- Local time
- Today 7:47 PM
- Messages
- 406
- Age
- 28
- Pronouns
- He/Him
"Please state your full name for a clear record."
"Oh uh – Lan? Lan Fletcher."
"Lan Fletcher. Do you know why you're here today?"
"Cordelia.. Uh.. the witch."
"And what has happened to the witch Cordelia during your coronation."
Lan knelt before a flurry of flames. Flames so wild and unkempt, that ran rampant through Cordelia's hands and back up her arms like an implosion. It was a blur in his memory, a complex vision to recall when he had been bleeding out at her feet. The flames engulfed her like nothing, and spat her out a charred lump.
"She… burned. She's dead.."
"Lan Fletcher I will ask you this once and I expect a clear and concise answer."
"Yes, ma'am.. madam witch."
"How long have you been aware of the magic you touch?"
Lan sat a little straighter in his chair. "What-!" The sudden movement made his head spin, and he found himself pressing a hand carefully to the thick bandages covering his left eye. "I don't have any magic, I swear! Ma'am the men cannot wield those magics–" The domineering witch clicked her tongue. "That fire- those flames I didn't do that! She.. she did that..!"
"Lan Fletcher, how long have you been aware of the magic you touch?"
"Ma'am you've got it wrong, I don't have any magic, please–"
"I've got it wrong? What are you suggesting? That a young witch under our guidance and our instruction lost control of herself? Casting such a simple incantation as a flame?"
Yes! That was exactly what happened! They were all there to see it, every witch of note was lined up in that ballroom to oversee his becoming her guard. Every single one of them watched idly as she forced him to fight endless hordes of her own conjurations. Idly as she took his blade and rather than knighting him – she used it to mutilate him.
Idly as she failed to burn him alive, as her flames turned in on herself and devoured her.
This wasn't an interview. This wasn't an attempt at collecting all sides of the story. He was being interrogated and even worse, he was being blamed. Rather than voice any of this, for fear of what further punishment would come from accusing incompetence of a witch; He simply lowered his head.
"How long, Lan Fletcher?"
"Please.. There's got to be a way for you to tell if there's magic in me, can't you?"
The witch was silent for a while. Her leg slipped out from the slitted edge of her gown, crossing over the other leg as her painted nails tapped against the wooden table between them. Lan watched them click in their pondering motion, clicking like fleeting seconds before the booming of a grandfather clock. Then she slowly brought them up to her face and pressed the index to her lower lip.
"We could have you siphoned. It will find any source of magic and pull it out from you once and for all."
He adjusted eagerly. "Yes, please do that! I promise, you'll find no magic ma'am!"
If there was one thing he regret from that coronation, it was subjecting himself to that siphoning.
There wasn't a clear way to describe the siphoning. It was as though your soul had become a ball of yarn, and each witch in the room took turns crudely knitting opposing patterns, ripping and tearing his body in the process. No amount of medicine or anecdotes could shield you from something like that. The body was numb, but the mind and soul were searing. It went on like that for what seemed like an eternity.
"And what has happened to the witch Cordelia during your coronation." She asked again, her fingernails scraping passively at the surface of the table.
"Please– please miss, I don't have magic.. You've checked me–"
"Lan Fletcher, your honesty is greatly appreciated as this will be submitted into our archives."
"I didn't do it.. You said the siphon would prove I have no magic!! I didn't fucking kill your crazy fucking witch!!"
The last thing Lan remembered was shoving the wooden table against the witch on the other side. Though he very quickly went unconscious after that.
Lan was subjected to siphoning three more times after that. Each time the pain seemed entirely new, completely unique in its horrendous sensations, leaving him with no way to prepare for the next attempt. It was an intrusion in every sense of the word; He was losing his humanity with every touch. Sometimes he swore he saw the light and had faced the gods – and they wept for him.
These conversations went on for months. Sometimes, Lan would plead or beg them to understand. Other times, he would refuse to acknowledge them altogether. Whatever method he took lead him back to the cellars to be siphoned again. Though as time went on, he grew more tired. More complacent. After a grand total of six siphoning attempts, and every other moment in a damp cell to be interviewed; The grand witches had finally gathered their official record of the incident dubbed Cordelia's Coronation:
"Lan Fletcher, do you know why you are here today?"
"The witch Cordelia."
"And what has happened to the witch Cordelia during your coronation."
"I killed the witch Cordelia."
"How long have you been aware of the magic you touch?"
"I was not aware before the coronation. The benevolent witches have saved me from magic I could not control."
"Lan Fletcher. Your time in the tower is no longer temporary as your crimes committed within exceed the weight of your life outside of Gwendol. You will dedicate your life to training until you are fully prepared to become a witches guard. Do you understand your punishment, Lan Fletcher?"
"Yes, My Witch."
"Oh uh – Lan? Lan Fletcher."
"Lan Fletcher. Do you know why you're here today?"
"Cordelia.. Uh.. the witch."
"And what has happened to the witch Cordelia during your coronation."
Lan knelt before a flurry of flames. Flames so wild and unkempt, that ran rampant through Cordelia's hands and back up her arms like an implosion. It was a blur in his memory, a complex vision to recall when he had been bleeding out at her feet. The flames engulfed her like nothing, and spat her out a charred lump.
"She… burned. She's dead.."
"Lan Fletcher I will ask you this once and I expect a clear and concise answer."
"Yes, ma'am.. madam witch."
"How long have you been aware of the magic you touch?"
Lan sat a little straighter in his chair. "What-!" The sudden movement made his head spin, and he found himself pressing a hand carefully to the thick bandages covering his left eye. "I don't have any magic, I swear! Ma'am the men cannot wield those magics–" The domineering witch clicked her tongue. "That fire- those flames I didn't do that! She.. she did that..!"
"Lan Fletcher, how long have you been aware of the magic you touch?"
"Ma'am you've got it wrong, I don't have any magic, please–"
"I've got it wrong? What are you suggesting? That a young witch under our guidance and our instruction lost control of herself? Casting such a simple incantation as a flame?"
Yes! That was exactly what happened! They were all there to see it, every witch of note was lined up in that ballroom to oversee his becoming her guard. Every single one of them watched idly as she forced him to fight endless hordes of her own conjurations. Idly as she took his blade and rather than knighting him – she used it to mutilate him.
Idly as she failed to burn him alive, as her flames turned in on herself and devoured her.
This wasn't an interview. This wasn't an attempt at collecting all sides of the story. He was being interrogated and even worse, he was being blamed. Rather than voice any of this, for fear of what further punishment would come from accusing incompetence of a witch; He simply lowered his head.
"How long, Lan Fletcher?"
"Please.. There's got to be a way for you to tell if there's magic in me, can't you?"
The witch was silent for a while. Her leg slipped out from the slitted edge of her gown, crossing over the other leg as her painted nails tapped against the wooden table between them. Lan watched them click in their pondering motion, clicking like fleeting seconds before the booming of a grandfather clock. Then she slowly brought them up to her face and pressed the index to her lower lip.
"We could have you siphoned. It will find any source of magic and pull it out from you once and for all."
He adjusted eagerly. "Yes, please do that! I promise, you'll find no magic ma'am!"
If there was one thing he regret from that coronation, it was subjecting himself to that siphoning.
There wasn't a clear way to describe the siphoning. It was as though your soul had become a ball of yarn, and each witch in the room took turns crudely knitting opposing patterns, ripping and tearing his body in the process. No amount of medicine or anecdotes could shield you from something like that. The body was numb, but the mind and soul were searing. It went on like that for what seemed like an eternity.
"And what has happened to the witch Cordelia during your coronation." She asked again, her fingernails scraping passively at the surface of the table.
"Please– please miss, I don't have magic.. You've checked me–"
"Lan Fletcher, your honesty is greatly appreciated as this will be submitted into our archives."
"I didn't do it.. You said the siphon would prove I have no magic!! I didn't fucking kill your crazy fucking witch!!"
The last thing Lan remembered was shoving the wooden table against the witch on the other side. Though he very quickly went unconscious after that.
Lan was subjected to siphoning three more times after that. Each time the pain seemed entirely new, completely unique in its horrendous sensations, leaving him with no way to prepare for the next attempt. It was an intrusion in every sense of the word; He was losing his humanity with every touch. Sometimes he swore he saw the light and had faced the gods – and they wept for him.
These conversations went on for months. Sometimes, Lan would plead or beg them to understand. Other times, he would refuse to acknowledge them altogether. Whatever method he took lead him back to the cellars to be siphoned again. Though as time went on, he grew more tired. More complacent. After a grand total of six siphoning attempts, and every other moment in a damp cell to be interviewed; The grand witches had finally gathered their official record of the incident dubbed Cordelia's Coronation:
"Lan Fletcher, do you know why you are here today?"
"The witch Cordelia."
"And what has happened to the witch Cordelia during your coronation."
"I killed the witch Cordelia."
"How long have you been aware of the magic you touch?"
"I was not aware before the coronation. The benevolent witches have saved me from magic I could not control."
"Lan Fletcher. Your time in the tower is no longer temporary as your crimes committed within exceed the weight of your life outside of Gwendol. You will dedicate your life to training until you are fully prepared to become a witches guard. Do you understand your punishment, Lan Fletcher?"
"Yes, My Witch."