Margaretha's Wish
Grace couldn’t see her. Margaretha realised that after two weeks of futile wishing, screaming and begging. She was just an incorporeal spirit whose words carried as much weight as the frosty wind on an uncaring winter day. So to say, not much.
It pained Margaretha to see Grace, sitting morosely on a rock some ways out into the sea and weeping into her hands, her tears falling like shimmering pearls down her face. The only thing Margaretha could do was sit by her side, quietly speaking words of comfort no one could hear except for herself.
The other thing that pained Margaretha was the state her ‘soul’ was in, or whatever it was that allowed her to keep moving around in the real world. One would expect to look how one was when one died, but apparently it was not the case. For Margaretha, at least, it wasn’t.
Margaretha’s ‘soul’ wandered Lakeside Village in the same performance clothes she’d been given when she first entered the Hullabaloo Circus. It was a beautiful dress adorned with lace, delicate embellishments and charms, and layers upon layers of tulle. It had been affectionately titled ‘Drifting Moonlight’ by its dressmaker. Her costume had been changed by Bernard when Margaretha became the animal tamer, but she’d kept her beloved Drifting Moonlight hidden away in her special trunk.
It was one of Margaretha’s closely-guarded treasures while she was in the Hullabaloo Circus, something that was rather rare. Even Sergi had never been allowed to go near the beloved treasure trunk, no matter how much he beat her or yelled at her. It was Margaretha’s. One of the only things Margaretha could call her own in that dreadful place.
Maybe it was because the happiest memory she could properly remember was dancing on the stage with Violetta while wearing Drifting Moonlight, so it was the only form her soul could properly latch on to.
The Drifting Moonlight of the Hullabaloo Circus, doomed to eternally drift along the shores, never to be seen, never to be heard. Forever lamenting her lost love, her Weeping Goddess, who similarly wept for her.
It would make quite the romantic love story, if you ignored the fact that it was actively happening to her.
“Hello Grace, how are you today?” Margaretha asked, crossing one leg over the other as she sat down on the rock. As usual, Grace kept staring out to sea, a tearful, faraway look in her eyes. It looked like Grace couldn’t hear her today either.
Grace always sat facing the sea, as if she couldn’t bear to keep looking at the drowned village, and as of now, Margaretha’s grave. Margaretha couldn’t bear to look at the waters Grace drowned in, or her sorrowful expression. That was why Margaretha sat with her back pressed against Grace’s, gazing at the relic of her old village.
Sometimes, as Grace wept, and Margaretha couldn’t think of anything else to say, Margaretha wondered. She wondered how her village had come to be this way. She wondered why Grace was crying every night. She wondered why Grace couldn’t see her, hear her, or feel her touch.
Was it because Grace wasn’t really dead?
Unlike Margaretha, who was now just some spirit, Grace still ‘lived’ on. Margaretha didn’t want to call her an undead, but how else could Grace possibly be alive after being sacrificed so many years ago? Perhaps the Gods that ruled over the area Lakeside Village was situated in were real, and they had granted Grace a second chance.
If that was the case… would they grant a wish of Margaretha’s too, if she prayed hard enough?
Perhaps they would.
Margaretha had heard tales of the Lord in Yellow and the Mistress of Dreams long before she even knew of Grace’s existence. All the people who grew up in Lakeside Village and all the people who didn’t knew of the two ruling gods, and not to anger them.
She still vividly remembered all the sacrifices that had been made to the Lord in Yellow, livestock and such that had been rowed far off to sea and tossed inside. Margaretha also remembered the caverns at the foot of the mountain, and the same offerings they’d all left at the front of the cave entrance, for the Mistress of Dreams.
Margaretha also remembered, one day eight years ago, when she’d seen something that made her vehemently decide to leave this place the moment she could. She had stayed by the sea a while later, hoping to talk to Grace and leave a present. Instead, Margaretha swore she saw a purple tentacle reach out from the depths to drag the struggling livestock to a watery death.
Similarly, she’d gotten lost near the caves the very next day, when it was time to offer sacrifices for the Mistress of Dreams. When night fell, Margaretha saw a skinny little girl that looked like a walking corpse toddle outside, stab a pickaxe into the nearest sheep with some difficulty, and then drag it back into the cave. Margaretha watched the entire thing with abject horror, staring blankly as the little girl impaled and dragged every single one of the livestock into the cave, and then lugged the baskets along with her pickaxe.
Ever since those fateful days, Margaretha had always had the uncomfortable feeling that she was being watched whenever she was in Lakeside Village.
Even now, though she was a spirit and sitting on a rock far out at sea, Margaretha could still feel an intense stare burning through her back.
It unnerved her, truly. But no matter how hard she looked, Margaretha could never seem to catch anything but flickers of yellow, black and purple.
“Did you make a wish to the Lord in Yellow and the Mistress of Dreams, Grace? Is that why you’re still here?” Margaretha asked, tilting her head up to stare at the moon.
As usual, there was no reply. She shouldn’t expect one anymore. Why bother getting her hopes up only to watch them crash down? “Right… you can’t hear me. Sorry.” Margaretha laughed, trailing her fingers in the water.
Margaretha hadn’t heard Grace speak since she died. She was almost ready to believe those quiet words she’d heard were just an illusion her weary mind had cast upon her. “Please, Grace… say something. Anything.” So Margaretha could hear her beautiful voice again, and be comforted that it wasn’t her mind playing tricks on her.
The only thing that answered her was the gentle lapping of waves against their rock.
˚₊‧꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱‧₊˚
Margaretha felt like she was going to go insane if this kept up any longer. She spent her days walking aimlessly around Lakeside Village, unable to take even a step outside the two gates that stood on either side of the village. Every time she tried, there would be a startling pain in the limbs that left the gate, and an aggravated hissing noise. Whatever was keeping her soul here evidently didn’t want Margaretha to leave.
That was well and all, Margaretha really didn’t mind staying. It was just so boring without anyone to talk to her. Weeks ticked by agonisingly slowly, until eventually Margaretha was too tired to even bother walking around the village. It wasn’t physical tiredness - spirits couldn’t get tired - but mental.
There was no calendar anywhere, but Margaretha approximated that it was almost time for that. The sacrifices to the Lord in Yellow and the Mistress of Dreams were usually around this time of the year.
At least it would be, if her internal calendar wasn’t wrong. But she was basing everything on the date it had been when she’d tried to die, and it had been so long since then, so who knew anymore?
As if to agree with her, the atmosphere around Lakeside Village seemed to get drearier and more ominous.
It was raining more often, and Margaretha could hear odd noises coming from the mountains, although the village was far enough away from the village that no one should be able to hear anything. Giggling and the sound of scales slithering over rock.
As she focused on all these sounds only she could hear, a rather stupid idea wormed its way into Margaretha’s head.
Maybe…
In all the tales of yore that circulated Lakeside Village, the Lord in Yellow was depicted as a humanoid octopus that wore a faded yellow robe, and possessed the powers of the seas. The Mistress of Dreams was a snake-woman with an array of minions at her disposal.
If the little girl and the tentacles Margaretha had seen all those years ago were the physical embodiments of those Gods…
Could Margaretha make a wish?
One small, miniscule wish, that wouldn’t affect anything. Maybe she’d finally be able to fulfill the dream she’d had since she was a child.
Just a wish for the happiness of her. And… Margaretha too, if the Gods were benevolent enough.
Whatever the consequences were, it surely couldn’t be worse than this. Margaretha was willing to go to any length.
˚₊‧꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱‧₊˚
Wanting to make a wish was well and all, but how was Margaretha to achieve such a thing? She had no idea how to attract the attention of either the Lord in Yellow or the Mistress of Dreams. Could they even see her? Surely they could, being gods.
“Lord in Yellow…” Margaretha murmured. They were the only option. She couldn’t leave Lakeside Village to travel to the Mistress of Dreams’ cave. A fickle God who could be as gentle as a gentle rain in one moment, and then as furious as the rough waves of the ocean in the next. Margaretha doubted they would easily grant her anything, apart from her soul being dispelled from the world.
A sudden movement startled Margaretha. Grace had moved off her rock and slipped into the ocean, glancing around quickly before diving under the waves. Margaretha stared after her. Grace never left her vantage point on the rock until the sun was gracing the sky with the first beams of light. Why was she leaving so soon?
A swirling vortex was the answer to Margaretha’s question.
Margaretha’s mouth dropped open and she stared at the vortex with a look of utter bafflement. Since when was the ocean prone to… well, vortexes so close to the shore?
The thought that she might’ve accidentally summoned the Lord in Yellow with those three unintentional murmurs didn’t even pass through Margaretha’s thought process until a clawed, purplish-red hand shot out from the centre of the vortex.
Margaretha watched in abject horror as what she could only describe as an eldritch entity slowly emerged from the eye of the vortex, bringing with it a gust of harsh wind and an irritating whispering noise in the back of her head. “Who has summoned me?” The Lord in Yellow’s voice boomed, making the bushes near Margaretha rustle like there was a strong wind.
Their voice was not one singular thing, but a hundred different people at once. If Margaretha was a human, she was sure she would’ve gone insane already from the power emanating off of them. Indeed, this was the strength of an Outer God.
“It… was me. My Lord.” Margaretha said, hurriedly adding in a term of respect before she forgot.
The Lord in Yellow turned to her, and Margaretha’s mind pulsed with pain. The outline of their yellow robes seemed blurry and unclear, a thousand different shades yet all the same. “Why have you called me to this world, mortal?”
Margaretha found her voice stuck in her throat. The only time she’d ever frozen up like this before was when she was with… “I…” Margaretha steeled herself for this selfish request she was about to make, reminding herself who it was for. “I want to make a wish.”
The Lord in Yellow laughed condescendingly, the sound echoing painfully in Margaretha’s ears. “A wish? Foolish mortal… I am not the one to ask for a wish.” The Lord in Yellow said, shaking what seemed to be his head, for it was covered in the hood of his yellow cloak. “The Mistress of Dreams is the one to seek for such supercilious things. Yet… How interesting. You cannot leave, can you?” The Lord in Yellow mused.
“No, My Lord. I cannot go to the Mistress of Dreams.” Margaretha replied. “But please, I will do anything, if you can grant me this one wish. I just want to make sure she-”
“I should dispel your soul where you stand, for summoning me to listen to such useless chatter.” The Lord in Yellow snapped, sounding irritated.
Margaretha cringed, wondering if this was how she died. At the hands - tentacles? - of an Outer God who didn’t want to listen to her ‘useless chatter’.
“However. Your situation is… interesting. Not many souls possess the determination to linger on the earth.” The Lord in Yellow continued.
Margaretha fixed her facial expression, looking up at the Lord in Yellow. Well, as far up as she could look without her head splitting in half from the pain. “Do you mean…” She stared, a glimmer of hope igniting in her heart.
“Not me. The Mistress of Dreams will grant your wish.” A tentacle lazily gestured behind her, and Margaretha turned around, just in time to witness an… interesting occurrence.
A bright purple witch mark emerged on the ground behind her, and a tiny, bony little kid crawled her way out with a snake-like hiss. She glared up at Margaretha, entire body tilted to the right as she struggled to hold a pickaxe basically her size. “My… Mistresssss…” She hissed, head cracking violently to the left as she straightened up.
She recognised this scrawny child as the same one that had taken the offerings of the Mistress of Dreams into the cave all those years ago. “Are you the Mistress of Dream’s servant?” The little girl glared at her harder, raising her pickaxe slightly as if she took offense to the word ‘servant’.
“Follower…” The little girl croaked, slamming her pickaxe into the ground with a thump that sounded stronger than what her frail little body could produce.
“Alright… You’re the Mistress of Dream’s follower. Can… you tell me how I can see your Mistress?” Margaretha asked, wondering if the pickaxe could touch her, and if she would get impaled if she tried to get closer to the little girl.
There was a sharp, almost cruel sounding laughter, although Margaretha clearly saw no one else around her. The little follower girl had her mouth firmly shut, and Margaretha was sure the Lord in Yellow did not sound like that. “Who are you?”
“Who am I? Am I not the one you seek?” The voice asked, turning her question back at her.
Right, Margaretha remembered that the eyes of mortals could not grasp the visage of the Mistress of Dreams.
She heard an audible sigh from the Lord in Yellow. Then there was a violent thunderclap. “Good luck, mortal. Remember, every wish has a consequence.” With that ominous warning, the Lord in Yellow sank back in the vortex, which slowly closed. The seas became calm again, like nothing had ever happened.
“A wish, you say? Speak up, girl.” The disembodied voice said. Margaretha suddenly had a stifling feeling, like there was something wrapping around her and squeezing.
Margaretha whispered out her request, glancing at the little follower who ignored her. The Mistress of Dream’s laughter rang out again, and she had the odd feeling that her wish had pleased the Mistress of Dreams greatly.
“Very well, very well! Good, a wish for me, and a wish for that octopus.” The Mistress of Dreams crowed. The follower raised her pickaxe and slammed it into the ground in… celebration? “Very good, mortal. I will grant this wish of yours.” They announced smugly.
“Many thanks, benevolent lady.”
“Yima.” The follower girl raised her head, staring at a branch above Margaretha’s head. “You know what to do.”
Yima let out a raspy giggle and raised her pickaxe. The constricting feeling came back, and Margaretha found herself entirely unable to move as Yima swung her pickaxe down.
She didn’t understand. She didn’t understand at all. The Mistress of Dreams had said that she would grant Margaretha’s wish. Why was she commanding her follower to attack? That wasn’t what Margaretha had asked her to do!
As the pickaxe sliced through her chest, Margaretha felt a sudden feeling of weightlessness.
Despair flooded her entire being, and she watched as Yima tossed her pickaxe into the air with another giggle. Was… this how her soul disappeared from the world? At the hands of an Outer God’s follower, whose Mistress apparently couldn't care less about what she wanted, despite claiming to grant her wish?
Her body began to disintegrate into shimmering shards of white. She stared at Yima in shock, before her line of sight slipped back to the ocean, searching unconsciously for any sign of Grace.
Grace never showed up.
That was a good thing. Margaretha didn’t want the Mistress of Dream’s attention to turn to Grace.
But still, Margaretha couldn’t help but want to see Grace. She confused herself sometimes.
Just before Margaretha entirely disappeared, Yima leaned in and whispered something to her, under the guise of taunting her.
“Do not fail. She needs you.”