Chapter Text
As if thorns were at her feet, Willow ran, faster than the winds and causing fallen leaves behind her into to be caught in her current. The skirt of her dress was less than favorable, so she hiked it up with both hands, the letter clamped in her teeth in her urgency. Amity couldn’t care for teeth marks nor spit, not when she learned what was in the letter. Not when she learned the truth.
The gardens were abandoned, and Willow knew the hedge mazes as well as the back of her hand, so there was nothing to slow her as she made her way into the estate. She was never seen as someone worth opening the doors for and announcing her presence, but now it was for the best. There was a traitor among their ranks, and she was ever loyal, even when she may be better left abandoning it all.
But Willow could never abandon her, not then, and certainly not now.
Sneaking hastily through the back doors, away from prying eyes, she made her way in and around the rooms, the letter moved to her fist where she still held her skirt, having enough presence of mind to not look suspicious with a letter in her mouth. She’s sure she’d be less likely to be humored if she kept it there.
Soon enough, the grand stairs were in her sights, split into two where one would lead her a hallway down to her destination. Hiking her skirt higher, she raced up the marble steps two at a time, only to catch her heel and trip forward. She’s sure she’d manage to catch herself fine, but the steady hand on her shoulder helped. Before she could rush out a winded ‘thank you’, she felt that same hand push her, only being caught by her hand with the letter.
In seconds, Willow was faced with the truth. Odalia, Amity’s own mother and her own worst nightmare, had her by the hand, the only thing keeping her from falling back. Those painted lips curled into a sly, smug smile, looking down on her in the same way she always had, but feeling even more sinister with the fierce pinch at her hand.
“Now we can’t have that, can we?”
It isn’t a question, nor a request, but a warning. A useless one, as in one swift motion the letter is ripped from her shaky hand and so to her last line of balance. She’s falling, the momentum sending her back so fast, too fast, and she’s never able to utter a single word in response.
In those mere seconds, she remembers everything; her papa and dad, Amity and the friendship they’d only just mended, the people she’d come to hate, the ones she’d come to love, the boy with the red eyes. It was all so much, too much for someone who never thought she’d have it, and yet not nearly enough for a life cut so short.
In those seconds, she remembers what led her here, every mistake and every regret, every promise made and soon to be broken. It was all going to be for nothing, and in her heart, she knew there was no saving her. But she would be damned if she let someone be doomed as she when there was a way. There would always be a way, even in the end.
‘Flowers, hear my call,’ Willow commanded, a voice of magic so strong, it echoed in the very earth, the sway of the leaves and blossoming of flowers stopping just to listen. So, she told them what she could, a message of importance, a reassurance in her friend, an apology for not being able to say it all herself. In seconds, she did the last thing she could to save the people closest to her, and then the moment was gone and Willow with it.
“This is so stupid,” Willow muttered into the pages, finger bending the end of the page into a dog ear, one of many for this book. She’d already read this book before, maybe more than she should, considering how upset some scenes made her, but it was her business what she cried over, no one else’s.
She was at school, sitting in the corner of one of the abandoned halls of the third story. It had so few classrooms, even less being used after hours, so there was little worry over her being found. Her book bag was sat beside her, having been opened with snacks packed away. She’d also brought her camera, some school supplies (of course), and a few other random things she’d forgotten to take out and let collect at the bottom.
The book in her hands was a part of a trilogy, part two of ‘Love and It’s Light’, a play of the two leads names, at least, that’s what the internet told her. It was when the meat of the plot was being brought out, the first having grazed over everything and maybe dug into a few plot points, but mostly playing at the will-they-won’t-they trope and enemies-to-lovers being introduced. They were only fleeting glances and shared words between hedges, with things building up later, but it certainly was charming in its own right.
That is, despite the more… frustrating parts of the story.
See, in this story, Amity was the protagonist, with Luz sharing that position with her, getting more attention and depth of character halfway through the first book. It was a simple premise; a noble lady with a cold demeanor and strict parents, falling for the bright and shining knight who had risen from simpler upbringings, proving herself to be worthy of her current status. There was romance, humor, action and tragedy. It was the full package, with Willow getting a guarantee that the two love birds would make it out okay, despite all the death and tragedy that would befall them.
But that’s where Willow gets stuck on. See, the character she’d been reading about was one of the side characters, specifically the best friend to Amity, who was made her lady-in-waiting for her meager status and servitude to the Blight bloodline, as were her fathers. She’d been friends with Amity since they were babies, but something had led to them falling apart, with Amity becoming distant at best and outright cruel at worst, her ‘other’ friends only adding fuel to the fire. It wasn’t touched on much in the novel, only really as background information for when they would have their confrontation and eventual mending of broken bonds, but it was familiar enough for Willow (the non-fictional one) to feel sick.
She’d always been one to root for the underdog, and having a character share her own name and flashes of the life she still found herself trapped in, it hurt in the only way these could. She still read it, and reread it, and even made fanfiction over it. It was therapeutic in a way, reading something like then then changing it, making the choices you would, editing the ending into something worth ending for.
Willow was never a fan of characters getting killed off, and while the series was in no way the guiltiest of this, it was certain characters being killed, at the times and the methods used that made her upset.
The character Willow was the one that upset her the most, for obvious reasons. There weren’t that many chapters with her point-of-view written, but the ones with her had always been interesting. From others perception, she’s like a wall flower, someone meant to fill out the space or fulfill the tasks she’s given, being in a position of servitude. But through her characters eyes, this Willow seemed much braver and smarter than others would credit her for. She was a personal favorite of Willows, again, for obvious reasons, but she was also just a missed opportunity.
Case in point, her death. She had been killed in the second book, with so much left unexplained about her situation. What happened between her and Amity to keep them from being friendly despite the latter’s parents? What family did her fathers come from? Why did she have plant magic all of a sudden? It was all a bit infuriating, but she could admit it wasn’t her work and she couldn’t demand the author change it to suit her needs.
That’s what fanfiction was for.
Still, the way her death was handled would always get to her, out of all the choices made in the story. Willow, who had clearly given everything for her so-called friend, and had even been mending that relationship, along with the budding ones with other peers, ones she’s sure would have been perfect friends to her. But because of drama, the writer had her come across the letter that would reveal the traitor in their midst, and so she had been trapped in a tragic end of the authors own making, one which she would be able to salvage with magic barely touched on in the story. Again, where did that come from?
The sound of many footsteps jolted Willow from her musings, and she grimaced to see a group of girls her age walking down the hall in her direction. She ignored them, subtly scooting to be better blocked by some lockers that jutted out, hoping to whatever god would actually listen that they weren’t here for her.
“Heya Weepers,” one girl called out, and Willow internally cursed whatever god she had just prayed to, so all of them.
Peeking up, Willow made out a familiar group of teens, some she recognized more than others, since they could never be consistent with her. The one that spoke to her was in front, posture bend to better look down on her.
“Reading more weird fanfiction stuff? Or is this some trashy crap you scored from the dumpster?” The taunt got a few snickers, with the girl’s lips curling at the sound. Willow said nothing, sighing to herself as she moved to grab her things to leave. This wasn’t worth it, and she should be getting home anyway. Maybe dad won’t be working late again and she’ll get to have dinner with him.
“Hey! I’m talking to you.” A hand grabs at her shoulder, pushing it into a locker with a loud clang, the spot throbbing at the action. “Think you’re too good for us that you can ignore me?”
Willow doesn’t say anything, but she thinks she unconsciously rolled her eyes, because the hand on her shoulder pulls her forward, just as quickly pushing her back, hitting the same spot. There’s an assortment of insults thrown at her, the usual comments about her weight, her skin, her hair, her glasses. Anything about her that can be pointed out is, but she doesn’t really hear any of it. It’s nothing new, and besides this, it never gets more physical. She can handle it.
The hand on her shoulder goes away, but she goes to walk away, the backpack she slipped on is yanked back, and she’s sent falling onto the bulky thing like a freaking turtle. Her head doesn’t hit the floor, overstuffed with too many things, but it doesn’t matter because then she’s being stepped on, the hand she had out to get up having a heel dug into it. She yells, instinctively grabbing at whatever’s on it, and then her hair is being yanked, fingers fisted in the short locks. She kicks out, hitting someone’s leg, and from there’s it’s a scramble.
Willow doesn’t know how to fight, but she does know how to survive, so when she manages to get the others away with a flurry of uncoordinated kicks and slaps and sudden screams, she jumps up and fumbles away with her backpack swinging behind her. There are shouts coming from behind her, then the sound of sneakers on tile, and more shouting. Willow ignores all of this, focused on running and running alone. She races down the hall, managing to avoid a teacher that sees her and tells her to stop, but she can’t hear them over the pounding of her heart. She’s running, just running, then she’s skidding at the steps taken two at a time and she’s-
“Willow?” Someone calls her name, the voice familiar but she can’t place it. Still, it gets her attention, and she’s swerving around to find it, steps halted and bag swinging. The bag momentum keeps going, her legs wobbly and sore, and the world tilts on its axis. No, the world stays the same, it’s just Willow that’s tilts.
In seconds, she’s falling, down down down onto the marble stairs, and she doesn’t have a second to think, nothing about her family or friends or some mission she has to fulfil before she dies. She just falls, then she hits the stones with an echoing crack, and then nothing.
If Willow was alive to comment on it, she’d say how anticlimactic it all was, just to die like this. She’s also wonder if her dad will be waiting too long before he calls her and finds out.