Work Text:
“You worthless worm!” The witch screamed at you as red wine soaked into her clothing, and you cowered. Technically, you were also a witch, but then a bluegill and a pike are both fish.
“Do you know who this is?” The witch indicated her gown. “I’m wearing Princess Margaret.”
You were both attending Princess Catherine's debutante ball. Margaret was her elder sister. Only a coven head had the clout to be offered one of the debutant’s sisters for the evening. Even then, custom dictated that it be a younger sister, or a cousin if the girl was the youngest. Certainly not a sister of marriageable age. Then you recognized the witch, she was Dreda. She wasn’t just a coven head, but The coven head.
“And you!” Dreda eyed your garments, her scowl turning into a sneer. “Is that a footman?”
It was worse; you wore the courier who had brought you your invitation. He was barely old enough to count as a man, and you had had to offer him tea to get him to stay long enough for the spells to take.
“You can’t even fix this, can you? A worm like you wouldn’t see enough power in your lifetime to remove a stain from royalty. The only way you could set this right is if you hadn’t existed to make the mistake in the first place.” She paused.
You felt her power slam around you like a vice. Squeezing what little power you had till it was too small to find. Around you, the sound of the ball faded, and the world grew dark. Then a tug at your neck pulled you, stumbling, into the heart of magic.
The heart was a place you hadn’t seen since your empowering ceremony. It was a place you could never reach on your own. Ahead of you Dreda strode naked and proud, behind you the ball waited frozen within a delicate soap bubble of magic. Both gowns waited hanging empty in the air. The nature of the heart meant you could see both the garments they were and persons they’d been.
You couldn’t bring material things into the heart. In here, only yourself, Dreda, and the magic she bound you with were real. The heart is a chaotic, turbulent place where all things exist and nothing exists, where anything can be drawn into reality or pushed out of existence. You found yourself in the lead, tugging Dreda along as you stepped out of the heart back into the world.
Your toes squelched as they sank into cold mud. It was dusk on a chilly spring day. In the chill, your bare skin drew taut as goosebumps spread across your body. Dreda immediately reached out and grabbed the shoulder of a young woman. With no chance to protest, the woman transformed into black silks. She swirled around Dreda till she was a respectable black dress. Dreda left you naked. Her magic lead, dragging you along as she crossed the street to a small building.
As the building’s door swung open, Dreda’s magic obscured your vision, forcing you to look out at the world as if through iced glass. You promptly stumbled on the threshold. The lead pulled tight, nearly choking you as you hurried to regain your footing. You found yourself in a room full of bodies, the smell of beer, and the sound of poorly performed music. Dreda made a disapproving click of her tongue. Your mother's name bubbled up in your mind, and Dreda asked, “Where can I find Heather?”
Presumably, she got a response, for once again the lead pulled tight, and you were dragged through the crowd. Hands touched you as you passed, overly familiar touches that, had you had your magic, would have resulted in many minor cures. Instead, you yelled and jerked against your lead, trying to avoid those hands. As a result, you felt the tingle of magic at your throat, and your voice was gone. Magic pulled at your legs, hobbling you, it dragged your arms back, keeping you from covering yourself. All the time you were pulled forward, forced to shuffle, your body presented for those anonymous hands to enjoy. And enjoy they did.
The walk seemed impossibly long, and when Dreda turned for the third time, you realized she was parading you around the room, letting everyone get a look and a feel of you. You felt the heat of your embarrassment, and the heat of arousal at such attention. A small corner of your mind wondered what your mother, whom you always knew to be a chambermaid, could be doing in a place like this.
The lead’s pull shifted upward, and the hobble on your legs loosened. This was just enough of a hint that you lifted your foot to the stairs before you. Finally, you were leaving the crowd and its many hands. The stairs were well used, their runners smooth under your bare feet. They led to a poorly lit hall. Dreda dragged you past several doors, then stopped. Her magic opened the door silently, and a small bit of the haze over your eyes cleared. Through this clearing, you could see your mother, a much younger, more lithe version of her. She was in a bed, on her back, her legs held high as a man mounted her.
Concealing magic settled around you and Dreda as she dragged you into the far corner of the room. But you didn’t care; you were watching your mother, hearing her cries or ecstasy. You knew you should look away, but you couldn’t. Dreda’s magic wouldn't let you see the man. Why had she brought you here?
The man began to grunt, and Dreda’s voice was next to your ear. “This is it, the moment you came to be. It’s a fitting start for a worm.”
Startled, you looked up at the blur. You’d never met your father. Your mother had said he’d died. And yet as the man finished and fished a coin purse from his discarded trousers, you realized there were only two options: Either Dreda was lying or your mother had been a whore.
You felt power collect in Dreda’s hand, and the money lept back into the man's hand. He bent down, setting his trousers back on the floor. He got back into bed and remounted your mother. Their grunts and cries took on an eldritch quality, as they played out the motions of sex, motions not all that different in reverse. He was much slower leaving your mother this time, kissing his way down off of her body. Then clothing began flying from the floor into his hands. As your mother easily slid her garment back onto her shoulders. It had never really come off, and you wondered if this man had been the first of the night, or if he’d be her last.
When they left the room, Dreda let the magic go.
Human laughter filled the small space, and the door swung open. Your mother stepped in wearing a forced smile. One arm back as she led a man. He was still a blur to you. However, you heard his deep laugh. Then they saw Dreda, and your mother paused. She gave the witch a curious look and opened her mouth to speak. Dreda spoke first. “On your knees whore.”
Your mother dropped, and the man’s laughter died. “Is there a problem?” he asked.
“No, my lord, no problem. Only this whore isn’t worthy of your seed.” Dreda’s words were smooth, her voice tipped with magic that pushed away the man’s worries and let him see that she was right. “Not that she shouldn’t serve you, my lord, only let her do it as befits her stature.” Dreda helped the man remove his belt. Using it to draw him into the room, your mother remained on her knees, looking up at the man. His cock cut through the haze of Dreda’s spell, the only part of the man you could see in sharp, clear focus. Dreda guided it to your mother's lips, leaving a magical thumbprint on the top of his gland. She directed your mother's efforts, with a word here or a slap, the entire time filling your father's ears with enchanted words.
It wasn’t until his hand landed in your hair that you realized Dreda’s cloaking spell had come off. You couldn’t remember inching forward or getting on your own knees. “A Noble cock like this deserves two whores, don't you agree, my lord?” The hand in your hair tightened, and you found yourself drawn to your mother. Face to face, nearly kissing, separated by the thickness of your father's cock. This was taboo, this was impossible, this was delicious, the saltiness of your father cock mixed with the flavor of your mother’s lipstick. The smell of male musk and a whore’s cheap perfume. It was an intoxicating experience.
Dreda pulled your mother back, and the cock was all yours. It slipped into your mouth. Your father's hand still on the back of your head as he forced himself upon you. You felt him begin to tense. Dreda noticed it as well. She pulled you back and slid your mother into position. You watched as your father came. His first load flew well past your mother to land on the floor of the room. The next several fell onto her youthful face, pooling on her eyes. The last ran down your dad’s tip onto her waiting tongue.
“Doesn’t she look better wearing your seed?” asked Dreda.
You felt it then, a sense of impending dread, like a large predator about to lunge for you. You felt the lunge. You knew you were done for, but Dreda’s magic scooped you up and shoved you back into the heart, away from the danger. In a blink, you were back at the ball, standing just outside reality. Dreda was laughing, a humorless laugh.
Finally finding your voice, you asked, “What did you do?”
She stepped back into her dress, then pulled you naked from the heart. You could feel the dread return; the threat still hunted you. Beside you, your dress collapsed to the floor.
“You can feel it, can't you? Even a worm should be able to sense its own doom. You see, you don't exist. History is writing you out. I'd say you have till midnight, maybe a bit more, but you won't see the next sunrise. And this,” She pointed to the red stain on her dress. “Will never have happened, everything will be as it should.”
You feel your knees go weak, and she knelt following you as you slip to the floor.
“But I'm not entirely evil. You can save yourself. Your father is here. His cock still has my mark. If you follow your mother's example, and let him bed you. Then his seed will find its way back to your mother, and history will write you back in. Though if you find him, I’d advise you to accept your fate and, like your mother, let his seed fall on your face.” With that, she stood and walked away.