach up to feel Misty’s face. The younger witch made no comment about her clumsy movements, instead breathing in and out deeply to steady her pulse.
Cordelia’s fingers brushed across the planes of her soft skin, from her forehead, down her nose, over her chin. When her fingers traced her full lips, Cordelia felt her heart flutter. She suppressed the urge to imagine what Misty’s lips would feel like between her teeth, and finished mapping her face and committing it to memory.
With one hand still resting on her cheek, Cordelia brought the rag up to clean the blood covering her skin. It was a guessing game as to whether or not she was actually wiping it off, but neither of them acknowledged that aloud.
Every time Cordelia brushed the rag across Misty’s face, she could feel the young woman’s sorrow. It seeped through the cloth as if it were the blood itself.
“You protected our coven Misty,” she assured gently, thumb moving back and forth across her cheekbone in movements she hoped were reassuring. “He would’ve killed us.”
The young witch lowered her head in a slight bow, “Doesn’t make it right to take another life.”
Cordelia lifted her chin with her index finger. “Would you have rather I died?”
Misty’s head jerked up, making Cordelia pull the towel back. “No! ‘Course not. Why would ya say sucha thing?”
Cordelia chuckled at the witch’s enthusiastic response. She brought the towel back up to softly brush across her face again, a smile resting on her own.
“You saved my life, Misty,” she remarked seriously. “Thank you.”
Misty huffed before falling still to Cordelia’s soothing ministrations once more.
“Well, ya’ve saved me twice now. Reckon it was my turn.”
Cordelia's eyebrows raised, “Twice?”
Misty shrugged, “When ya pulled me outta that coffin, and when ya let me stay here under your protection.”
Cordelia hummed in thoughtfulness. She hadn’t thought anything about letting Misty into the coven. When their hands wrapped around each other and she understood who the witch was, she welcomed her in without a second thought. She could still recall the feeling of the dirt on the woman’s hands and the desperation clinging to her skin.
The older witch went back to wiping Misty’s face until she was certain she’d removed any trace of the axeman from her pale skin. Then she let the towel caress her bottom lip slowly and softly, taking her time. Misty drew a shallow breath at the feeling, her eyes borrowing into Cordelia’s unseeing ones. Though she could not see in the literal sense, she could feel Misty’s gaze upon her and hear her unsteady breathing.
“I will never judge you or think less of you for trying to protect the coven. I hope you know that.”
Misty brought a hand up to caress Cordelia’s upper arm with a gentle pressure.
“There is a justice higher than that of man. I will be judged by him,” she said evenly.
Cordelia moved her hand to brush her cheek when her fingers ran across a wet stream. Her heart constricted at the feeling of Misty’s tears on her hand. Rather than trying to soothe her with words, Cordelia pulled Misty’s head against her chest and wrapped her arms around the young Cajun witch.
Misty’s breathing evened out in Cordelia’s embrace as she pulled her blouse between her finger’s tight grasp and held fast. She cried freely and with every passing minute, Cordelia could feel the woman’s sorrow slowly leaving her. The pain was constant, as it had been even when they first met. Cordelia figured that would be around for a lot longer. She made it her life’s purpose in that moment to be the reason her pain eventually left her too.
The older witch massaged her scalp through her thick wavy hair, and hummed softly.
Between the fire burning in the background and Cordelia holding them like lovers, Misty had never felt warmer.
The Cajun woman begrudgingly pulled back after most of her tears had subsided, feeling as though she may have overstayed her welcome. She dabbed around her eyes in an attempt to rid of any stray wetness. Not that Cordelia would have been able to notice.
When she looked back to the older witch, she had to stifle a small surprised laugh with her hand. The noise did not escape Cordelia.
“What?” Her face quickly fell, “Do I have something on my face?”
Misty cleared her throat and straightened her posture, “Just a...a bit of axeman. Here,” She placed a hand on Cordelia’s arms and brought the rag up to brush over her cheek. “Sorry Miss ‘Delia,” she said quietly as she tried to remove the blood. The slow drawl of her southern accent making Cordelia’s pulse quicken.
“Please,” she said, “Just Cordelia.”
Misty grinned. “Cordelia,” she tested, accenting the syllables. Both women giggled.
Misty wet her thumb with her tongue and used it to remove the last speck of blood from Cordelia’s chin. The witch, though she could see nothing, seemed to be staring right at her. Growing bold, she let her thumb rest on the older woman’s bottom lip and caress the soft pink skin there. Cordelia’s breath became shallow and unsteady by the second. Thinking she’d overstepped, Misty let her hand fall away.
“Cord-”
Cordelia framed Misty’s face with both hands and slowly brought her forward to connect their lips. The pressure was so light, for not her hands on her face, Misty would’ve thought this was a figment of her imagination.
Cordelia drew back but stayed close. “Was that okay?”
Misty nodded vigorously in her grasp making the older woman laugh.
“More than okay,” she assured before leaning in again, hesitantly. She braced Cordelia’s elbows where her hands still held her face close. Slowly she kissed her again, firmer this time. Fuller and with clear intention.
They kissed and they kissed and they kissed until their kisses lost their chastity and grew faster; bolder. Misty trailed her tongue across Cordelia's bottom lip in an unspoken question which was answered immediately when she opened her mouth without pause. When Cordelia sucked on her tongue, both women moaned deeply and held each other tighter.
Misty pulled back to take a full breath, having been starving herself from air for longer than she could take. Cordelia leaned forward to place a kiss on her neck, but Misty stopped her. Cordelia looked worried she’d mistepped.
“What’s wrong?” She asked.
Misty grabbed her hand and squeezed, “I think I should pro’lly shower first, Delia.”
The older witch laughed and nodded in agreement. “That may be best.”
Misty helped her stand and led her to her bed, waiting for her to settle atop it. She caressed her jaw gently and brushed her thumb back and forth across her skin.
“I’ll be right back, okay?”
Cordelia smiled softly and nodded, leaning into the hand on her cheek.
Misty leaned forward to place a kiss on Cordelia’s forehead and ran her hand through the witch’s long golden hair.
As Misty walked away, Cordelia felt a sense of dread settle heavy in her chest. She was accustomed to having people walk away. Granted she hadn’t loved any of them the way she loved the swamp witch.
But she knew this time was different. Because Misty was just in the other room. And she was coming back. Coming back to her. And this time Cordelia wouldn’t let her go.