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tamingthemuseTitle: A Bitter Bile That Cuts Like a Knife
Fandom: Original
Prompt: 422 - Pyrrhic Victory
Warnings: black magic, off-screen death
Rating: PG
Summary: The vengeance spell doesn't do exactly what Sonetra had thought it would.
The coconut, which had been hollowed out and left to dry years ago, had been filled with snakeroot and deadly nightshade, the devil's herbs both of them, that very night. Words had been chanted over the coconut, words to draw a specific soul. Ointment had been rubbed over the eyes and mouth of the coconut. Sonetra had done none of this herself, but she had sat inside the casting circle, staring into the fire, as if that would isolate her from the black magic working.
“It is done.” Aunt Sybil spat three times into the fire. “Now it is time for you, my sweet. Take your anger, channel it, and fuel the spell that will smite down your enemy.”
The coconut felt heavy in her hands, heavy with more than a physical weight. This spell would kill a man, if she went through with it.
“Go on, child,” her aunt urged. “Saturn is at the peak of his power. Mars waxes. Now is the time. Curse the man that harmed you.”
Sonetra thoughts roamed back to her job, to the job she no longer had, with a melancholy ache. She was a software developer, good at what she did, so good she’d made team leave when Brendan had left but in the last year things had turned south. New work had not been given to her to assign out. The managers, not only her manager but the other two as well, had taken up a new cry: Let’s give this to James. She’d asked why but had been given no answers. James, who was a babe in the woods, James, fresh out of college, James who wasn’t as good a programmer as she was. She could prove it. The evidence was available: bad designs she’d had to rework, the 1553 bus he hadn’t been able to code when she had. No one had wanted to see the evidence. She’d complained. Oh, how she’d complained, first to her manager and then up the chain, but it had done no good. They wouldn’t even tell her why. She’d even raised the specter of sexual discrimination to no avail. And then James had been moved out of the SCIF. The air is bad and his lungs are weak, she’d been told. So they’d left her there, to get sick and wither and die after they’d brought him out into the light of the outer offices. She’d gone to HR then and bitched up a storm. They’d brought her out of the SCIF but still were giving her peripheral work, nothing important. And they’d been watching her, waiting for a mistake so they could fire her. She’d cursed them then, a slow curse that would bring down the business but perhaps that had been a mistake. It had given them the excuse. She’d been laid off, as they’d so politely worded it, as a part of a series of firings. Marcia’d had Kleenex waiting, as if Sonetra would cry at such a time. Hal Wilburn, the CEO, had sat there, silent and cold eyed. Sonetra wasn’t sure why he’d been there at all, why he hadn’t just let the others do his dirty work. They hadn’t even let her clear out her own desk. “We’ll box it up and call you when it’s ready.” As if she were untrustworthy, as if she would steal their petty little secrets.
Sonetra’s rage flowed like a river, filling the coconut with a bile not physical but spiritual. Consumed by an anger that felt like a scream in her soul, Sonetra threw the coconut into the fire. Her anger only grew as it burned, as she imagined Hal struck down, growing weaker and weaker, inexplicably and suddenly ill. The coconut screamed suddenly before breaking into pieces. Sonetra stomach lurched but she held on, waiting until Sybil had broken the circle before falling forward to puke into the bushes.
A week had passed before Sonetra got a call to come pick up her belongings. Marcia met her at the door of the office. She wasn’t even allowed into the building. “I’m sorry it took so long,” Marcia told her. “Things haven’t been going so well here.”
No, Sonetra imagined they weren’t.
“Hal’s son died. A car accident.”
His son? “But Hal isn’t, I mean, he wasn’t hurt?”
“No, well, he wasn’t in the car but, his only son. You can imagine how he feels.”
Sonetra pulled herself into the driver’s seat and sat for a long while with everything she’d left at the office – geeky toys, books, papers – piled into two boxes in the back seat. Sybil had chosen the victim. Sonetra had only assumed …
She turned on the ignition and put the car into reverse. Her enemy was suffering but it had, after all, been only a pyrrhic victory. She still had to find a new job.
Fandom: Original
Prompt: 422 - Pyrrhic Victory
Warnings: black magic, off-screen death
Rating: PG
Summary: The vengeance spell doesn't do exactly what Sonetra had thought it would.
The coconut, which had been hollowed out and left to dry years ago, had been filled with snakeroot and deadly nightshade, the devil's herbs both of them, that very night. Words had been chanted over the coconut, words to draw a specific soul. Ointment had been rubbed over the eyes and mouth of the coconut. Sonetra had done none of this herself, but she had sat inside the casting circle, staring into the fire, as if that would isolate her from the black magic working.
“It is done.” Aunt Sybil spat three times into the fire. “Now it is time for you, my sweet. Take your anger, channel it, and fuel the spell that will smite down your enemy.”
The coconut felt heavy in her hands, heavy with more than a physical weight. This spell would kill a man, if she went through with it.
“Go on, child,” her aunt urged. “Saturn is at the peak of his power. Mars waxes. Now is the time. Curse the man that harmed you.”
Sonetra thoughts roamed back to her job, to the job she no longer had, with a melancholy ache. She was a software developer, good at what she did, so good she’d made team leave when Brendan had left but in the last year things had turned south. New work had not been given to her to assign out. The managers, not only her manager but the other two as well, had taken up a new cry: Let’s give this to James. She’d asked why but had been given no answers. James, who was a babe in the woods, James, fresh out of college, James who wasn’t as good a programmer as she was. She could prove it. The evidence was available: bad designs she’d had to rework, the 1553 bus he hadn’t been able to code when she had. No one had wanted to see the evidence. She’d complained. Oh, how she’d complained, first to her manager and then up the chain, but it had done no good. They wouldn’t even tell her why. She’d even raised the specter of sexual discrimination to no avail. And then James had been moved out of the SCIF. The air is bad and his lungs are weak, she’d been told. So they’d left her there, to get sick and wither and die after they’d brought him out into the light of the outer offices. She’d gone to HR then and bitched up a storm. They’d brought her out of the SCIF but still were giving her peripheral work, nothing important. And they’d been watching her, waiting for a mistake so they could fire her. She’d cursed them then, a slow curse that would bring down the business but perhaps that had been a mistake. It had given them the excuse. She’d been laid off, as they’d so politely worded it, as a part of a series of firings. Marcia’d had Kleenex waiting, as if Sonetra would cry at such a time. Hal Wilburn, the CEO, had sat there, silent and cold eyed. Sonetra wasn’t sure why he’d been there at all, why he hadn’t just let the others do his dirty work. They hadn’t even let her clear out her own desk. “We’ll box it up and call you when it’s ready.” As if she were untrustworthy, as if she would steal their petty little secrets.
Sonetra’s rage flowed like a river, filling the coconut with a bile not physical but spiritual. Consumed by an anger that felt like a scream in her soul, Sonetra threw the coconut into the fire. Her anger only grew as it burned, as she imagined Hal struck down, growing weaker and weaker, inexplicably and suddenly ill. The coconut screamed suddenly before breaking into pieces. Sonetra stomach lurched but she held on, waiting until Sybil had broken the circle before falling forward to puke into the bushes.
A week had passed before Sonetra got a call to come pick up her belongings. Marcia met her at the door of the office. She wasn’t even allowed into the building. “I’m sorry it took so long,” Marcia told her. “Things haven’t been going so well here.”
No, Sonetra imagined they weren’t.
“Hal’s son died. A car accident.”
His son? “But Hal isn’t, I mean, he wasn’t hurt?”
“No, well, he wasn’t in the car but, his only son. You can imagine how he feels.”
Sonetra pulled herself into the driver’s seat and sat for a long while with everything she’d left at the office – geeky toys, books, papers – piled into two boxes in the back seat. Sybil had chosen the victim. Sonetra had only assumed …
She turned on the ignition and put the car into reverse. Her enemy was suffering but it had, after all, been only a pyrrhic victory. She still had to find a new job.
