Elder Griffins hand on her arm. Desperately she swam through the smoke before her eyes, fought to see him. Fought the spell that slid hard hands up her legs, curled over her shoulders, caressed her stomach and breasts and stroked her neck. Everywhere.
Phantom hands, unfamiliar hands, all over her body. No. No, shed sworn she wouldnt everwouldnt lie there, she wasnt a child anymore, she didnt have to do this. Didnt have to let them do this, she could fight, she was powerful. She was a witch, a fucking Church witch; she was grown up and she had the power now. She did not have to let themnot anymoreshe didnt want this anymore, no
Stop. Her voice didnt work; her dry lips ached around the word. She couldnt do this, didnt want to be controlled anymore, couldnt give up her power. Couldnt give up her autonomy. Her independence. The strength shed fought so fucking hard for, the right to keep her own thoughts and her own body, not to be forced to let other people use her like a fucking toy, to ignore her until they took her out of her box to play with her some more and cast her aside when theyd had their fun.
Stop! she tried again, but all that came out was a gurgle. Panic overtook her. She couldnt see, couldnt hear, couldnt feel her hands or feet. Elder Thompsons voice grew louder, thundering in her ears; his power forced itself into her, over her. Fighting with her to keep her still.
Her feet moved, like wading through half-dried cement. She had to get out. Had to. Fuck the money. It wasnt worth it, wasnt worth this, wasnt worth being trapped by heavy black hands and forced to give up everything shed fought all her life to gain.
Elder Thompson was shouting now. His words slammed into her, beat her like fists. She pushed harder, aiming for the thick purple wall. Get out, she had to get out, had to
Another hand on her, squeezing her arm. She tried to swing, to bat him away, but he caught her. Cesaria. Cesaria. Cesaria.
Elder Griffin. Elder Griffin speaking to her, his voice quiet but still somehow audible over Elder Thompsons roar. He repeated her name again and again, and the tiny piece of her able to focus grabbed him, grabbed the sound of her name in his voice, and clung to it.
Cesaria. I am here with you, Cesaria. Give in. Let go and have trust in me. You know me, Cesaria. I know you. You will not be hurt here, no one will hurt you. I promise it will end when you relax, and you will come to no harm. I promise youlet go and it will end, stop fighting it, no one will hurt you. No one will hurt you, Cesaria, I promise
She didnt want to. Her head flew back and forth, denying it, refusing.
He kept speaking, the same soft litany over and over. Tears ran down her cheeks. She could feel them, taste them, salty and flavored with calamus and cayenne from the herbs invading her body.
Somewhereshe had no idea how long it took, how many times he repeated her name or urged her to give in and let Elder Thompson take control of hershe relaxed. Elder Griffin would not let anything happen to her. She knew he wouldnt. She trusted him as much as she trusted anyone, trusted him more than anyone exceptShe trusted him, and he wouldnt let her get hurt, and gradually she felt the energy around her change, heard Elder Thompsons voice quiet. With a sigh she reached into herself; with a sigh she gave in to her trust.
The energy changed. Instantly, like a puzzle piece snapping into place. Not scary anymore, not dangerous. She was in this. She was resigned to it. Shed agreed to it and she was doing it, and suddenly she didnt care. In fact
It filled her, sent her floating. Better than her pills. Better than a knob of Dream. Every cell in her body was pure power, pure thick sweetness, light and full of joy. She had no choices to make, no battles to fight. No memories to deal with, no shame, no misery. She wasnt herself anymore. She was someone else, someone who belonged to someone, and that someone would make all the decisions and let her float
It switched again, and she slammed back into herself. Her eyes opened.
The light had changed. Still purple, still glowing, but colored with shooting stars of black and red, streaking across the bright screen of energy. Her blood raced through her veins, through her brain, faster and faster, her tattoos screamed and tingled and writhed on her skin, searing through muscle and bone, setting off alarms in her soul.
Around the perimeter of the circle stood the ghosts, their clothing so familiar, their faces ones shed seen before in paintings. The First Elders. The founders of the Church.
Controlled by herbs, neutered by magic, they stared at her with eyes that were nothing but blank white spaces. Their hands were clasped before them, their feet planted on the floor. They would witness her oath. They would bind her.
They would punish her if she broke the Oath.
Holy shit.
Elder Thompsons voice boomed through the silence, an edge of hoarseness ruining the thick slide of it.
Cesaria Putnam, this night we Bind you. Bind you in loyalty to your Church, to Truth and Fact, to the power of the Church and the power of the earth. Do you accept this Binding?