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inky-writing · 3 days ago

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Carlisle Cullen x Reader

Warnings: mention of death, of dead people, pagan holiday, ESME, anyway, its long, sorry for any typo...

Word count: 3,399

Book II - Chapter 4: Yule secrets

December 2005

The Christmas season had settled over Forks, though the cheer it brought seemed muted in the Swan household. Bella, still a ghost of herself, rarely left her room. She avoided the festive decorations lining the streets and the cheery music playing in stores, retreating deeper into her sadness. When she did speak, it was in short answers to Charlie or Y/N, never more than what was strictly necessary.

Y/N tried to remain optimistic, but it was hard to ignore the weight of the silence that hung over their house. Bella wasn’t the only one struggling, though Y/N’s struggles were far different.

The strange occurrences that had plagued her life in recent months had only grown more bizarre. Objects still appeared seemingly out of nowhere whenever she thought about them, and the black cat continued to follow her wherever she went, its orange eyes watching her intently.

One cold afternoon in early December, Y/N decided to pick up groceries after school. Charlie had forgotten his list on the kitchen counter that morning, and she figured she could knock it out quickly before heading home.

The supermarket was crowded, filled with shoppers stocking up for the holidays. Y/N wove her way through the aisles with her cart as she ticked off items on the list. Milk, eggs, bread, canned soup, cereals… it was all mundane, but it was a welcome distraction from the strange whirlwind her life had become.

As she rounded a corner into the baking supplies aisle, she bumped into an elderly woman.

“Oh! I’m so sorry,” Y/N said, stepping back quickly.

The woman smiled faintly, her piercing grey eyes twinkling with an odd intensity. “No need to apologize, dear.”

Y/N couldn’t help but stare. The woman was very old, her face was lined with deep wrinkles, her skin papery and thin, but there was something about her that seemed… ageless. Her hair, though streaked with white, hung long and thick over her shoulders, and her posture was surprisingly straight for someone her age.

But what really caught Y/N’s attention was the necklace around the woman’s neck.

It was almost identical to the one Y/N wore, except the stone in its center was a glowing white, almost translucent, apophyllite instead of amethyst. The intricate metalwork surrounding the stone was the same, though, delicate spirals and runes that seemed far older than anything you’d find in a modern jewelry store.

The woman noticed Y/N’s gaze and smiled again, this time with an air of knowing. “You have questions,” she said simply.

Y/N blinked. “What?”

The woman nodded toward the amulet around Y/N’s neck. “About that.”

Instinctively, Y/N’s hand flew to the necklace, her fingers brushing against the smooth surface of the amethyst. “How do you know?”

The woman tilted her head, her smile never wavering. “Because I’ve seen others like you before.”

Y/N’s heart skipped a beat. “Others like me? What do you mean?”

The woman’s gaze seemed to pierce straight through her. “It’s not something we should discuss here. The walls have ears.” She reached into the pocket of her coat and pulled out a small slip of paper, writing something on it before pressing it into Y/N’s hand. “If you want answers, come here tomorrow at noon.”

Before Y/N could say another word, the woman turned and walked away, disappearing around the corner of the aisle.

Y/N stared at the slip of paper in her hand. It had an address scrawled on it, along with the word Tomorrow underlined twice.

Her mind raced. Who was this woman? How did she know about the amulet? And what did she mean?

When she finally left the supermarket, her hands were shaking.

The house was quiet when Y/N returned, save for the faint hum of the television in the living room. Charlie was watching a football game, his feet propped up on the coffee table. Bella’s door was shut, as usual.

“Got everything on the list?” Charlie asked without looking away from the screen.

“Yeah,” Y/N replied, setting the bags on the kitchen counter.

She put the groceries away mechanically, her thoughts consumed by the encounter at the supermarket. She considered telling Charlie about the old woman but decided against it. He would probably just tell her to stay away from strangers, and she didn’t have the energy to argue.

Instead, she retreated to her room, locking the door behind her.

Sitting on her bed, she pulled out the slip of paper and stared at the address. Her fingers brushed against the amulet at her neck, and for the first time, she wondered if it had been a mistake to start wearing it.

The black cat was sitting outside the house again, its orange eyes glowing in the moonlight at it starred intently at her window.

The next morning dawned cold and misty, the kind of day where the fog clung to the ground and muted the world. Y/N couldn’t shake the unease that had settled in her chest since her encounter with the old woman at the supermarket the previous evening. The slip of paper with the address sat on her nightstand, the handwriting etched into her mind as though it carried some weight she didn’t yet understand.

By mid-morning, her curiosity got the best of her. Putting on her leather jacket, scarf, and gloves, she grabbed the paper and slipped out of the house, leaving a note for Charlie saying she was going to run errands. Bella wouldn’t notice her absence, she hadn’t noticed much of anything since the Cullens had left.

The address led Y/N to the outskirts of Forks, down a narrow dirt road flanked by pines. She had almost convinced herself she’d gone the wrong way when she spotted the house.

It was small, like something out of an old storybook. Vines twisted around the wooden porch posts, and colorful, wildflowers grew in neat beds around the yard, defying the snow. Smoke curled from the chimney, and the faint scent of lavender and sage drifted through the air.

Y/N hesitated at the gate, her fingers brushing against the amulet at her neck. For a moment, she thought about turning back. Then, the door opened, and the old woman stepped out onto the porch.

“I was beginning to think you’d changed your mind,” the woman said, her voice carrying a touch of amusement.

Y/N took a deep breath and walked through the gate.

Inside, the house was warm and cozy, a contrast to the chill outside. The air was filled with the scent of herbs and spices, and every surface was covered in books, jars, and trinkets.

“Sit down, dear,” the woman said, gesturing to a sage green sofa.

Y/N sat, her eyes darting around the room. The woman moved about the kitchen, setting out two delicate teacups and a teapot.

“I imagine you have questions,” the woman said, her back to Y/N as she reached for a jar of tea leaves.

“A few,” Y/N admitted.

The woman smiled. “We’ll get to them. But first, let’s have some tea.”

She carried the teapot to the table and set it down. That’s when things took a turn.

As Y/N watched, the teapot tipped itself, pouring steaming tea into one of the cups. Then it straightened and moved to the second cup, repeating the action before settling back in place.

Y/N’s eyes widened. “What the…?!”

Before she could finish her sentence, the room spun around her. Her vision blurred, and the last thing she saw before everything went black was the old woman rushing to her side.

When Y/N opened her eyes, she was lying on the couch. Sunlight streamed through the windows, and the same warm, herbal scent filled the air. The old woman was sitting in a chair nearby, her hands folded in her lap.

“You fainted,” the woman said, her voice calm. “I suppose I shouldn’t have let the teapot serve itself. It’s been a long time since we’ve had someone new in the family.”

“Family?” Y/N sat up slowly, her head pounding.

The woman smiled gently. “Yes, my dear. I suppose I should introduce myself properly. My name is Callista. I’m your grandmother’s sister, your grand-aunt, if you will.”

Y/N stared at her, the words struggling to sink in. “Did you… knew my mom?”

Callista nodded, her expression tinged with sadness. “I did. Though I haven’t seen since she left. She left the family when she reached eighteen, determined to marry your father despite our objections.”

“Why did you object?” Y/N asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

Callista sighed. “Because your father wasn’t one of us. Your mother came from a long line of witches, Y/N. Magic runs in your veins, just as it does in mine. But your father was human, and your grandmother feared their union would weaken our legacy.”

Y/N’s heart ached at the thought of her parents. “So she left?”

“She did,” Callista said softly. “She chose love over tradition, if I must say. And though it broke our hearts to lose her, I never blamed her for it. I guess she still practiced magic in her own way, even after she left, small things, I imagine. But she never contacted us again. Learning her death has been terrible… Your grandmother retreated into the Canadian forest just after, I don’t have news anymore…”

Callista paused, her gaze searching Y/N’s face. “And now, here you are.”

Callista then rose from her chair and disappeared into another room. When she returned, she was holding a large, black leather-bound book that looked extremely old. The cover was embossed with symbols and runes, and the edges of the pages were gilded.

“This,” Callista said, setting the book on the table in front of Y/N, “is your mother’s grimoire. It contains centuries of knowledge, spells, rituals, history, and things she added. She didn’t take it with her when she left. Everything you’ll need to understand who you are and what you’re capable of is in here.”

Y/N reached out hesitantly, her fingers brushing against the worn leather. “I don’t know if I can do this. It all seems so unreal.”

Callista placed a hand on her cheek. “You can. It’s in your blood. And you won’t be alone, I’ll help you, if you’ll let me.”

Y/N swallowed hard, her mind racing. Everything Callista had said felt overwhelming, like stepping into a world she hadn’t even known existed. But at the same time, something deep inside her stirred, a sense of belonging she hadn’t felt in years.

“I’ll try,” she said finally, her voice steady despite the whirlwind of emotions inside her.

Callista smiled, her eyes gleaming with pride. “That’s all I ask, my dear. Now, let’s begin.”

Two weeks later

The days leading up to Christmas passed in quiet monotony for the Swan household. Bella still barely left her room, her absence a ghostly presence that hung over the house. Y/N tried not to let it affect her, but she could feel the tension like a weight pressing down on her.

Every week, Y/N made the trip to Callista’s house, and sometimes to the esoteric shop that Callista had introduced her to just days after they’d met. The shop was tucked into the edge of town, its windows filled with crystals, herbs, and candles. It smelled of incense and earth, a comforting combination that felt like home.

In the back room, Callista guided her through the basics of potion-making and telekinesis. Y/N’s progress with telekinesis was slow but steady; she could now move small objects across a table or float them in the air for brief moments.

Still, she felt the weight of her potential. Callista had assured her that her other abilities would reveal themselves when she was ready, but the anticipation gnawed at her.

And now with school out for winter break, Y/N spent her days trying to fill the silence. She and Charlie had fallen into a rhythm, dining together at the kitchen table, watching old movies on the couch, and decorating the house for Christmas. Charlie seemed grateful for her presence, though his worry about Bella was palpable.

The decorations they hung were simple: twinkling lights around the windows, garlands draped over the fireplace, and a tree they adorned with ornaments.

But Y/N couldn’t help but add her own touches. After hours spent pouring over the grimoire Callista had given her, she’d learned about the traditions of Yule and how closely they tied to her own magic.

She collected pinecones from the forest behind the house, stringing them together with cinnamon sticks and small bundles of rosemary to hang on the tree. She placed oranges studded with cloves in bowls around the house, their warm, spicy scent filling the air. And she crafted a wreath of evergreen branches to hang on the front door, weaving ribbons of gold and red through the boughs.

December 21st, 2005

By the time Yule arrived, Y/N had memorized the pages of her grimoire about the holiday. She knew that Yule marked the longest night of the year, a time when the veil between worlds was at its thinnest. It was a night to honor the dead, to reflect on the year past, and to welcome the returning light.

That evening, after a quiet dinner with Charlie, Y/N retreated to her room. She lit a small cluster of candles on her desk and opened her grimoire, sitting cross-legged on her bed with the book resting on her lap. The soft glow of the flames flickered across the pages as she practiced simple spells, her focus sharpening with each word spoken.

A faint meowling interrupted her concentration. She looked up, startled, and saw the black cat perched on the windowsill outside her room. Its orange eyes gleamed in the darkness, almost glowing.

“How did you even get up here?” she muttered, crossing the room to open the window.

The cat stepped inside with an air of ownership, leaping onto her bed and curling up on the knitted blanket. Y/N hesitated, then shrugged. “I guess you’re staying, then.”

The cat flicked its tail as if to confirm her words, its eyes watching her.

As the night wore on, the atmosphere in her room grew heavier, charged with energy. It was almost midnight, the hour when the veil between the living and the dead was said to be at its thinnest.

Y/N felt an inexplicable pull, a need to acknowledge the moment. She pulled out a sheet of paper and a pen, her hands trembling slightly as she began to write.

The first letter was to her mother. She wrote about the memories she could still recall, the warmth of her embrace, the sound of her laughter, the way she used to hum the same melody while cooking. She thanked her for the love and strength she had passed down, and for the magic that now felt like a lifeline.

The second letter was for her father. She wrote about how much she missed him, about how Charlie often reminded her of him. She told him about her life in Forks, about the struggles and the small moments of joy. She wished he could have been there to see her grow.

When she finished, she folded the letters carefully and placed them on the windowsill, letting the candlelight illuminate them.

“Thank you,” she whispered, her voice barely audible, tears rolling on her cheeks. “For everything.”

The air in the room seemed to shift, a soft breeze brushing against her skin despite the closed window. The cat purred softly from its place on the bed, its eyes half-closed as if it, too, understood the significance of the moment.

As the clock struck midnight, Y/N felt a sense of peace settle over her. She didn’t know what the future held, but for the first time, she felt more connected to her family, to her magic, to herself.

And as she lay down to sleep, the black cat curled up in her arms, its presence comforting.

Later that night

Y/N stirred awake around 3 a.m., the room quiet except for the soft purring of the black cat nestled in her arms. Its warmth was comforting, but her thoughts were anything but. Sleep had eluded her ever since the letters she’d written, and now her mind wandered, seemingly without direction.

But there was a pattern. A name. A face.

“Carlisle,” she murmured, almost afraid to say it aloud.

The thought came unbidden, like a whisper from deep inside her soul. She tried to push it away, but it lingered, persistent and nagging. Why was she thinking about him? It wasn’t as though she hadn’t thought of him before, he’d been so kind to her during the summer, so understanding. But this was different.

She wondered where he was. What he was doing. Was he with his family? The questions swirled in her mind, growing heavier with each passing second.

Then, for reasons she couldn’t explain, she felt something. It was faint at first, like the lightest tug on her heart, but it grew stronger, more defined. It felt as though there was an invisible string connecting her to him, a thread woven into the very fabric of her being.

She closed her eyes and imagined pulling on it, curious to see what would happen.

Carlisle’s pov

Thousands of miles away, in a quiet corner of London, Carlisle Cullen sat alone in the small flat he’d rented for the time being. The room was sparse, elegantly decorated with neutral tones and clean lines that reflected his meticulous nature. Yet, despite the calm surroundings, his mind was a storm.

Esme had left for Australia nearly two weeks ago, insisting she wanted to visit friends she hadn’t seen in decades. She had convinced him to stay behind, claiming she needed “girl time.” At first, he had acquiesced, not wanting to deny her something so simple.

But now, as he sat in the stillness of the night, he knew the truth. Esme was responsible for everything, her manipulations, her deceit. He had realised she had powers. He could feel it like a shadow pressing on his mind, the edges of it fraying at the seams. She hadn’t been able to maintain her hold entirely, and now he could see her actions for what they were.

Still, he hadn’t confronted her. Not yet. He needed time to think. About her lies, about how he now felt she wasn’t his mate. He hadn’t say anything to the others, but as each day passed, the weight of the truth bore down on him, and he felt increasingly alone.

He sighed, leaning back in the armchair as he gazed out the window at the city lights. His thoughts drifted to Y/N. He remembered her laughter, the way she’d looked at him with such trust, and the strange sense of peace he’d felt in her presence.

A sudden jolt broke through his reverie, a pull so sharp and undeniable that it made him sit up straight. His hand instinctively went to his chest as though the sensation were physical. It wasn’t pain, exactly, but an ache, a longing.

And then a whisper in his mind, soft but insistent.

He glanced at the clock on the wall. It was 11 a.m. on December 22nd. The pull intensified, a silent demand that he couldn’t ignore.

“Forks,” he murmured, the word heavy with meaning.

He didn’t know why, but he knew he had to return. Even if just for a few days.

Y/Ns pov

Y/N opened her eyes after pulling on the string, the feeling of it fading into the back of her mind. The cat shifted in her arms, looking up at her with its piercing orange eyes.

“Did I... do something wrong?” she asked softly, her voice barely above a whisper.

The cat only blinked, purring louder as if to reassure her.

Y/N shook her head, trying to shake off the lingering sense of connection. Whatever had just happened, she couldn’t explain it. But for the first time in weeks, she felt a flicker of hope.

Note: HEHE, so Carlisle is now aware of Esme, but, what will he do about it???

Tag list: @inky-bonnie

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