21A/N: I'm here, I know, I'm constantly a few days late from my deadline date. I'm so sorry! I'm going to start giving myself tentative dates, one that I want to be done on and another to be the absolute latest posting date. I promise it'll get better, these chapters are just knocking me on my arse. It's not that I'm lacking inspiration, it's the bloody content in it.
For AO3: Yooo, so the picture is an edit of Moira's pic from . This is not how she really looks, lol, I just found it inspiring to edit her scar in and make things all sad and dark. If you want to see her picture, look for Possession of the Heart: Character Information under my works (on Archive of Our Own).
This one has another trigger warning, graphic depiction of abuse and death are in this chapter. The entirety of this chapter is VERY heavy, but it is definitely necessary in shaping the story and the characters in it. If you find that you can't bear reading this one, please pm or comment. If needed, I can write a summary for this chapter. I'm warning you right now.
Things will get underway soon and Hector will soon take a permanent place on stage with everyone else. I hope you are willing to be patient for that.
Also, I have a lot of songs I listen to for my chapters. If you want a playlist, let me know and I can start posting a list of songs I listened to while writing each chapter.
Thanks for the support and uh… good luck.
Chapter Nine- Chrysalis (The Locked Room)
"Get up, you sniveling bitch."
"I said, get up!" His hand was in her hair once again, dragging her from the motionless body. Moira kicked and screamed, one hand clutching his to relieve the tearing sensation in her scalp. Magnus switched to grab her by the front of her nightgown this time, giving a back-handed blow to her face that sent her reeling. Her face tore open a second time, centimeters below the scar he left a year prior. Her head lolled back and a choked exhale escaped before the tears bloomed fresh from her eyes.
"Shut up. You did this yourself." He hissed in her ear coldly. Moria let out another whimper and he sent an open-handed strike over the other side of her face.
"Be silent!"
The ward couldn't help the cries coming from her, less so reacting to the physical pain than the fact that Charlotte had died in her arms moments ago.
In mere minutes, the woman faded from existence, leaving the hollow shell of the woman who raised her.
Magnus let out a seething snarl and gripped her throat again, driving her backward till her head bounced off the stone wall from the sheer force of his ire. Moira clutched at his hands again, gaping and taking in very little oxygen. It was then her eyes landed back on Charlotte and her face contorted with heady grief.
"You shut up, or I'll kill you too!"
Her flooded eyes found his animalistic, sweat-slickened visage again. She pressed her head hard against the wall in an attempt to get away, one of her legs working between them to put some pace between the two. Magnus relented, watching her crumple into a heap of breaths and tears.
"Stand up."
She scrambled to her feet, leaning heavily on the wall with her hands cupping her throat. She could feel her mind retreating into itself, disconnecting far enough that Moira could hardly recognize the present moment. The bloody puddle Charlotte sat in, the angry monster ready to thrash her, and the small, dark-haired woman cowering against the wall became surreal.
Yet, the utter primordial reality of her potential death splintered her awareness, fighting to pull her into the nightmarish present. 'I'm going to die here. I'm going to die and no one will ever find me.'
"Turn around." He instructed cooly, his mania calmed by her obedience. Mechanically, she turned, pressing cheek and front against the wall.
"Hands on the wall."
Magnus was the puppet master and she was the marionette, moving with each pull of her strings. An unfamiliar cracking of rope made her jump in fright. Peeking over her shoulder, she saw the outline of a cat-o'-nine-tails in Magnus' steady grip. She carefully studied the numerous knots in each strong cord of leather, each she knew she would soon be acquainted with. Ocean waves crash around her, pulling Moira into another world far away from the worries of reality. She feels sand in her hair and sea seeping into her clothes. She's laying on a sandy, craggy beach of Skye. A crab clacks its little claws at Moira and scuttles over her stomach, beckoning her to open her eyes. Above her is the ashen, thunderous clouds of a brewing storm and the form of a certain sea witch, standing by her side.
"If you so choose to dress like a sailor and act like a sailor, I'm akin to treating you like one. I warn you, girl, you let out a single peep and you will pay in double."
Moira grit her teeth and pressed her forehead against the stone wall, feeling his eyes trailing over her back. A few steps closer he took, discarding the whip for a mere second to grab handfuls of the nightdress. Quick as the whip would surely come, he tore her shift open, exposing the bare skin of her back.
Silence settled over them for a few unbearably long moments. She said a silent prayer, preparing for the force of his strikes by gritting her chattering teeth and attempting to breathe deeply. Moira gulped painfully, her tongue feeling dry and swollen in her mouth. The crack came with a grunt from Magnus and Moira's eyes opened impossibly wide, her mouth dropping into a silent scream. Nothing would've prepared her for the searing pain that bloomed across her shoulders, nor the throbbing ache that would likely last for days after.
"That's one, for the day I picked you up from that miserable island."
The next one came, harder than the last, and Moira bit back a cry.
"Two, for the day you told me you hated me. You were seven then."
Her body tremored, stickied in a cold sweat from the onslaught of his blows. There was a smarmy, playful tone in his voice that made her want to rip his throat out. Moira squeezed her eyes shut, shuttering a gasp before the next flurry came. Seven more cracks of the whip knocked the wind out of her and left her seeing stars behind her closed lids. His comment for each scourge fell on deaf ears after a while, all Moira could focus on was what grew from a smolder to a white-hot fire in her back. By the eleventh, her legs threatened to buckle beneath her. She was panting, clawing at the wall to keep herself from sliding down it. Moira refused to collapse, knowing her weakness would encourage him.
A deep-seated rage began to broil within her, growing like an ugly thorn in the pit of her heart. She turned her head, her cheek pressed against the cool stone. In the corner of the room, the silhouette of a woman- the woman she'd seen repeatedly over the past days- stood by and silently watched. She could see the details of her face, her golden hair, and glazed-over reddened hazel eyes. The woman gripped her throat much like Moira had after Magnus strangled her into submission. Moira couldn't find it in herself to be afraid of the specter anymore, too lost in the physical pain and the anger overtaking her. It dawned on her that he was marking her for each year she lived with him, twelve being the last one. She also realized he hesitated now, wheezing like a wild animal from all the exertion. As his ward of twelve years, she knew him well enough to have the utmost certainty that the last one would be the most severe. In her twelfth year, she had lied to him, stolen from him, manipulated him and ultimately, abandoned him.
Tears stung the second gash on her right cheek and she sunk into that, hoping that if she were to pay attention to a different kind of pain, the next lashing would not take her so violently.
"And the twelfth, Moira, the twelfth is for pretending you cared for me."
Crack!
Though her back tingled with a fiery numbness, this last one cleaved into her back. The knotted cords of the whip wrapped over her torso and just under her breast, drawing beads of blood from where it hit. The pain in her side and ribcage was akin to being hit with a sledgehammer, far greater than any other hit she experienced in her lifetime. Moira gasped again, this time allowing herself to crumple to the floor, clutching at her side. He was on her again in an instant, flipping her around, slamming her back into the wall, and gripping her blood-stained chin.
"You will never betray my trust again."
Her fear of the Lord remained, but she found herself unable to react, unable to do anything but stare directly into his silvery orbs. 'What happened to you that made you so damn cruel?' She thought, a bubble of a sob rising in her throat. Moira pushed it down, grimacing in disgust at herself for even caring what molded the monster in front of her.
With that, he released her, taking Charlotte's limp arms into his hands to drag her out of the room. Moira forced herself to stand with quaking knees, stumbling toward the governess and the door. In an instant, it was shut, all manner of light snuffed out around her. Moira's hands found the door and she slid down it, dropping to her knees and resting her forehead against the wood.
'It's done. I failed.'
Moira could not discern how long it had been since Lord Magnus locked her away. Time unraveled and stretched out endlessly before her in the stinking prison. Moira thought that perhaps she'd spend eternity there, just like Elsie Magnus must have. She couldn't bring herself to move, her muscles felt like stone and her skin set aflame from harsh punishment. Instead, she curled up against the door, listening for any sound of his return. Would he finish what he started? Would he kill her? Or would he simply leave her here to rot, alone in the dark?
'And what of Alice?'
She thought, her eyes slipping shut as the vision of the shark-eyed Magnus woman blossomed behind her lids. Did she know? Would she care? Would she keep her locked away when all that was left was her and Moira in the entirety of the manor? Better yet, would anyone care?
Her heart twisted painfully and her stomach lurched when her thoughts next landed on Evelyn and Thomas. The thin, quirked brow and charmingly wicked smirk Evelyn always gave her came to the forefront of her mind. Would Evelyn Blackwood ever find out what happened to her mother? What would she do when she realized she was orphaned all because of the monster of Magnus Manor? How would Thomas protect Evelyn from that heartbreak? Would Evelyn ever smile again? Would they survive it?
'Would she blame me if she did find out?'
Moira couldn't find it in her heart to be angry with the prospect of Evelyn hating her after this. Moira hated herself for letting Charlotte die already. It was her fault, wasn't it? She didn't physically slice into her, but her foolish decisions brought death upon her. Whatever happened in this room and for the short span of life she had left, Moira believed she deserved all of it.
She deserved the debilitating ache expanding through her whole body. She deserved the vicious stinging of every laceration he inflicted. She deserved to be isolated in the dark, never to see the light of day or breathe fresh air again.
Even though she did not kill Charlotte, she had unleashed hell in waking life upon them both. Charlotte did not deserve to die for Moira. She was nothing, just a speck of sand that no one had ever even known existed. Now that some did know her, every single one of them would pay for her sins.
'He was right about everything. It's no one else's fault but my own.'
_
"I care 'bout all children of de sea." The dark beauty saunters around Moira, her black-beacon orbs peering into the very soul of the ward. "And you, leanabh mara, have a destiny you canne' fulfill locked in a cage."
She holds out her hand to the ward and Moira takes it with a huff. The ward is tired, her eyes are heavy, but the ache in her body is gone.
Moira crosses her arms where she stands and narrows her emerald eyes at the woman.
"Destiny, aye? What's that? Getting more people killed on my behalf? I'd rather rot, thank you." The ward turns away from the ocean and Calypso, staring off at the rocky swells of cliff-face in front of her. There was only one way up and no other path to take away from the sea goddess.
"Woe to the fool who turns their back on da goddess that brought dem into this world."
" I suppose I'm a fool then, aren't I?"
"A desperate, stark-starin' mad fool." Calypso snaps, a growl heavily rolling in her unusual accent. Her voice softens into a gentle hum with her next words:
" Who be needin' my help."
Moira freezes at the familiar phrase, instantly recalling the conversation she had with Hector Barbossa. Her eyes narrow into slits and she whirls around to Calypso, arms dropping to her sides and brow lifting in suspicion.
"What does he have to do with anything?"
" Him have to do with everythin' about you."
Moira opens her mouth, ready to insist that Hector Barbossa was a means to an end- an end that ultimately failed. Calypso's finger traces over Moira's mouth, shushing her immediately. The sea goddess gives her a simple smile, but Moira can sense the wisdom within her expression. After a moment, Calypso relinquishes her finger and turns on her heel, raising her arms towards the heavens.
"So what is my purpose then?"
"That be somethin' you will come to understand. For now, all this goddess of de sea can tell you is that you be a catalyst."
"A catalyst for what?"
"Destiny."
"Destiny?"
"Destiny of yer fadder, yer brodder and every soul dat cross your path."
Droplets begin to trickle from the heavens, pitter-pattering against the sand and the lulling waves. The goddess's arms sway fluidly in the air, her body rippling the ritualistic dance of rain.
"Father… brother? What? What do you know?"
Calypso whips around to look at the half-selkie, her dreadlocks damp and flying around her face.
"You find your family, you find yourself."
With that final sentence, the ocean waves swell high, higher than Moira had ever seen before. She wonders very briefly if this is what Hector saw when he stood against the typhoon all those years ago.
The sea comes crashing down around her, totally encapsulating her in darkness.Moira spluttered and coughed, heaving her breaths with her shivers. Her eyes adjusted to the dim light from a flickering torch and saw that Magnus returned, the large empty bucket in his hands raised in front of her.
"Get up."
The ward scrambled to her feet, wiping her eyes with her hands and wincing at the pain of bruises and torn cheek.
He sauntered around her, much like she'd just seen Calypso do- but instead, his eyes were scrutinizing her tattered form and bare back. She kept her eyes away from him, training them steadily on the woman still watching from the corner. Could he see her? Could he feel her presence?
"What did you do to your wife?"
It was a question she was not brave enough to ask before, but now she saw no point in hiding it. His hand knotted into her hair and ripped her head upward, making her bend back painfully. He peered at her with daggers in his gunmetal glare.
"What I've done in the past is none of your concern, wretch." He flung her head forward, letting go of her hair. Moira rubbed at her scalp and stared at the floor, her eyes filled with contempt.
"I have informed Alice of your time here in this room. You're to be left here until I return, at which point I will let you out on one condition."
"What's that?"
"You tell me what you've been doing in town."
Moira bit back a laugh, knowing any semblance of patronizing behavior from her would result in her death. Then again, why should she care?
"Good luck with that. I won't make it a week without food or water."
"I never said you wouldn't be supplied with that. I'm not that cruel of a man, Moira."
"At this point, dying of dehydration would be an act of mercy from you, Walter. I don't want any part of your stupid little ploy." She snapped, hatred unfurling itself in the pit of her belly like a serpent drawing back before the kill. The air threatened to choke the life from her, the lingering stench staining the walls now tinged with the scent of blood- Charlotte's blood.
"Is that so?"
His voice held little to no emotion in it, but Moira could tell by the terse line his mouth had formed that her comment irritated him.
"You realize you were the one who toyed with me?"
He hissed into her ear before stepping in front of her. Moira refused to spare another glance at him even when she could feel his breath on her face. She could smell whiskey permeating him and found herself missing the fire drink that left her uninhibited. What she would give to be completely soused one last time.
"I didn't toy with you. Anything I've shown care for was genuine- the only thing I lied about was my intentions to marry you. You've kept me locked away and took away my freedom the second I stepped into your manor. I have a family, Magnus, something you will never be to me."
"They clearly didn't care enough about you to keep you around. Defy me all you like; there are only two ways out of here. You either comply or you stay in here indefinitely."
Tears burned in her eyes but she blinked them away, not ready to admit that his words stung.
"I guess we'll find out which one I choose." Her voice faltered slightly, cracking in the onslaught of emotion brooding beneath her icy exterior.
"I suppose we will. There'll be no food today. You can thank yourself for that."
Moira's eyes narrowed on the older male and her jaw set, a grimace pulling down her blood-crusted lips.
"You claim not to be cruel but here you are, standing in for the devil himself all over the sins of a child."
"You are not a child, Moira. You've grown into a disobedient, ungrateful, impertinent wretch of a woman. You'd be lucky if I married you. You have no hope of marriage after what you've done. Who could love you after this?"
The tears still came and she would rub at them, only becoming more and more vexed with herself each time.
"What did I do? Dress like a boy and drink whiskey? My god, I must be a horrible harpy to take one sliver of my freedom back from a controlling monster."
"I feel there's more to what you've been doing than you let on." He lifted his hand between them and from it dangled an eerily familiar golden locket. Moira's blood ran cold, recalling stuffing it beneath her mattress before leaving her room that morning. 'How did he find that?' She wrapped her fingers instinctively over the oblong pendant and it burned just as fiery as before. Moira ripped her hand away reflexively, clasping her other hand over it.
"You don't feel that?"
Magnus stiffened, standing up to his full height at that comment.
"Feel what?"
"The locket, it…." She trailed off, unsure how he'd respond to her if she mentioned the heat radiating off the accursed object. "It's burning hot."
He let out a mirthless, incredulous laugh.
"Oh Moira, are you going mad?"
"Most likely."
Moira's body screamed for rest, her mouth dry and incomprehensible exhaustion settling into her bones. She leaned against the nearest wall, her breathing haggard from the effort it took to stand upright. Her gaze dragged over to where the specter of Elsie stood, silent and forever watching.
'Why can't you show me what you want?'
A rattling breath sounded from the abyssal corner and Moira shivered, wrapping her arms over her torso. She blinked away, fixing her eyes on Magnus with an expectant look. He stared at her, torn between looking at her like she grew a second head.
She could hear the drag of weak footsteps drawing closer. Her heart began to pound in her chest and she squeezed her eyes shut. 'If I'm supposed to listen to her, then I can't keep running away. Not that there is a way out of here now.'
Moira let out a startled yelp when the cold, taut hand of the dead clapped over her forearm.
Another rattle of air and the world became cyclonic.
"Hello, Mister Mercer."
A young man stands before a striking, high-class lady. He peers at her through black-diamond, hooded eyes with a hint of a smirk.
A demure smile is poised on her full lips and she holds out her hand to him. He takes it and brushes his mouth over her knuckles, dark eyes never leaving her expressive face.
"Is it happenstance that I find you here, Lady Magnus?"
Elsie's smile grows and she takes a step closer, squeezing his hand affectionately.
The sun casts her hair golden, and her warm complexion alights with life.
"Decidedly not."
He rewards her with a tender smile and her heart skips a beat. In the shadow of Magnus Manor, Ian Mercer keeps their interaction as proper as such impropriety would allow. He watches her as she closes her eyes and tilts her head back, letting the warmth of the day shine down on her.
"I miss spending my days out here."
When Elsie opens them once more, she can see how Ian's brooding stare lingers on her mouth. He wants to kiss her, but he doesn't dare.
Not yet.
The melodic sound of a child laughing fills the air."Moira, what the hell are you doing? Have you gone completely mental?"
The locket clattered to the floor as Magnus grappled both of her shoulders painfully tight. The ward let out a groan and nearly collapsed when his fingers dug around her shoulders and over the shredded areas of her upper back. Her eyes honed in on him again, slightly mystified by his intrusion.
"Who is Mister Mercer?" She blurted out, one hand coming to the side of her head to steady herself and quell the stabbing pain behind her eyes. The Lord's eyes narrowed fractionally as he scrutinized her.
"How do you know that name?"
Her eyes rolled into the back of her skull and her head lolled forward as another memory overtook her.
"It's come to my knowledge that you've been spending a lot of time with someone, Elsie."
Her eyes grow wide and dread fills her belly, dragging her down like a weight. She shifts uncomfortably in her seat and averts her gaze to the floor. Elsie says nothing to her husband, but the way she holds herself tells him everything he didn't want to know. He laces his fingers together and rests his chin on his hands, biting the inside of his cheek to stave off the growing rage.
"Oliver mentioned that it was a man. It appears you've both enjoyed his company."
Elsie glanced up at Walter, tears brimming her eyes. His words drip with malice and his face is taut and restrained, only his brow giving away the crushing blow of betrayal. She bites her lip, trying to stave off the urge to cry. Remorse weighs heavily in her chest. With a shaky voice, she whispers:
"I haven't been happy for a long time. I… it just happened. I'm so sorry, Walter, I truly am."
Walter's jaw tightens and he crosses his arms tightly over his broad chest. Elsie watches him intently, fearful of his calm exterior and paralyzed by guilt. There's a brief moment that she can see the turmoil in his eyes. She can see the hurt little boy peeking out at her, wondering if he was ever truly loved. In an instant, that little boy was tucked away and his cold glare hones in on her. She loves Ian Mercer, she knows it well within the deepest confines of her heart. Yet she still cares for Walter, her husband, and father to her son, despite his constant need for control.
Her hand rests on his forearm and he reflexively pulls away, sending her a seething glare.
"I still love you, Walter. I'm so sorry I did this. Let me explain-"
"Explain what? That you're just as dirty as the women my father took to bed?"
The words sting and she reels back in her seat, clearing her throat.
"That's not fair."
"I'll tell you what's not fair, Elsie. It's not fair that your husband has to find out from your son that his wife is akin to a common hedge whore."
The tears are streaming now, Elsie's bottom lip set aquiver as she holds back a sob.
"He's our son, Walter! How dare you call me-"
"What you are? How can I be sure he's even mine when you've been mucking about with another man?!"
"Don't be ridiculous, he is yours. You can see it plain as day."
Magnus' open hand came down on her face for a third time, effectively snapping Moira back into reality. Her cheek stung from the impact, but the force behind his slap was enough to wake her. She shook her head, both her hands now clutching Magnus' forearm. An angry fear riddled Magnus' weathered, wrinkled face.
"How did you know that name? Have you been spying on me?" He shook her once and Moira simply stared, wide-eyed. The words flew out of her mouth faster than she could catch them.
"What did you do when you found out?"
His hands are on her now and he's shaking her shoulders, caught in a madman's raving.
"Sorry isn't enough, Elsie! It'll never be enough for this! Who is he, Elsie?! What is his bloody name?!"
She's still crying but her mouth is small and tight, her eyes wider than before. Elsie's mind is ablaze with too much and absolutely nothing all at once- in all six years they spent together, she never witnessed her husband in such a state. Magnus' demeanor escalated, the look of a wild man in his eyes now.
Something cracked in him.
The scene shifts and he's dragging her up the stairs by her hair. Her cries become frantic with the tearing pain in her scalp. She kicks and screams, flailing about with very little foundation beneath her. She finally finds her legs and stumbles along with him, begging for him to stop.
"What are you doing?!" she wails between her sobs.
They're up the second flight of stairs and around the corner, heading directly for the West Wing. Her screams grow wilder as if she knows exactly what is coming. The sound of a little boy, high-pitched and wavering cuts in.
"Papa, what's going on?"
Walter lets out an animalistic snarl at his son, shoving the boy back into his bed-chamber with one hand. He flops to the floor with a tremendous huff, staring up at him wide-eyed.
"Stay in there, bastard child!"
His little face is contorted into painful, frightened tears, and Elsie knows at that moment his heart was shattered.Moira let out a sharp exhale, coming back down from another of Elsie's memories. Her mind was in tatters, torn between three different realities. Magnus had her in his grasp, bordering on tears now. Next to him, stood Elsie, her eyes unseeing, her mouth lax and drooping. Moira couldn't tell if Lady Magnus was screaming silently or decomposing before her eyes. Another moment in time grasped at her and tugged her away.
"You're beautiful."
His fingers are toying with her pale-gold hair, twirling it between his fingers slowly. His black pupils bore into her hazel gaze. He's close. Closer than before.
"Ian, not here. We can't."
"He's not watching right now, Elsie. Just this once."
She can feel his breath fan her face and her eyes slide closed.
A shaky sigh releases from her.
His stare is back on her lips.
"Well, alright."
At first, his lips move over hers, careful and deliberate. He's reveling in her softness and the scent of her lavender perfume. With a quiet groan, he claims what he knows could never be his. Elsie's hands are on his chest while one of his nestles under her hair. Just as quickly as it started, his lips are gone and her eyes flutter open. The amorous gleam in his eye flares a pink flush over her cheeks.
"Will you meet me later tonight?"
"If I can get away…"
Little footsteps rustle through the grass and Elsie flits her gaze to the sound. Big, silvery eyes stare up at her in confusion, behind them stirs an intelligence that seemed unnatural for such a young soul.
"Momma?" He asks, unsure of what he'd just seen.
The sun begins to darken, the inky black of night coloring the sky until there's nothing left. The last image is the vision of young Oliver, a lost, wandering expression on his face.
"I can explain! Please, stop this madness!"
The familiar scrape of metal on metal and a creak of a door reverberates through the stale air. The locked room's dark interior throws oblong shadows on the pair.
"Get in there, you covetous hussy!"
Gold locks fly around her face and she collapses onto the icy stone floor. Hazel orbs rake over the darkroom. Within seconds he's on her again, fingers knotted into blonde strands, dragging her further in. She screams and kicks, her eyes wide and wild like caught prey seconds before death. He hoists her to her feet by the back of her dress and hair. Large hands squeeze her small shoulders and spin her around to face him. Hot, angry tears trickle down his pallid cheeks and his eyes are lost in a wicked frenzy.
"Why? Why did you do it?!" Magnus snarled, torn between despairing betrayal and hysteria.
Elsie hardly mutters a word, shaking with fright and staring at her deranged husband. He shakes her violently as if to rattle the words that stuck in her throat.
"Why?!"
"Momma?"
The little voice cuts in and Oliver is standing by the ajar door, one hand hovering in front of his face as if he can hide the horror he's seeing.
"Get out of here!" Elsie screams to her son as Walter releases her.
He storms toward Oliver with a vicious gleam in his eye. Elsie stumbles after him, all the while screaming:
"Stay away from my son!"
Oliver shrinks in the shadow of Magnus, his eyes growing wider as his father closes in on him. One large hand snatches the little boy up by his arm, lifting him off the ground a few inches. Magnus pivots swiftly and backhands Elsie, sending her flying to the floor before she could get a foot out the door. With that, he slams the door shut behind him, dropping Oliver for a moment to lock the door. Oliver tries to run, but his little legs can only take him so far. Magnus is on him in two strides, lifting him by the arm again and dragging the boy towards his bed-chamber. Oliver begins to scream and cry, kicking around in a pitiful attempt to escape.
The locked room sunk back into view and Moira stood in front of Magnus, her eyes wide as sight came back to her. The Lord loomed over her, the same maniacal gleam returning. Moira gritted her teeth, taking a hobbling step toward him.
"You've done this before!"
Magnus looked at her with the eyes of a cornered animal, dangerous and frightened all in the same.
"How do you know any of this?"
Moira looked to Elsie, who stood stock-still beside her with a hand on her forearm.
"Tell me you didn't kill her! Tell me you didn't lock her away!"
He grappled both of her shoulders and slammed her against the wall with enough force to nearly knock the wind from her.
"Remember your place!"
"It'll never be with you!"
His fingers clamped over her throat, harder than ever before.
Elsie is on the floor, legs kicking wildly. Magnus is kneeling before her, both hands on her throat. He presses his entire weight down on her airway, crushing away the voice he couldn't bear to hear. Her eyes bulge and roll in the back of her head, her mouth falling open into a soundless scream. Her fingernails claw at his hands, forearms, and her own neck, leaving rivulets of blood in their wake. Even then, he doesn't stop. Walter can't bear the thought of hearing her speak. The voice of an adulteress, the same one that told him she loved her every time they parted. Now, he knew it was a lie- a lie his own father told to his wife. History was repeating itself.
A hideous, mortifying emotion that he seldom can tame drives him forward. Rage courses through his veins, yet an eerie calm falls over him.
Her face is turning from red to purple with each passing second, blood vessels bursting beneath pale skin. Elsie's legs start to lose their energy, lulling to a lazy thump as consciousness slips from her. Walter stares down emptily, watching the life drain from her face.
Moira's hands clawed at his grip, successfully loosening it when her nails tore into bits of his flesh. A single breath was all she could take. Magnus let out a vicious growl and slammed the back of her head against the wall. His hands came back down on her neck, vehemently pressing into her, crushing her slowly. Moira squeezed her eyes shut as the familiar buzzing sensation erupted under her skin. Her legs buckled underneath her and she crumpled against his force.
His fingers dig into her pinched flesh, even though she long ceased moving. Time seems to stretch out endlessly in front of him, shrouded by the dark corners of the empty room. His room. The room of a devil. He didn't know how long he bared down on her, nor how long he could hear the wild screams of his son down the hall. His mind slowly came back to him, coaxing him into the reality laid beneath his grip. Magnus sits back on his haunches, a look of horror spreading over his face. He checks her wrist for a pulse and finds none.
She's gone.
Moira could feel the life draining from her, although she clawed and fought as hard as she could. Her brain became a blank slate, devoid of everything but the primal terror of death. Self-preservation could not win out this war, not with the monster squeezing every ounce of her being out. Her whole face is aflame with pins and needles, feeling as if it were about to burst.
All she could see was his dead, cold eyes, blurring at the edges and darkening as her awareness slipped away. Even the phantom woman next to him did not seem as empty as he was.
She stares emptily at the ceiling as if it would burst open and she could fly free. Magnus is howling in his despair, laying on his side next to the corpse of his wife. He reaches over, shakily, and takes her into his arms.
"I'm so sorry."
His hands smooth over her pale hair, but he couldn't bear to look at her. He did not dare not look at the swollen spots of her neck that shaped to his hand, nor the swollen, blood-red sclera of her eyes.
"Please, stay with me. I can't do this alone."
Oliver's wails echoed from his bed-chamber and a nagging thought enters Magnus' mind.Air flooded into her lungs, her eyes fluttering at the sound of retreating footsteps. Her head rolled to the side and she forced another breath, her throat struggling to decompress. The door creaked closed with a quiet thud and she could vaguely make out the dull slide of the iron bar locking into place. It took a few moments for her eyes to open fully and adjust to her dark surroundings. The locked room sat in eerie silence as if it were the Hall of the Dead. Moira tried to lift her head and found the ache in her muscles would not allow it. Her back stung viciously from the cold floor pressing against her wounds. She curled onto her side, weakly pulling the ripped gown over her shoulder to cover her body. Moira did not know where Magnus had gone nor why- only that he was no longer in the room with her. Her weak hand gently traced over the tender parts of her throat, staring blankly at the wall across from her.
A few hours later, the door opened again, pulling Moira back to a conscious state. She didn't bother to move, the physical pain keeping her fastened to the floor. She heard the clattering of a tray behind her. The door slid closed once more, leaving her alone in the dark. It took several minutes for her to sit up, the assault leaving her severely fatigued. Her limbs were like lead, giving out frequently beneath her weight. Moira scanned the room, finding that not even the ghost of Elsie kept her company. She was truly alone now. Silent tears dribbled down her cheek, her soft sniffles echoing in the empty room. Moira looked toward the door, knowing there would be a tray of food or water there. She barely had enough strength to drag herself to it, sipping and nibbling on bits of bread.
Days slip by where Moira spent most of her time asleep or lost in a daydream far away from Magnus Manor. She thought of Hector often, deeming him the only person she could think of without recalling the life Magnus took away. Her mind wandered to words Calypso said- that Hector had a significant role in her destiny.
His face would haunt her, her mind's eye going over his gaunt cheekbones, the curve of his jaw and the storm within brooding, deep blues. The vision of him enticed her and comforted her all in the same, but not in a romantic stirring. He represented a notion of freedom, another thread to cling to besides the prospect of having living relatives out in the world. She imagined him at sea often, the cresting waves bobbing that naval schooner across the waters. She kept herself with him in her waking moments, trying her best to preserve what very little life she had left. When her stomach growled or her tongue felt too dry and swollen in her mouth, she'd force herself to move toward the little tray Magnus replenished. She took bits of bread and used the water to swallow it down, trying her best to move slowly so she did not overwhelm her starving, parched body. After that, Moira would shuffle into the nearest corner of the room, the one Elsie had once coveted for herself. She would curl there, clothes still damp and body exhausted from the simple motions. It proved next to impossible to stand after all he had inflicted. Even still, she waited with Hector, hoping that the door would open and his strength would guide her out.
The sound of the heavy wooden door swinging open startled Moira awake once more. She huddled against the wall, wrapping the nightgown tightly over herself. She didn't want to see the man striding into the room, didn't dare to look at the one who nearly took her life.
"I'm leaving for Falmouth within the hour."
Moira shifted against the wall, unwilling and unable to speak. Her throat seemed perpetually caught in a fiery ache after nearly being strangled to death. No matter how hard she tried to speak, only a whisper could escape. She rubbed absently at the bruises she knew tarnished her neck and stared blankly at the wall. Magnus cleared his throat, walking towards the corner of the room she inhabited since his last attack.
He leaned down in front of her, his hand carefully reaching toward her face. Moira shrunk back instinctively, confident that she would not survive anything else from him. His hand hovered in mid-air as if he was deliberating whether to hit her, or so she thought. Finally, Magnus' fingers grazed her skin gently, tucking a matted, stray curl behind her ear. He moved in a little closer, letting his fingers burrow into her raven locks to gently massage her scalp. Moira's breath caught in her throat and her eyes widened at the tender gesture. Despite his softness, all Moira could feel was the burn of Hell in his touch. She grimaced and turned her head away from him, trying to distance herself from his intrusion. Her stomach roiled and she began to shake, fearing what the next step would be. Would he tear away the very last shred of her integrity?
Both of her arms tightened over her waist protectively. His mouth opened as if he wanted to say something, but he closed it once more, unable to form the words.
He pulled away from her, lingering in his crouched position in front of the ward. When Moira only curled into herself more and tucked further into the corner, Magnus stood and sauntered to the door.
"I'll be back in a few weeks. Alice will come to feed you."
His departure left her in silent wonderment. What was his intention behind that touch? Did he initially plan to take advantage of her? Or was it truly an act of mercy and a silent apology? Moira sneered at the irony of it all. Remorse did not suit Magnus' and she found his gesture only served to anger her even more. 'How dare he even try to atone for what he's done?'
'No one is coming to save me.'
The thought rolled through her stormy mind over and over for the next few hours, only to cease when her body forced her into a restless sleep. Moira would awake again with a start, tortured by the memory of how he hurt her and how he killed Charlotte. Only then, would she realize that her reality was a far worse nightmare than the repeating history in her dreams. Waking up meant coping with the reality that her governess was dead and she was trapped, alone and in pain. The cycle repeated itself for what seemed like hours on end. Moira could feel her sanity hanging by mere threads- threads that reminded her of an estranged family and a rather arrogant sailing master. Calypso mentioned a father and a brother, both of which she never even thought to exist. It kept a flicker of hope within her, a sliver of light in the endless dark. No matter what happened, Moira would do everything in her power to escape, even if it resulted in her death. In her mind, a part of her was already dead. There was nothing else he could truly do to her now.
The dreadful, overfamiliar grinding of metal told her that someone was about to enter. She turned her head away in defiance. Hunger had faded long ago. She refused to be deduced to eating on the floor like an animal anymore.
"Moira?" The gruff, roguish voice of a certain brute caused her to freeze up. Her gaze wandered to the door.
"Oh my god." Another feminine albeit rough voice followed.
On the other side of the door stood Thomas Bligh and Evelyn Blackwood, who was holding a gun to Alice's head.