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oliversrarebooks · 6 months ago

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Augusnippets Day 16: Dehumanization

Augusnippets Masterlist

tw: dehumanization, mind control, brainwashing, gruesome spell ingredients, amnesia

Claude ducked into a side room, avoiding the gaze of yet another of the witch's many familiars. They resembled porcelain dolls the size of people, all wearing immaculate frilly dresses with shiny shoes that clicked on the wood floors, their eyes glassy and empty as they went about their chores. He wasn't sure if they were dolls that had been turned into servants or humans that had been enchanted into dolls, and he wasn't eager to find out.

He had only one piece of business in the witch's stronghold, and that was simply to kill her and free his village from the curse that was slowly poisoning it. He couldn't bear to see crops wither as soon as they emerged from the ground, houses going to rot, whole families going pale and sickly. It was all because the witch had been spurned and mocked when she came to the village for help -- and so she'd doomed them all.

The side room seemed to be a kind of small parlor, with tea set for two complete with a basket of moldy pastries. Thankfully, there were no familiars to be found. Claude took a deep breath and fiddled with the knife in its sheath yet again. He'd never actually killed anyone. He hoped he had the stomach for it.

Rallying his courage, he opened the door just a crack --

And the door was pulled open the rest of the way as an entire group of dolls ambushed him.

They were stronger than they looked, grabbing Claude and forcing him to the ground. They wordlessly chained his hands behind his back, and Claude looked deep into mindless dead eyes as another of the dolls stuffed a cloth gag in his mouth. His struggles were fruitless as the dolls hoisted him up and carried him away.

He felt more at peace with the situation than he would have expected. After all, he knew the risk of infiltrating the witch's stronghold, and dying quickly here was preferable to dying slowly in the village. At least he could go to his grave knowing that he tried.

The dolls carried him down the hallway and up a spiral staircase, then another, then another, until they reached the top of a tower. They brought him into a circular room with a cauldron in the center, lined with shelves containing thousands of strange and unidentifiable objects. There, standing in front of a massive leather-bound book on a podium, was the witch.

"Oh, what have we here?" said the witch. She was unnaturally youthful, considering what her true age must be, wearing a rough-looking brown shift adorned with many living plants and flowers. "Some interesting entertainment for this evening…"

Claude struggled against his bonds to no avail, as the cold and smooth hands of the dolls were holding him fast.

"You've done well to catch this rat." She patted one of the dolls on the head. "Now, why were you here?"

He glared at her, not willing to say even if he wasn't gagged.

She seemed unperturbed by this, plucking a sprig of forget-me-nots from her dress. She touched them to his forehead, then his throat, then to the gag that covered his mouth, and as she pulled them away, she drew an a ethereal silver thread with them, as though she were taking something from his very soul.

"Oh, you're here to kill me. You believe it will save your village. How tedious," she said, waving her fingers and dissolving the thread into the air. "For your impertinence, I should simply turn you into an insect and crush you."

Claude tried not to let his fear show. She was more than capable of such a thing, he was sure.

"Or perhaps I could be merciful and relieve you of your troubles. I could turn you into a bird and allow you to fly away from all of this."

If she turns me into a bird, I'll peck her eyes out first, he thought, and hoped that she couldn't read his mind any further than she already had.

"On the other hand…" A bony hand touched his cheek, turning Claude's face gently to the side as she examined him closely for something. He flinched away as best as he could. "Yes. I didn't notice at first, but you seem very well suited for servitude."

The dolls holding him chattered incoherently as his blood turned to ice. Anything but that -- he'd rather be turned into an insect, a bird, a worm, a rat. Just not an empty doll serving his greatest enemy.

"Yes, yes, I think that will do quite nicely," she said. "Oh, don't look so upset. Servitude is a precious gift. It's more than you deserve."

Claude fought as hard as he could against the dolls, but they quickly wrangled him into a chair. The witch snapped her fingers, and vines grew up and over the chair, binding him tightly. Another snap, and the wood underneath her cauldron burst into flame. She began to rummage among her shelves, pulling out ingredients.

She began by throwing several bunches of flowers into the pot. "Poppy, lavender, and valerian to help put you to sleep," she said, and the air in the room grew thick and heavy. "Spiderwebs gathered at dawn, to bind you to me." The almost-invisible substance poured from the jar seemed to shimmer in the air. "False dragonhead and the eyes of a dog to induce a deep obedience." Claude looked away from the gruesome sight. "Hibiscus for delicate beauty. Lotus root for serenity. Roses the color of a sunrise for grace."

The scent of the potion was becoming oppressive. Claude could feel his limbs grow heavy and his thoughts slow, even as he fought against the magic that was slowly but surely ensorcelling him.

"Bulrush and the brain of a young cow to promote sweet docility and mindlessness," she said, tossing them into the cauldron. "Just a pinch of deadly nightshade to stop your heart."

Claude jerked awake from the stupor he had been falling into, struggling against the vines anew, but the more he fought, the more they constricted around him.

"And now, the final touch." The witch was holding a pair of long, rusted shears. The vines forced Claude to hold his head still while she snipped at his hair. She gathered the locks from the floor and stuffed them into a small satchel, which she then tied around the neck of a wooden puppet, and threw it all into the cauldron.

As the puppet sank beneath the murky brew, Claude felt something in him change. His limbs started to numb, and a strong drowsiness overtook him. It was a cold, empty feeling, and his heart slowed along with the remainder of his thoughts, as he sank deep into a trance.

He opened his heavy eyelids just enough to see the witch preparing a shallow stone bowl of the potion and bringing it to him. "Breathe deep," she instructed. "Breathe deep and forget everything. Breathe deep and be changed."

He had no choice but to breathe it in, and he could feel it permeating every part of his body, fogging his mind. His fear gave way to tranquil stillness, his resistance turning into unthinking obedience. He looked up at his Witch with adoration, grateful for the precious gift of servitude, aching to serve her.

"Not yet, little one, we must complete the spell first," she said. The vines pulled the gag from his mouth, and the Witch put the bowl to his lips. "Drink," she commanded, and he was ever so eager to obey.

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#augusnippets #augusnippets day 16 #dehumanization #mind control #brainwashing #dollification #witch

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espithewarlock · 1 year ago

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Happy @1016week! Day 4 -Free Day! (Yes, I'm posting something ~else~ today. Please direct your complaints to Logan.)

Mild content warning for the inevitability of what happens when two people grow old together...

(o゜▽゜)o☆

The magic manifested in Pierre when he was twelve years old and Charles was only ten. He didn’t quite understand what all that meant when it happened, but it was impossible to miss how all of the adults started looking at Pierre’s parents with pity.

Not Pierre, though. He went from being the village favorite, a bright and sunny child, the youngest of five, so rarely at his own dinner table because he was constantly at one of his friends, to being completely outcast. A social pariah. The sort of child parents would caution their own kids to stay away from.

Charles thought that was stupid. Pierre was still Pierre, of course. He could still laugh and run and kick a ball around on the village green and explore the woods. He just had some magic now.

Having magic wasn’t necessarily a bad thing. Most of the adults would happily admit that having a Witch in the village was a good thing. The current Witch had been in her role ever since Charles’ grandmother was a young girl and Charles heard plenty of stories about the Witch from his own mother.

Nobody knew exactly how the magic worked. (That was rather the point of magic, really.) There was one thing that everyone knew, though. When the current Witch had exactly three years left to live, a successor would be chosen and the magic would manifest in another.

Pierre’s magic manifested in front of everyone so it was no secret. They had been playing with their group of friends on the village green and Pierre was playing goalkeeper. There was a really great shot and Pierre dived to try and save it. The ball was blocked by a misty, ethereal hand that projected out of Pierre’s own hand.

Instantly the game was over as most parents hurried their children away. Charles had run over to his best friend to give him a hug.

It definitely wasn’t Pierre’s fault that the magic was unpredictable. While the benefits were amazing, the drawbacks could be catastrophic. That was most of the reason why the Witch was always revered and always ostracized.

There were stories, of course, of when the magic went wrong. Sometimes it seemed entertaining, like when the current Witch grew a beard of feathers, or briefly turned herself into a potted plant, or had pink bubbles floating out of her mouth.

Sometimes it harmlessly affected those around the Witch, like when everyone nearby turned invisible for a full minute. That had initially caused some panic, but everyone reappeared and were perfectly fine, if mildly disoriented by the experience.

Other times it was dangerous. The previous Witch had died in such an event. As the story went, they had been summoned to assist with a relatively routine aliment and the whole house had gone up in flames. Everyone had died, including the Witch.

The magic went wrong rarely, and very wrong even more rarely, but it was often enough that nobody wanted to invite that chaos into their life unless it was strictly necessary.

Well, nobody except Charles, apparently.

As soon as Pierre’s magic manifested, his parents brought him to the Witch’s cottage on the outskirts of the village. Pierre didn’t vanish entirely. He still lived with his parents and had free days to spend with Charles, but it was different.

None of the other children, not even Pierre’s or Charles’ own brothers, would play with them anymore. Pierre always seemed a little sad that none of their friends would join them for adventures out in the woods or games on the village green. He became quiet and withdrawn.

Charles did his best to distract Pierre with stories that would make him laugh and listened attentively whenever Pierre excitedly told him about what he was learning from the Witch.

(He never showed Charles any of his magic, though. That was apparently too dangerous.)

Pierre started appearing in public with the Witch a year into his training. He would accompany her on house visits and to the weekly market to pick up supplies.

Everyone treated him with the same respectful distance that they gave the Witch. Everyone except Charles, who always greeted his friend with a familiar hug.

Once, Pierre asked why Charles didn’t avoid him, like all of the other children.

“You’re my friend, Pierre. You having magic doesn’t change that.”

“But it could be dangerous! You could get hurt.”

“I know that you won’t hurt me.”

Pierre fidgeted uncomfortably. “Ellie says that I should keep my distance from you, for your safety. She says you might get injured. That you’re going to have a job and family of your own someday and you’ll slowly drift away from me. A clean break is easier to heal, she says.”

“That’s stupid,” Charles scoffed, “just because she’s a miserable, lonely Witch doesn’t mean you have to be a miserable lonely Witch. I’m going to always be your friend, I promise. We’ll be together forever.”

The smile he got in return could have rivaled the sun for its brilliance.

— — — — — — — — — — — — — — — —

Exactly three years after Pierre’s magic manifested, the Witch passed away. It wasn’t like the previous Witch, who died in the blazing inferno that claimed many lives. It was a quiet affair.

Thirteen-year-old Charles was the only person to stand by Pierre’s side as the Witch’s body turned to ash. Fifteen-year-old Pierre scattered the ash around the Witch’s, now his, garden as he took up the mantle.

It didn’t seem right that such a heavy burden was put on Pierre at such a young age. He had embraced his training with a quiet maturity and the whole village was treating him with the same distant respect they granted to the previous Witch.

The responsibilities kept him busy, but Pierre always made time to keep his friendship with Charles strong. Despite his friends and family warning him otherwise, Charles never faltered in his promise.

He always saw Pierre at the weekly market without fail. Pierre would stop by every single stall to have a quiet chat with each family and to acquire his provisions for the week.

Everything he selected, eggs from the Russells, produce from the Hamiltons, jams from the Albons, cheese from the Ocons, all went into the tiny satchel at his side. It seemed too small to hold everything, but Charles knew that it was magically expanded and could hold quite a bit more than just the weekly shopping.

Pierre carried all of his supplies with him at all times. There was no way of knowing when his services were needed and he was always prepared.

As the Witch, Pierre was responsible for everything health-related in the village. Anything from pregnancies to broken bones to illnesses would demand his attention on any given day.

Still, he always made time for Charles. Pierre’s last stop at the weekly market was always at the Norris’ where he would get two freshly made meat pies and bring them to where Charles was waiting.

The two of them would sit on the wall outside of the town hall and eat together while they shared stories about their week. Everyone gave them a wide berth and Pierre tried to pretend that it didn’t bother him.

Charles hated it. He would see how everyone would easily do business with him, would demand his services when they needed him, but they were eager to get rid of him once he was no longer useful. They treated him like he was no better than a dangerous animal.

He asked, once, why Pierre didn’t try to change the attitudes of everyone around them.

“Ellie always said that our existence was a lonely one,” Pierre explained, “that we are tolerated because we perform a valuable, necessary service.”

“But you should be more than tolerated,” Charles argued, “you should be loved. Your magic can do incredible things.”

“It’s too dangerous,” Pierre said, resigned, “someone could get hurt. It’s better that I keep my distance until I’m needed. I like being useful. That’s enough for me.”

Charles wanted to argue more, but Pierre put a hand on his knee gently. The pleading look in his eyes was enough to make Charles fall silent. He didn’t bring it up again.

— — — — — — — — — — — — — — — —

As the years went on, some things changed, some things stayed the same, and Charles found himself to be aimless. He had no real idea of what he wanted to do with his life and his parents were pressuring him to do something.

His older brother was already stepping up to assist their father as the village tax collector. Charles had no head for books and numbers like his brother, so that wasn’t an option. His younger brother was all set to join the town guard, obvious from the way he would watch their daily training and follow their patrols, but that life did not appeal to Charles in the slightest.

So, without anything better to do, Charles started helping Pierre.

Not with anything magical, obviously, but with the more mundane things. Sweeping out the cottage, weeding the garden (after Pierre taught him which plants were supposed to be there and which weren’t), foraging in the woods for rarer plants and fungi, drying out herbs, and keeping Pierre’s collections organized.

Initially, Pierre flat-out refused to use any of his magic while Charles was in the house. In fact, Pierre initially refused to even allow Charles inside the house, but then Charles spent several entire days sitting on the doorstep.

Eventually, Pierre relented to his stubbornness, saying that if he was going to be there he might as well make himself useful.

Little slivers of magic began to escape when Pierre got comfortable with his presence. An ethereal hand would grab ingredients when Pierre was engrossed in a potion, tiny lights would appear out of nowhere if their work in the garden ran too late, the fireplace would crackle to life as Pierre walked through the door.

Nothing ever went weird or wonky with any of those glimpses of magic and Charles was completely charmed. It was incredible what Pierre could do with just a thought and Charles wished the rest of the village could see it too.

Pierre still kept him away whenever he practiced his big magic, as he called it. The spells that were more likely to go wrong.

Occasionally, Charles got glimpses of that too. One day, Pierre came home and was completely blue, head to toe. Charles laughed until he was blue in the face while Pierre glared.

(He was back to his usual skin tone the next morning.)

Other extremely rare occurrences included the entire garden being filled with fog and little butterflies circling Pierre’s head for a full minute. He looked extremely embarrassed on both of those occasions, though his intended spells still worked. Charles wasn’t harmed by any of it and thought the mundane side-effects were quite lovely.

At least, he did until Pierre came home from one of his practice sessions with singed hair and burns covering his palms and forearms. Charles rushed to find Pierre’s burn salve, but Pierre screamed at him to leave, that he was dangerous and it was only a matter of time before Charles was hurt.

Charles refused, and the next instant he found himself inside his parent’s kitchen. It was the first time that Pierre had ever used magic directly on him and it was to send him away.

He was furious and he stayed away for a full week, even avoiding the weekly market so he didn’t run into Pierre.

At the end of that week, Charles realized that Pierre’s attempts to push him away were working. Charles was mad at himself for falling into the obvious trap and stalked his way back to Pierre’s cottage on the outskirts of the village.

Without knocking or waiting for an invitation, Charles walked right inside the cottage and stormed up to a surprised Pierre.

“If you want to get rid of me,” he shouted, “you’re going to have to send me a hell of a lot further than this village because I will come right back.”

“Charles, I’m dangerous,” Pierre pleaded, “you shouldn’t be here. I couldn’t live with myself if something happened to you.”

“So, what, I’m just supposed to leave you to your self-imposed isolation? Why? Because these idiots in the village are scared that something might happen to them?”

“Ellie always said–”

“Fuck what Ellie said,” Charles cut Pierre off, “I know you, Pierre. I know you’re not dangerous. I know you won’t hurt me. I made you a promise and I intend to keep it. Are you going to make me break my promise?”

“I…I can’t…it’s not safe…you should…”

“Don’t tell me what I should do,” Charles growled, “tell me that you want to be alone and miserable for the rest of your life. Tell me you want me to leave and I will. But don’t tell me to leave of my own accord because I will not.”

He stood there, staring at Pierre as he waited for an answer. There was desperation and sadness in his eyes as he silently pleaded with Charles. He knew that Pierre wanted him to choose to leave, to abandon him to a life of solitude all because the magic had selected him.

Charles was not going to do that. He was going to make Pierre choose what he wanted out of this life that had been forced on him.

There was a long moment of silence as Charles waited for Pierre’s answer. He saw Pierre struggling, was close enough to nearly feel him trembling, and he waited.

Eventually, Pierre took a deep shaky breath and closed his eyes. “I don’t want you to leave,” Pierre said, so quietly that Charles almost missed it.

Fortunately, he didn’t miss it and a smile curled across his face. “Good,” was the only thing Charles said before he closed the inches between them and crashed their mouths together.

Kissing Pierre was lighting a fire in his veins. Charles finally understood what magic felt like, the energy coursing through his body was intoxicating and he wanted more.

If this was what Pierre felt like all the time, then Charles never wanted to stop. He pulled Pierre even closer to him, wrapping one arm around his back and threading the other hand through his hair.

Charles was not going to let Pierre be alone ever again.

— — — — — — — — — — — — — — — —

Over the years, Charles started a personal campaign to de-stigmatize the Witch’s magic and integrate Pierre into the society of their village. He was a vital member of the community and deserved more than being tolerated at the fringes.

The first time he pulled, literally dragged, Pierre into the tavern one evening, the village stared at them as if they each had three heads. Everything was fine, Pierre didn’t cast any magic so nothing went wonky and slowly people got more and more used to their presence.

Together they learned more about how Pierre’s magic worked and what was likely to make the magic go wrong. They had some close calls where Pierre had to frantically heal Charles, but there was no lasting damage. They learned, they got better, and Pierre’s spells improved.

One year, Pierre crafted Charles a gorgeous lute. He had played a little bit in his childhood but never with any passion. With Pierre, he found that passion and the music helped settle Pierre’s magic even more.

In private, Charles liked to think that his music was his own little form of magic.

Their cottage became filled with laughter and joy. Friends and family started to visit and Pierre’s ethereal hand was constantly zipping around, assisting with filling drinks and stirring whatever was cooking on the stove.

Pierre was included in the community, not just as a tolerable necessity but a welcome member. Children would flock to him to hear stories that were made all the more real by the illusions he could conjure and the music that Charles would play alongside him.

The magic still went wonky occasionally. It was magic and it was inevitable, but people began to realize that it was harmless. Pierre’s control improved and he could channel how the magic went wrong.

(On one memorable occasion, he unintentionally turned into a sheep for one highly entertaining minute. After he changed back, he deliberately turned back into a sheep just to hear Charles’ delighted laughter.)

The years continued to pass and the two of them grew old together. Their hair turned gray, their faces grew wrinkles, and their nieces and nephews had children and grandchildren of their own.

A child manifested their magic and Charles knew that their time was limited. A new Witch had been selected. Pierre immediately took the child under his wing and taught them everything he could about controlling and utilizing the magic while minimizing any harmful side-effects.

He taught them about having an anchor, someone to ground them when the magic threatened to spiral out of control. Someone that would stay by their side through any difficulty or challenge put in their way. He always smiled at Charles when he said that.

This time, the community embraced the child and promised to watch over them when Pierre was gone.

Exactly three years after the child manifested their magic, Pierre and Charles said their final goodbyes to the village they loved and were loved by in return.

Pierre held Charles close and teleported them deep into the woods, into a clearing that was far away from any civilization, where the magic would only touch them.

He told Charles that he felt the magic burning, ready to claim and consume him, and he offered to leave Charles behind. To let him live out whatever remained of his natural life without Pierre.

“Are you going to make me break my promise?” Charles asked, smiling with the love that never faltered over the years.

Pierre shook his head and kissed him, letting Charles feel the magic pulsing through his body one last time. A blazing inferno surrounded them, but Charles wasn’t scared.

They were embarking on their next adventure. Together, as they always would be.

#1016 week 2023 #1016week #Day 4 - Free Day #piarles #10 x 16 #fanf1ction #Pierre is a Witch

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