forum The Apothecary, the Fairy, and the Elite (Closed)

Started December 28, 2022 by @emilyevewrites group

tune

( @letsgetlegit_9113 Shall we begin? :))

Farah Dowling was lost – there was no other way to say it. She had no clue where she was and no idea which direction the closest civilization was in. Which was a problem, since she was dangerously close to bleeding out. And she was pretty sure she had twisted her ankle a little while back. It hurt like hell whenever she stepped on it. She hissed in pain and stumbled into a nearby tree. This forest seemed endless.

Why is the world so blurry? she wondered as her vision began to tunnel from the edges in. I'm going to die out here. Her free hand – the one not supporting her entire body weight while she slowly leaned against the tree – was clutching her side where Andreas's blade had cut through her clothes and left a deep gash in her side.

A sharp, intense pain streaked through her head, and she cried out. The young fairy collapsed to the ground, holding her head with her non-bloody hand, and squeezing her eyes shut to keep out the mental attacks. All sounds of the forest vanished and were replaced with white noise that echoed hauntingly in her ears. Then… a horribly familiar voice whispered her name.

"Farah…"

Farah winced and shook her head, though it hurt to move at all now. The voice repeated itself, more desperate this time.

"Farah!"

Again, the fairy shook her head. "Enough!" she cried out to no one. "Get out of my mind!" Slowly, the white noise receded, and the chirping of birds and rustling of squirrels through the leaves could be heard again. Farah was dizzy with both pain and solace. Then, much to her surprise, she noticed something just a few yards in front of her. A gate. A garden. A… cottage? Something of the like.

Relief flooded her, and she forced herself to stand. Trying to put as little weight on her bad ankle as she could, Farah managed her way over the roots and patches of leaves to get to the edge of the gate. She placed a hand on it and found that it opened easily under her touch. Slowly, she stepped inside and called out in a hoarse voice, "Hello?"

(Well, of course!😊 )

"Alright," Lavendar Jardín spread out the recently picked flowers and herbs on her desk, "we've got chammomile, red clover, calendula, oregano… "

She looked up at the small flasks on the shelf, simply waiting to be filled, and stood up to grab three of them, plus a chef's knife and a full teapot. Holding her breath, she turned around to face the window, only to see her flowers swaying in their beds.

Lavendar let out a relieved sigh, "Thank goodness," she scanned the garden once more before sitting back down and turning on her radio. She turned the dial until the faint playing of Saint-Saëns' "The Swan" was heard. Satisfied, she sat down and started mincing the fresh flowers.
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As she was carefully chopping up the calendula, she heard a specific rustle resembling footsteps in the distance. She brushed it off, thinking, hoping it was a deer or such, passing by. The noise only grew slightly louder, however, as she kept working. She noticed the footsteps were halting, as if someone was staggering into her garden, absolutely disoriented. The young apothecary resented every minute as she got up and walked… to… the… window.

She immediately shut the curtains. Tears were already welling up in her eyes. No, not another one.

She started pacing the room. "Not this time, Lav. Not this time," she whispered to herself, tears slipping down her cheeks. But, you have to, the Elite require it. She sank back down into her chair with her head in her hands, allowing her thoughts and emotions to flood her mind. "A year, a whole year and half, those poor people, those innocent lives, only four and a half more years until-" The words resounded in her ears. Four and a half more years.

After rubbing the tears off of her face, she peeked back out of her window to take a better look at the mysterious person, they seemed badly injured. Should I put them out of their misery? It would be the right thing to do. They were limping onto the cobblestone path, leaving drops of blood behind them. But they still look very much alive. The stranger looked like they would collapse at any given moment, they were also shouting, although each shout was weaker than the next.

Before she could even think twice, she quickly grabbed her first aid and surgical kit, set it on the desk, laid an extra bedsheet on the floor, and rushed outside. The person was still a bit far from the entrance. She called out to the person, not knowing how else to get their attention. "Hello? Hey!" Wiping her hands on her plant stained apron, she hurried over to them. "Hey, yeah, are you okay? Are you alright?" She asked, the words were rushing out of her mouth faster than her brain could process them.

The person, presumeably a girl, looked up at her. It was then she was able to see the girl's agony-filled eyes, "Apparently not," she said under her breath. Lavendar slung the girl's arm over her shoulder and helped the girl, now her patient, get inside the cottage.

Once inside, Lavendar gently set the new patient on the bedsheet and poured a liquid onto a cloth. She knelt down next to the girl, "Don't worry, you'll be just fine when you wake up. Hopefully." She tried to smile reassuringly, although anxiety was clear in her eyes. She placed the cloth firmly onto the patient's mouth and nose, and once she was positive the patient was in a deep slumber, she got right to work.

Something trickled down the side of her face, and in her confusion, Farah reached up to touch it. Her fingertips came away red. Blood. Her head was bleeding? It was coming from her temple, which meant it must be at least a little bit in her hair. Tears formed in her eyes. She hoped it didn’t dry in her ash-blonde locks. It was a selfish plea, and an incredibly stupid one given her situation, but her hair was her pleasure. If she died with it frizzy and blood-crusted…

Farah was about three seconds from loosing all motor functions, falling to her knees, and curling into a ball until she bled out. Her vision was rapidly getting worse — her tears over her hair weren’t helping — and she was horribly nauseous.

That was when another girl burst out of the house and called out to her. She blinked and was able to determine light brown skin and richly caramel-colored hair as the girl approached her in a blur of motion.

Farah’s ears were still ringing, so she couldn’t hear anything the girl said until she was close enough to touch Farah. It was like she was underwater, but she heard at least one word: “…alright?”

If she was her normal self, Farah would’ve offered a slightly sarcastic response in the affirmative. But the most she could give now was a desperate look. She hoped it would be enough to convince this stranger to take pity on her.

Sure enough, the girl muttered something Farah couldn’t understand and took Farah’s arm over her shoulder to help her walk — the one that wasn’t currently clutching her vicious side wound, obviously.

Farah was delirious as she was led inside and laid down on the floor, though it wasn’t directly. There was something spread out on the floor, and it was white. What was the name of it? She couldn’t think straight.

Suddenly, it occurred to her that the mysterious girl was speaking to her. Farah smiled back, though it was barely a twitch of the corner of her lips.

Before she knew what was happening, a cloth was pressed over her nose and mouth. She wanted to push the girl’s arm away or hold her breath. Unfortunately, she could physically do neither. So with her life in the hands of this stranger, Farah gave in to the unconscious. Her eyes flickered closed, and her entire body went limp.

The girl was asleep. Lavendar noted the her patient's slow breathing, and took the cloth away from her mouth. She opened the first aid kit, inside was everything she needed to help treat her patient. Are you sure about this?

She brushed her thoughts aside, "I don't have time for this, I need to focus." She pulled back her long hair with her white scarf, casually pulled on her latex gloves and picked up the scissors. She started to cut through the girl's bloody clothes, hestitantly speaking as she did so, "I hope you won't mind. I've got extra clothes if you want to use them.'' Only silence was the response. What am I thinking, I'm basically talking to myself.

"Well," she spoke more calmly, "I guess you count as company. I'm usually alone here."

Still recieving silence as an answer, she stood up and grabbed a large bowl from the kitchen and filled it with hot water. She added dried rose petals and chopped marigold to the water, then set it next to the girl and the first aid kit. She finally took another cloth from the drawer and started cleaning the patients wounds. It was then, she was able to hear the radio a bit more clearly, the piece playing was Chopin's "Nocturne in E Flat Major", she laughed softly, "I guess not many surgeons listen to Chopin while performing operations."
After cleaning what seemed like a blade injury, she picked up the needle and thread, something she hadn't done in a while, least of all in this context, "Alright, Lavi, just focus… focus…."
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It had been more than half an hour since Lavendar had started treating the patient. The wound on the patient's side was stitched up, the young apothecary also bandaged the bad sprain on the patient's ankle and propped it up on some books. She was nursing the gash on the girl's head and was placing a gauze on the gash and wrapping it in place.

After finishing, she had a better look at her patient's face. Lavendar smiled as she cleaned the dry blood out of the girl's blond-ish brown hair, the girl had a calm expression on her face that touched a soft spot in Lavendar's heart. Make your choice, Lavendar, are you gonna kill her or not?

"I-" she said to herself out loud, "I don't know." She knew, unfortunately, a decision still had to be made, either to kill the girl in her house or be killed by the Elite.

She made sure the patient was comfortable, then stood up and walked to the kitchen to make lunch.
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Another half-hour passed, Lavendar was cutting up the vegetables for the soup she was making, humming along to Tchaikovsky's "Waltz of the Flowers". She heard something move in the other room where she left the patient. Not too surprised, she went to the room and saw that the girl was sitting up.

Lavendar smiled a little and slowly approached the young girl, "Hey, you're finally awake. How are you feeling?"

(I don't mean to be rude, but could you please try not to include my character's reactions in your posts? Also sorry for the swear, are you okay with cursing?)

Farah was completely unaware of how much time had passed before she woke again. The first thing she noticed was the feeling of her elevated leg. Her eyes blinked open slowly, and what she saw was not at all what she expected.

Her ankle was wrapped in a bandage and propped up on a small stack of books. She shifted slightly to get a better look at her side where Andreas had cut her and was again surprised when she saw the wound had been stitched closed.

Slowly, she began to ease herself into more of an upright position. She felt something fall across her forehead as she did so, and she reached up to feel a bandage. Her fingers followed it around to the gauze pressing against her temple wound to stanch the bleeding. Farah was mildly impressed. Whoever had helped her certainly knew their way around the field of medicine.

With her own conditions noted, she began to look around and observe the rest of the room. It had a homey feel to it and smelled of a thousand different earthy herbs and spices. Farah took a deep breath and sighed quietly. It reminded her of her own room back at Alfea, and–

A bolt of panic shot through her. Alfea! Farah swung her ankle off the stack of books and sat straight upright, making a noise of protest to her own action as the stitches in her side sang with pain. "Fucking hell," she muttered, only to look up quickly when someone else entered the room. Her head began to pound in response to the quickness of her movement, but Farah ignored the feeling. She was trying to focus on the young woman and her words.

This was the same girl Farah had a fuzzy memory of – yes, this was the girl who had brought her inside and presumably the same one who had stitched her up and taken care of her wounds. But her words worried Farah greatly. Finally awake? How long was I out? she wondered.

"I'm fine," the fairy responded carefully, studying the woman in front of her. "How long was I asleep? And where am I? And who are you?"

(Okay, makes sense! Also, like I said, it's fine as long as it works with the character.😊)

Lavendar casually answered, "You've been asleep for about an hour, actually. And you are in my humble cottage, in the middle of nowhere," she chuckled anxiously after mentioning it. "And I am-" she paused before another word was able to escape her mouth.

The young apothecary swore to the Elite she would never tell her real name to her victims. And in reality, the girl was a victim, in fact, she was never supposed to be alive in the first ­­­place, "Any stranger who dares enter your garden, should be killed and sent to us. Whether man or woman, old or young…." The words she agreed to a year and a half ago, was a vicious tune that replayed in her head…

She resumed talking, but more cold and depressive, following the script that was charred into her brain, "And I am Celosia Hortus, faithful student and apprentice of the Elite." She looked into the other girl's eyes for a few seconds before getting up and walking back to the kitchen.

She stopped before walking out of the room, "Let me know if you need anything," she said, her voice now losing its iciness, but still retaining a bit of depression. "Also, I'm making soup for lunch, I was wondering if you wanted some."

"An hour?" Farah asked, reaching up and pressing her palm to her forehead. It felt like only ten minutes. She shook her head slowly before looking at the other woman and listening to her speak. Her voice was casual and flowing until she stopped abruptly.

Farah wrinkled her nose in confusion before the woman spoke again in a different tone. It wasn't her that was speaking… it was something else. And the fairy felt the presence of strong magic at play. But when the woman spoke her name, Farah knew instantly that it wasn't true. She maintained eye contact with the woman before she headed back in the direction she'd come from.

"Soup would be lovely," Farah replied. With the woman gone, she exhaled quietly and called to her magic. Her eyes changed to a silver-blue color as she delicately reached into the woman's mind. Celosia was not her real name. Farah knew it by the way she'd stopped speaking and by the change in her voice. Her real name is… Lavendar Jardín.

Farah gasped, withdrawing her magic as a spike of pain shot through her head. She cried out softly, wincing as she cradled her head in her hands. For a moment, the fairy was worried that she might start hearing things again, but no other voices spoke to her. Thank the gods.

Lavendar nodded softly in response and headed to the kitchen. The chicken broth was already boiling in the pot once she got there. There was something in the lady's voice that soothed her, that eased the rampaging storm in her mind.

She finished chopping up the vegetables and dropped them into the pot, then started to grab the flasks of dried herbs and spices from the kitchen cabinet. One by one she added them in, basil, a few bay leaves, parsley, thyme, etc.

But the question still lingered, she would still have to dispose of the woman, one way or another. She could poison her food, but it seemed too early. Why ruin the efforts of keeping her alive? But she still did not want to befriend her and then have to kill her, because then-

Her thoughts were immediately halted by a scorching pain in her right hand, she realized she had accidentally rested her hand on the side of the pot. Her hand instantly shot back as she stifled a pain-filled scream to avoid scaring the woman in the other room. She noticed it was badly burnt, even after she poured cold water over it. Not wanting to leave the kitchen, she muttered the spell the Elite taught her for her personal use. "De cauda ranae, in capite eel. Semel deterioratus fuerit, nunc sanetur," her hazel eyes gleamed a lucid scarlet as she uttered the magic.

The pain in her hand receded as her hand transitioned back to the state it was in before. Her eyes now their original color, she sighed with relief and stirred the soup in the pot.

A few minutes later, Lavendar was walking to the other room with two bowls of soup on a wooden tray. "Sorry I kept you waiting, should I help you get on the couch? It must be very uncomfortable, sitting on the floor," she laughed quietly, then looked down at the floor beneath her with a troubled expression on her face.

"By the way, what is your name, and where are you from?" She asked the other woman, while setting the tray onto her desk, "Not many people I know stumble into my garden, bleeding profusely," In fact, that's the one thing I try to avoid. Lavendar attempted a warm smile, knowing it was clear that something was wrong with her and that the woman would pick up on it, one way or another.

Farah closed her eyes and ran through question after question in her head. Why had the woman lied about her real name? Why was her magic causing her pain? Why had Rosalind–

She quickly stopped herself from continuing that thought, but it was too late. The sting of betrayal returned along with the ache of loss. The problem was that it hadn't been a loss. It had been deception and manipulation and deceit…

And the memories came flooding back through her mind, clear as day. The assignment. The journey. The destination. The treachery. It was a weight that dragged her down with every thought. Aster Dell. What have I done?

The fairy lifted her head quickly as the woman – Lavendar or Celosia, she had yet to truly find out which – returned with two bowls of soup. Just the scent made Farah's mouth begin to water. It smelled delicious, and what was the last thing that she had eaten? Gods, she couldn't even remember.

"It's no problem. I didn't mind waiting," she responded evenly. "Though would you mind giving me a hand? I don't want to rip out any of your stitches."

Then came the questions Farah had been dreading since she woke. She didn't want to talk about it, but she had known the woman was going to ask her. Gods, if Farah was in her shoes, it would've been the first thing out of her mouth. So, she answered at least one of the inquiries before asking a leading one of her own.

"My name is Farah. I hope you don't mind, but I'd like to ask you a bit of a personal question."

Lavendar nodded again, glad the woman forgave her tardiness. Once again, her voice… it simply warmed her heart in a way she could not even explain. I was probably just very lonely, she thought.

Seeing that her patient accepted her offer of moving to the couch, she replied calmly, "Okay, although I would be more concerned about the pain it would cause you. Stiches are stiches, I'd just grab a needle and thread and restart, it wouldn't hurt me one bit. As for you, I would not be so sure."

Opon hearing the girl's name, she raised an eyebrow, "Farah… such a pretty name, I would give everything I own for that name." Lavendar walked toward her patient, named Farah, apparently, to help her get up. She expected her to answer the other question, however, Farah responded with yet, another question.

A bit disappointed, she decided not to prod her further quite yet, assuming she was still a bit drowsy from the anesthetic. But the question worried and intrigued her at the same time, she hestitated before answering, "Um, sure. Ask me whatever you want."

Farah hissed through her teeth as the woman helped her to stand. "That's exactly my point," she remarked shortly, easing herself into a sitting position on the couch. "I'd rather avoid any excess pain. I need to heal as fast as possible so I can be on my way and get out of your hair."

With some of her memories returning to the forefront of her mind, it only made Farah more worried about the situation she had left behind. Or rather, had been forced to leave behind. Her heart began to race with panic. Saul… Ben… what will Rosalind do to them? They turned against her and chose to stand behind me… I hope I will be able to make it back in time before anything happens to them. She shuddered at the thought. Rosalind was a cruel woman. And betraying her was an act of treason against Alfea, or so she'd made it seem.

Though the fairy was pulled from her thoughts and couldn't help blushing a bit as her name was complimented. But her soft expression slowly faded to one of confusion at the woman's seemingly offhanded remark. "Giving up everything you own for a name? Isn't that a bit dramatic, darling?" she asked, lightly holding her stitched-up side as she arched her eyebrows. Her gaze didn't break from the woman's as she continued. "Celosia is a perfectly fine name. But I'm afraid that leads me to my question."

Farah's warm brown eyes sharpened as she finally got back to the topic she was most curious to discuss. "That's not your real name, is it? What is your real name?"

(Sorry I took so long to answer.😅 Happy new year, btw! 😊)

Lavendar gently lifted the patient to her feet. After hearing the woman's response, her mind froze for less than a second. "Well, about that–" If the Elite saw her guest walk out of her home alive and well, Lavendar was more than done for.

"I mean, your journey must be very important, since you're so sure about making a rushed recovery," she set her patient onto the couch, "because I honestly don't mind having you here." Lies.

Once the other woman replied to her seemingly careless compliment, her face reddened, "I mean, I guess that would be a bit too much." Although I threw away my sanity for that stupid name and other things. She couldn't help but remember the times she considered taking her own life after taking the innocent lives of others for the Elite Sorcerors and Witches. She didn't know what stopped her, possibly the fact that the Elite made her immune to any and every poison ever found and she couldn't bear to bring a knife or rope to her neck.

So, she was just… alive, and hating herself for it. Of course, somedays, she would just forget about her depression and self-hatred, but it would return one vicious way or another.
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Lavendar threw herself back into reality, she heard the young lady mention her name, her sorceress name. "Well, I'd suppose it's a fine name." Then the lady asked the question. The stinging arrow of a question. Her eyes widened, how did she know, was I that obvious? She, barely, kept her own composure as she carefully answered the woman's inquiry, "What do you mean, Celosia is my real name. The name I was given… by my parents… when I was born." More lies.

She quickly gave her patient the tray with her share of soup, and sat down on another chair. Right then and there, she wanted to run to the kitchen, scream, bawl her eyes out, and slit her own throat into pieces. Nevertheless, she stayed there, barely touching the soup she made, mainly for the patient. "So, if you don't mind me asking, where are you from and what brings you here? Besides your injuries, of course."

(It's all good! Happy New Year! I have an idea… ;))

Farah winced, only slightly, as she situated herself on the couch. Her expression faded to very brief confusion at the woman's off-putting initial reply to her remark about healing and leaving quickly. She relaxed a bit as the woman continued her thought, but the fairy had felt the momentary panic that rushed through the woman's mind. And it didn't sit well with Farah. "I appreciate your hospitality," she replied genuinely. "I do. But really, I have things that demand my attention elsewhere."

A small smile appeared on Farah's lips as the other woman blushed. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to make you embarrassed. It's only that you have to pick and choose your battles, darling. And I'm not sure that battle would be worth it."

Then it hit the fairy so suddenly and potently that she gave a visible reaction. Farah blinked quickly and straightened. The self-loathing that this woman felt was unbelievable. It was one of the pains of being an empath – she could feel the good and the bad emotions of others as if it were her own. And this woman… she despised her existance.

And the response she gave to Farah's question… something was very off here. Her widened eyes. Her thread of composure. Her pauses while she spoke. Farah didn't believe her for a second. She was becoming more and more convinced the woman's real name was Lavendar, but she wanted to be sure.

Farah nearly flinched away from the tray that was placed on her lap. The motion was so quick that it startled her, but she stayed still enough that nothing spilled, thank gods. But the anguish this woman felt… Farah felt her own sympathy pushing down the conflict in… Celosia. And the fact that she barely was touching her soup didn't go over Farah's head. She was a rather observant woman between her mind-fairy abilities and her natural personality. Besides, she still had to figure out what or who the "Elite" were and why this woman had claimed that she was a "faithful student and apprentice" of them.

Slowly, Farah leaned forward, ignoring her soup for the time being despite being incredibly hungry, and studied the woman's face while she spoke. "I'll answer your questions if you answer mine honestly."

Lavendar stirred her soup, the woman didn't answer her question, in fact, she wouldn't. Her guest wasn't satisfied with her answer at all, she was only going further with her question. What did it matter to her if Celosia was her real name or not, none of the other victims thought twice about her name or even who she was.

Out of nowhere, an intense hatred boiled inside her, not fully toward the woman in front of her, but more toward herself for not killing the girl sooner. She wanted to look pleasant in front of her guest, but her emotions seemed to leak onto her face. She couldn't bear to look up at the woman's face, knowing that she was expecting truth for an answer.

Her breathing was shaky, she felt as if she was tied to the chair she was sitting in, "I-" she choked. No, she was not going to tell her. Not on her life. Her life…

She had prepared her death letters many times, but had never sent them to her family. The next day, which was Sunday, she would go to town and give the shop to Mason, as long as he promised to take care of her kind parents and….

Lavendar's voice became hostile as she spoke, "Fine, but you better swear to me that you will not tell a single soul, living or dead." Then, before she could process it, she spilled out the truth, "My name is Lavendar Jardín, daughter of parents, Mateo and Rosa Jardín. I am still very much a student and apprentice of the Elite, but I hate myself for it, more than you could even imagine."

She trembled as the words fell from her lips, trying her best to hold back the hot tears from pouring like a waterfall, "I- I… dammit, are you satisfied now?!" She looked up at the lady, tears slowly slipping down her face, "I'm sorry." She turned her head towards her soup again and started stirring it. "You better eat. The food's gonna get cold," she said, returning to her depressed tone.

She knew for a fact that, with the information the other girl now heard, she could not let her victim get out of her house, or even make it through the night alive.

(Aw shit, I'm loving the angst!!)

The hatred Farah felt stirring in the woman's mind was unbelievable. She'd never felt anything like it before, and it worried her. Something was dragging this woman down. Whatever it was, the burden was threatening to tear her soul apart.

The fairy was surprised by the hostile tone that was used against her, but she'd been through much worse. So instead of responding, she simply listened as the truth poured from the woman's lips. So her name is Lavendar, Farah thought. But who or what is the Elite? Her mind could only come to the conclusion that whatever the Elite was, being "a student and apprentice" of them, as Lavendar had claimed she was, must be torture.

"Hardly," Farah replied with a much calmer tone than Lavendar's. "But you should not be sorry. I should be apologizing to you for making you reveal the pain of your truths. But contrary to your statement, I daresay I think I understand your predicament better than most others."

To satisfy the other woman, Farah lifted the spoon to her lips and took a swallow of her soup. The warmth spread throughout her body, making her ache with relief from the tension of the past few days. "You should eat as well," she remarked, watching Lavendar do nothing but stir the broth.

As much as she wanted to know what "the Elite" was, Farah was too noble a woman to go back on her word. She'd promised to answer Lavendar's questions if Lavendar had answered her honestly. And the other woman had.

"I'm from Solaria," Farah answered, carefully selective about her words. "But I don't think I would be correct if I said that's where I am now. I was sent here in the aftermath of a battle, hence the injuries." She felt guilty immediately for lying after she had just made Lavendar tell her the truth. It wasn't a battle – it was a slaughter. And the battle hadn't brought her injuries – the aftermath of it had.

(Aw, thanks. I've never written something as complicated as this so even I'm surprised. 😊 Btw, Farah's side of the story is madly intriguing and well written though, ngl. 😅)

Lavendar rubbed the tears off of her face, her uncontrollable shaking lessened, "No, its okay. I just- I don't usually get too emotional in front of people." She looked up at the guest, slightly surprised at the fact that she had suffered a similar mental turmoil as she. It was funny how the woman's voice sounded menacing one second then comforting the next.

Her lips formed into a small smile as she noticed the woman tasting the soup, and at the suggestion of the guest, she took a sip of her soup as well. She was mildly at peace for now. "I'm sorry I lashed out on you, I really shouldn't have… done that," she mentioned quietly.

She nodded softly as she listened to the woman talk about where she was from, "Hm, Solaria sounds like a pretty place." Once the other girl told her why she had appeared, she raised an eyebrow, "Oh wow-" she had no idea what to say to someone who had fought in a recent battle, "I- I honestly hope nothing too bad happens to your people. It's an honor to be in the presence of a brave warrior."

However, the fact that she would still have to kill this woman, hurt Lavendar even more now. She let her thoughts run loose through her mind. She wouldn't use a weapon as it would be too obvious and it was too late for poisoning now, so she decided to rely on the next subtle option… magic.

Although she was still new to casting spells onto other people, the Elite guaranteed her that this was potent enough to kill any person in only less than a minute without them even noticing. However, other magic-doers were fully immune to it, although it would mess with their minds for a bit. She was positive it would work on the- the… heck, she didn't even know how to refer to her by now.

She stood up, a bit too quickly this time, "Well, I think I forgot something in the kitchen. If you'll excuse me…" She smiled to the woman on the couch, then walked to the kitchen. "I'm sorry," she whispered before her eyes glowed their lucid color, this time more scarlet than ever.

Don't worry. This will, hopefully, be the last person you'll murder. Then you'll join them… Tears slipping down her face once more, she whispered the fatal spell.

(Awww, you're so sweet! But she's literally not even my original character, so… yeah Also your line "It was funny how the woman's voice sounded menacing one second then comforting the next" is literally Farah in a nutshell 😂)
(Okay! Thank you for the context! And there's no reason to be sorry! The detail is very appreciated :))

Farah smiled a bit as she noted Lavendar's surprise. "It's alright. I try not to be either, though it can be difficult. And I understand that too. It's alright. You're definitely not the first person to lash out at me, and you likely won't be the last." Not if Rosalind has any say in it, at least. "And you're hardly the most violent."

Farah couldn’t resist a slightly resentful laugh at being called a "brave warrior." She shook her head, almost apologetically. “I’m sorry to disappoint if that’s what you were hoping for. I am truly anything but.” Though when Lavendar mentioned "her people," a brief flash of pain showed on Farah's typically calm features. No, she told herself firmly. I will not cry for them when there is nothing to mourn. Saul and Ben must be alive and well. Rosalind wouldn't kill them.

The fairy blinked in subtle surprise at the woman's speed to get up again. "Oh, alright," she replied, offering a small smile back before Lavendar was out of sight. That was odd… again, Farah couldn't shake the feeling that something was off with this woman's mannerisms.

And then Farah found out why she had been so curt.

Within seconds of Lavendar leaving, the fairy's breath became shallow and ragged. Her eyes widened, and she choked while clutching her neck with her hand that wasn't lightly resting on her side stitches. It was like her throat was constricting, and she couldn't speak, breathe, or swallow. Farah began to gag on her own inhales when suddenly, she felt her magic being accessed without her control.

Her eyes glowed, and without her control to channel air and fire magic, a sudden gust of incredibly hot wind slammed into the side of the cottage. Of course, she had to lose control of the two elements that could easily be deadly. Shit! Farah thought. It was the last thing that ran through her mind before her head began to pound horribly. She squeezed her eyes shut and grasped her temples. Pain shot through her head yet again as she pressed against the still-healing wound from earlier. She would've cried out, but her throat was still compressed to the point where she could breathe, but just barely.

"Farah!"

The young mind fairy's eyes flew open again, and she flinched horribly at the sight that greeted her. It was Rosalind, standing above her with narrowed icy blue eyes.

"You thought you could stand against me? You're pathetic, Dowling. I always knew you would fail. It was just a matter of when."

Farah closed her eyes again, trying to block the words out. She tried to defend herself, but no words could pass her lips.

"And dragging your friends into it too?" the hallucination of Rosalind went on mercilessly. "Silva and Harvey. It's a shame I had to kill them both for acts of treason against Alfea."

Farah looked up with wide, furious eyes. "No!" she cried out, gasping horribly as she couldn't breathe for a second. Her body jerked at the strangling feeling, and the tray of soup slipped off of her lap and crashed to the floor. Farah's vision began to tunnel as she struggled to breathe. Rosalind's smirk became the only thing she could see.

No, she thought faintly. This can't be how it ends.

But then, just as quickly as everything had happened, it was gone. Her magic was hers again, Rosalind had vanished, and the tightness of her throat released.

The woman looked around, panting for breath and trying to figure out what exactly had just happened to her. Then, she had a sinking feeling that she knew. Stepping over the tray and spilled soup contents, she stormed into the kitchen, brown eyes blazing. She winced only slightly when she put weight on her bad ankle even though it was still wrapped. But the adrenaline coursing through her body from nearly dying was helping fuel her fire.

"What the hell just happened?" she demanded aggressively, glaring at the woman while her fingers curled into fists. The woman standing in Lavendar's kitchen now was the polar opposite of the kind, curious woman who had been sitting on her couch, sipping soup only minutes earlier. Farah was positively enraged. "That was you, wasn't it? Was it you? Tell me."