Carrieta’s origin: Witch’s Wonder, Hell’s Hate

*This story is under my folder “Witch’s Wonder, Hell’s Hate”. Gacha Club character designs are under this forum: https://www.youngwriterssociety.com/topic/117842-my-character-designs-lt-33-3?start=180. Enjoy!*

In a battered and broken-down village, there lived a young girl named Carrieta Loving, who had magical powers passed down to her from generations of her family, but still wanted more.

So, she would walk down the streets and view the royal castle from afar, dreaming of a day where she’d become a princess herself. Carrieta believed that she could do it if she knew the right people.

That was what she did for years, until one day, when she was fourteen, she decided to get a little closer and ran right up the palace hill, hiding behind a bush to watch.

A girl her age sat on the grass, opening and closing her gloved palm. Scales would grow from it, then disappear. Her black hair was in intricate curls, like the flowers on roses and nothing like the tangles of hair Carrieta had seen in the village. The girl’s dress was black with streaks of red, glittering in the sunlight and flowing around her body. There was not a single blemish on her brown skin, not a scar nor a bruise.

Though she wore no crown, anybody could see that she was the princess and what a beautiful princess she made.

Carrieta caught herself staring at the girl, mesmerized by her scales, her sparkles. Everyone had heard of the royal family but rarely ever saw them. Yet there she was, staring at the princess herself.

She has powers like me, so I can show her mine! Carrieta thought gleefully.

And then, she stepped out from behind the bush, clapping her hands to silence the princess before she could call any guards.

“I know I’m beneath you, but I’ve never met anyone my age who is a witch! I’ve never seen those scales, either. Could you teach me more?” Carrieta asked.

She clapped again and the princess blinked, shocked that she could move her lips again.

“You come here, making it past the gates, just to put a quiet spell on me, me, the princess, and now you ask me to teach you?” The princess asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Yes.” Carrieta nodded.

“Hm. So if you’re bold enough to come to my castle, then you’re not going to be scared when I hurt you? You’ll just fight back, right? Since you’re so confident enough to shut me up.” The princess smiled.

Carrieta swallowed hard. She just wanted to see the royal family up close, she didn’t think that she would run into the princess, all alone, confronting her like…like that.

“It won’t hurt me that much.” Carrieta laughed, hoping that it would be enough to convince her.

The princess looked her up and down, seeming to search through her very soul. Carrieta thought about running, maybe sprinting fast enough would keep her safe, but then she remembered that the princess would take her.

There was but a thread of a chance for Carrieta to outrun her.

“I suppose not. You have grown up in the slums.” The princess finally said.

Throughout any other circumstance, Carrieta would have cursed anyone who dared call her home the slums, but with the princess, with her disappearing scales and petal-petrifying voice, she couldn’t bear to do such a thing.

Never to the princess.

“But if you want more power, then it’s not me you should be asking. It’s Foxglove.”

“Who?”

The princess sat up from the ground, smoothing down her dress.

“You’ll see.” 

The princess turned around and walked away. Carrieta stood still, watching as her dress swept the grass beneath her. Was she supposed to follow? Was-

“Well, I’m not meeting Foxglove alone, am I?” The princess called out over her shoulder.

Carrieta scrambled over to her, heartbeat only faster the closer she got.

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“It’s all so quiet.” Carrieta said as they both walked through the garden.

There was nobody else in the garden but the two of them, which puzzled her, because she thought that guards would be everywhere.

“They trust me to be on my own.” The princess shrugged.

Carrieta didn’t think that the princess was telling her the full truth, but who was she to ask for more? She already had enough of the princess’ trust to be walking by her side.

The princess stopped suddenly.

“I do believe that you have a name.”

“Oh! It’s Carrieta. What’s yours?”

“You…don’t know?” The princess asked, taking a step closer.

“I-I never heard it before. They always call you “the princess!”. I swear if I knew I’d-“

With a clap of the princess’ hands, Carrieta’s lips were wound tightly together. Not another word could escape her.

“Enough of that. I am Princess Lanria. I’ll be keeping that spell on you until Foxglove leaves. She doesn’t like it when humans talk for nothing.”

Princess Lanria turned away, keeping her word, as Carrieta still could not ask the burning, bleeding questions in her mind:

Humans? What does she mean? Is Foxglove not a human? What’s going to-

“Witch of blood and gore

A fresh human, not yet sore!

Peel the skin and let her scream

Powers of yours, bestowed onto me!”

Princess Lanria had sung those words above a circle of dirt, quite out of place in the garden of green and flowers. She held a silver needle in her hand and poked her finger, letting the blood dot the dirt from her white glove.

Carrieta knew not where the needle came from or if she would be able to breathe much longer, yet still, she watched as burgundy smoke rose from the dirt, small at first, then growing higher to the sky and twisting itself into the form of a woman, with her red hair snaking around her dark purple dress.

She was Foxglove, floating above them like a macabre angel.

She turned her head towards Princess Lanria, locking her white, pupilless stare on her.

“You brought me a human for powers?” Foxglove asked, her voice vibrating underneath Carrieta’s skin.

Princess Lanria nodded and nudged Carrieta towards Foxglove.

Carrieta stayed where she was, not daring to clap her hands and undue the spell, but she wouldn’t die to Foxglove either.

“Carrieta?” Princess Lanria prompted.

She needed to think of a spell that would mortally wound Foxglove. She didn’t think that she’d be able to kill her, but a spell could work. She thought of the roots coming up from the ground, choking Foxglove, pulling her deep to the earth, rising up, yet she felt nothing. No pull, no powers. 

Maybe she wasn’t strong enough, but she had to keep trying, because Foxglove was trying to take her, to use magic of her own, yet Carrieta stayed still and in her own thoughts, thinking-

Princess Lanria grabbed her and made a run for it, the sound of a million pops and crackles behind them, building up to a crescendo of an explosion.

But they ran away just in time.

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That day was not the last she had seen of Princess Lanria. After they had run from Foxglove and Princess Lanria had undone the spell on Carrieta, they had both stayed friends, for Princess Lanria liked how Carrieta was strong enough to refuse what she was told and did not want to sacrifice her to Foxglove. She only wanted to sacrifice someone “weak”.

Carrieta spoke to Princess Lanria whenever she could, learning all the magic that her family wouldn’t show her and hoping that they’d both find the perfect person to sacrifice so they could both get all the magic they wanted.

It was on one of the rare days that the royal family visited the village when Princess Lanria and Carrieta had met up in a nearby meadow, testing what their magic could do to the greenery, when a tentative voice asked:

“May I join?”

It was followed by a rather ungraceful and mucus-ridden cough, then, the girls turned around to face the speaker.

It was a girl, close to them in age, her white skin holding hints of yellow and gray, her green eyes surrounded by dark purple-black rings. By her worn boots was a pile of beige-brown sludge…no, vomit.

“If you aren’t going to leave a mess like that, then perhaps you may join us.” Princess Lanria said, pointing to the vomit.

The girl laughed sheepishly, “Right! I’ll clean this up.” She moved her hand in a flourish motion, melting the vomit into nothingness with magic of her own.

“Now may I join?” The girl asked.

Carrieta said nothing. She couldn’t, it wasn’t her choice. But the girl looked and smelled exactly like the streets that Carrieta wanted to leave, so really, she didn’t seem like somebody who belonged with them.

“You may. But at a five foot distance.” Princess Lanria said.

A five foot distance?! That was too generous for somebody like her! Even Carrieta wasn’t disgusting like that. How could Princess Lanria just let her in?

But she would not argue with her. The Princess knew what she was doing.

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The girl was Sylvie, a girl whom Carrieta had dubbed in her mind as Sickly Sylvie. Yes, they were all friends, but Princess Lanria was the more remarkable one, the one who could summon Foxglove at will and grow scales with just her hand.

In fact, Princess Lanria was no longer a princess, but a queen. The three of them had all grown up and were married, each with a child of their own, only Sylvie's husband had left and there was nobody around to take care of her birth-born illness. Not even her magic could save her.

So, Carrieta Monet, not Carrieta Loving, and Queen Lanria visited Sylvie as much as it would look like for them to care, promising that they’d find a cure for her mysterious illness. Carrieta was still waiting for the day that they would find a suitable sacrifice for Foxglove. She wanted dark magic and she wanted it fast.

But she spent so long not questioning anything that Queen Lanria did, so she did not do it on what she thought would be another trying day of visiting Sylvie. It was better for them both if Carrieta stayed silent.

And that was how it was when they both sat on Sylvie’s couch, listening to Sylvie make cookies for them while she was coughing up a mighty storm, spoons clattering against bowls.

Carrieta grimaced, for even her own mother wouldn’t make cookies at such a state. Of course, her mother never got as sick as Sylvie did, but Carrieta was certain that she would know better.

 “You know, we’d get stronger if we sacrificed someone to Foxglove. We could be capable of great, terrible things just from the perfect shed of blood.” Queen Lanria said.

Carrieta blinked. Finally, she was talking about Foxglove, but it was long overdue.

“Yes, I’m aware of that, but who would we give her? This person needs to be worthy of Foxglove.” Carrieta replied.

She did not want to give Foxglove a soul she didn’t want. Foxglove deserved to have the best prisoner so that she and Queen Lanria could have better powers. Only, there wasn’t anybody else in the world they knew that would be fit for such a task.

“Sylvie would be a good choice. She’s sickly and dragging us down. She’d be better off dead, not causing us any trouble.” Queen Lanria said with a wave of her arm.

Yes. Sylvie. She was always on her last leg of living and yet she persisted, like the rats in the floorboards and the cockroaches in the holes.

Yet…

“But won’t Foxglove want someone who is healthy? What would she do with Sylvie? I like the idea, it’s just-“ 

“It’s alright, Carrieta. After we sacrifice her, we can turn her spirit into a monster and send her to Foxglove then. She’ll be happy to have a monster working for her.” Queen Lanria beamed, her russet-brown eyes sparkling more than her midnight blue ballgown.

They could make Sylvie’s spirit a monster! Both of them had gotten much better with their powers and with Queen Lanria’s help, it’d be all the more possible, for the woman knew much about what lurked in the shadows.

It was all too much like thorns pricking Carrieta’s skin and blooming from her flesh as roses that she couldn’t help but hug Queen Lanria tightly, weeping over her shoulder and praising her as best as she could.

Queen Lanria had stiffened, but she didn’t pull away.

Well, not until…

“I-I wore a cloth mask so I wouldn’t-“ She coughed a wet and somehow dry cough, “So I wouldn’t cough on it. But I did now! I’m…I’m sorry…so…sorry.” 

Sylvie’s hands shook as she dropped the silver tray of blue sugar cookies on the table before she collapsed onto an armchair, breathing in short and shallow breaths…if they could even be called that, with how thin and quivering they were.

Perhaps she wore a mask when she made them, but she was not wearing one when she brought them out. Even if she was, Carrieta would still not take even a morsel of a bite.

“That’s quite alright, Sylvie. Lanria is going to cure you tonight.” Carrieta said, trying her hardest not to look at the blue mess served on a silver platter.

“Really?” Sylvie shot up, her brown eyes brighter than either of them had ever seen before.

“That’s right. I’m going to use my magic to heal you and you’ll be better in no time! The three of us will meet at my palace garden four o'clock at night! There will be nobody around to bother us and you, Sylvie, will be saved.” Queen Lanria said.

“I’ll be there.”

Good. The sooner you come the sooner we can get rid of you. Carrieta thought but would never, ever say aloud.

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The striking daylight had faded into velvet night. Some would say that four o’clock at that hour was early morning, but not Carrieta, for there was no such rush pushing her along.

She had arrived at Queen Lanria’s palace garden much earlier than she was supposed to. Queen Lanria had given Carrieta a dagger while she had her own. They stood together in the garden, saying nothing, waiting for Sylvie, who did not come…still was not there…

Carrieta almost thought that Sylvie wouldn’t come at all, but then, right on time, she appeared, coughing up mucus that stained the perfectly trimmed grass as she approached them.

Sylvie stood in front of them both, waiting to be healed as she was promised. Queen Lanria nodded to Carrieta, then she knew to walk behind her.

At the same time, in a split second, they had stabbed Sylvie until her coughing ceased to be and her hands twitched no longer. Carrieta sensed Foxglove waiting in the pits of Hell, her claws tapping against the buried rock. But they were far from done.

A small white ball of light rose from Sylvie’s body. Her soul. Queen Lanria once said that everyone had a soul. Carrieta took Queen Lanria’s hand and thought of roots, rising from the ground, twisting like a skeleton’s hand, reaching for the soul, taking it, pulling it, making it a creature it couldn’t imagine.

She smiled as the earth’s claws swallowed Sylvie’s soul into darkness. She was not a monster yet, but with their magic, she would be by the time Foxglove saw her.

Already, Carrieta felt the electricity racing from her fingertips to her heart. She only wished that she and Queen Lanria had done it sooner.

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“You did a nice thing today, Anna. Healing that rat with the broken tail wasn’t something that you had to do, but you did it anyway. If you keep being nice, you’ll go to Heaven when you die. Heaven is a nice place, with flowers and blue skies and chirping birds. It’s beautiful, like a painting. It’s nothing like Hell, with burning flames and sharp-clawed monsters and-You don’t need to worry about Hell. You’ll never have to go there.” 

Carrieta had to stop herself before she said too much. Especially to someone who wouldn’t understand.

It was days after the sacrifice. Carrieta could feel dead things crawling underneath her, tapping their skeletal fingertips, beseeching her to find more. More? But what more could she find? The shadows could move at her command, a heart could stop at her will.

None of which her young daughter, Anastasia, could ever grasp.

The girl was staring up at her underneath her blanket, waiting for Carrieta to say more after being tucked in. There was nothing else to say.

“How do you know so much about Heaven and Hell?” Anastasia asked.

Carrieta looked out the white lace curtains of Anastasia’s window from her seat on the bed. She didn’t know anything about Heaven, aside from her family telling her that it was a wonderful place, but she had to say something. Something that would get her to be quiet.

And there it was.

“I know a lot about magical things, sweetie. I’ve been traveling a lot before. You need to go to sleep now, close your eyes.” Carrieta smiled.

It was not a lie. All the time spent with Queen Lanria did feel like she was traveling the world. None of which needed to be explained.

Carrieta kissed the top of Anastasia’s head and left her to rest, whilst she would stay awake wishing to possess all that she could and could not find.

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The waiting and the dreaming had to stop. Carrieta thought that her hunger for finding more would have been satiated and yet still, she was sleepless and lost, unable to get her footing. There was the tip of malevolence tickling her skin and that was all that it did.

She could not stay in the world of the living. Foxglove was waiting for her. Foxglove did not kill her, so she was a friend.

And just like that night she sacrificed Sylvie with Queen Lanria, Carrieta waited until her husband, Stephen and her eleven year old Anastasia were asleep and then, she left for Hell, the portal to create it effortless with her newfound powers and still not enough.

 Queen Lanria would join her. She always did, ever since the day they met. It’d be all the more fantastical once she did.

The only one who could truly know Carrieta.