The Academy of Unseen Arts

Ivy had been up for hours at this point as she locked herself in the herbalism classroom with music playing in order to take full advantage of Roman being too busy preparing for his Dark Baptism to one, pester her and two, be in the room so they had to share their workspace. Besides, with all the nerves from those around her, she felt the need to ‘recharge’ her charm so that everyone else didn’t shake her. Not to mention she was going to see her whole family together for the first time in a decade. The Bishops while somewhat infamous for their strong connection to the mortal world did produce some quite impressive children. All the Bishop children were held in high regards in their society with respected positions that required them to be all over the world and rarely leaving time to come back home even her mothers were coming back after spending years in the Vatican. That was enough to make her stomach twist and turn and make her stress levels rise when they told her. She needed to be at her absolute best, in every sense of the word from her appearance to her bright attitude being right as they left it. The small young witch took a deep breath as she pushed her hands back, pushing the curly strands of hair that had slipped out of her short ponytail from her scurrying around the room looking for everything she needed. “Okay.” She said softly as she checked off everything in her mind before looking at the time on her phone. Plenty of time. She climbed on a chair to grab a cauldron from high up before having it land with a bang on the table. Atlas meowed from the chair he was on, causing his owner to jump and almost lose her footing. “I locked the room down for a reason.” He always was the master of finding a way to slip in and out of places he shouldn’t be. Like master, like familiar. But, she didn’t need her familiar’s constant droning about how she was using the necklace as a security blanket, that it wasn’t healthy for her to keep all the bad and negative feelings locked away for so long, and of course, she should just let the darkness in. She had her mother, Ruthy for that. “I don’t have time for your critiques.”

“Not critiquing, just watching and reminding you.”

She rolled her eyes. “Of what?” The snark and annoyance she tried to hide really were coming out quicker than usual. “Gloves, unless you want those pretty hands to rot off.” She softly groaned before making a pair appear in her hands. The girl hopped down, her small heels hitting the ground with a loud clack. She glanced at her phone once more to see that her mother, Ruthy had texted her telling her how she couldn’t wait to see her. Everything needed to be perfect, not for her but for them. Ivy needed to prove to them she wasn’t just the baby ‘Ivy Leaf’ they watched sign her name in the Book of the Beast all those years ago. They needed to see that she was a mature, wise, and sophisticated young lady who knew how to take care of herself and stay out of trouble (no matter how true that was).

She was so busy going over all of this in her head, her stress making her brain go around and around that she didn’t even realize that she was almost done with her concoction. She silently cursed to herself before slowly unlatching her crescent necklace, staring at it for a moment, and softly tossing it in. She let it sit in the bubbling brew as she turned her attention to her phone to finally respond to her mother who at this point had texted her three more times and started reminiscing about Ivy’s Dark Baptism. Satan in Hell, it felt like just yesterday she had signed her own name in the Book of the Beast finally restoring the lost respect and honor to the Bishop name after the two Bishops before they decided to go down the Path of Light and left all traces of their past life, their family, friends, all of it behind them in order to live a mundane life as mortals. The eldest three of the children had already made a name for themselves in the Church when Ivy signed. She can still remember the excitement she felt, the buzzing of nerves and the knot in her stomach tightening as she walked towards Father Proctor, and of course, the overwhelming look of pride on her mothers’ face. They promised they never wanted to pressure Ivy into signing but, she still felt the need to make them proud at any costs. She knew and still does that they, like most of the coven believed if there was one person who wouldn’t sign it would be little Ivy Bishop and even if she did, she’d run off just like her mother. But it was never a question for her. After becoming a part of the Church, she wanted nothing more than committing herself to the Dark Lord for the remainder of her life. She had prepared for that moment since she was 18 and when it finally came it was nothing short of perfect. She still had a slight scar on her hand from where she was cut to remind her of that day. And now while the rest of the Bishop clan looked the same as they did once signing the Book of the Beast, Agatha was an aging old woman and her brothers, Fabian and Desmond have been long been buried. But that was just the guilt in her mind festering quickly without the effect of her spell.

She investigated the boiling cauldron in front of her, watching the gold chain of the necklace swirl around before turning her attention to the time. One minute too long and it could disappear before her eyes, one minute short and it’d be as ineffective as it was when she was a child. Atlas moved from his chair and on the table to next to his master who was still messing with her spell, twirling her hands in small circles as she recited the spell, she had long memorized, ending with a ‘poof’. She smirked towards the black cat as she put on her gloves and reached in for the necklace. After drying it off, she quickly clasped it shut around her neck. Perfect. With her spell done, she quickly did a spell to make the mess disappear as she looked at her reflection for what felt like the 100th time since walking in. She undid her ponytail, letting her short, curly locks fall and frame her face as she fixed her bangs and fixed the ruby red lipstick, she had gotten from Winnie just for the occasion. She looked completely different than she did most other days with a surprising amount of black and lace but, she looked great, nonetheless. With her slightly plunging, the lacey black dress barely sweeping across the floor with a pair of scarlet red heels peeking from underneath. She fit right in with not only the rest of the Church but within the Bishop family as well. “Ready for the festivities?” Ivy turned to Atlas and smiling before walking towards the doors with her familiar in tow.

Constance slept like the dead, knowing full well she wanted to be well-rested for today’s activities. Where after what felt like an eternity, she would be signing her name in the Book of the Beast, welcoming the Dark Lord into her heart for all time and being given immense power and couldn’t wait. Her parents have prepared her for this and even after their deaths, she prepared herself. With her birthday being just the day prior, Constance postponed any and all celebrations until the night of their Dark Baptism. Which she knows killed Luci, but she’d get over it and Constance would make it up to her friend tonight with a small trinket. Everything had to be and, of course, was perfect; her outfit, her hair, her Baptismal name, her sacrifice, everything was ready.

The best part about today was that she had no pesky relatives to entertain: her parents were dead, night father, father figure, uncle, dead, most of her church family was burnt to a crisp when her church back home went up in flames after their attempted treason, and well, the rest of them, both mother’s and father’s sides, decided to keep their distance from the 'black sheep' of the family. While nothing was tied back to her, obviously because a good liar knows exactly how to cover their tracks, it hasn’t stopped relatives from talking and spreading what they think happened. Damien’s way finally caught up to him when her daughter played a role in his demise. I mean, the rumors were right, but they didn't have any proof of that. The Laveau’s rarely chose to leave the safety of New Orleans (and saw her as bad juju) while Lamotte’s had a completely different reason to stay away. They were afraid of her; a girl willing to turn on her own father? A man seen as untouchable all throughout the South. She was something to fear and stay away from like the plague. Constance still thinks its because they have a few rats that slipped through the cracks. But, all the Lamotte’s were one way or another, the whole lot of them were just like her; opportunists, waiting to try and make their way to the top of the heap of the Lamotte family where Constance silently and somewhat secretly reigned.

But, despite what most thought, they didn't hate her. Quite the opposite, they respected her almost as much as they feared her, knowing that if she caught any whiff of weakness, she would eat them alive. Which was the closest thing to love one could ask for from a Lamotte. They sent her a few presents and congratulatory letters, that was all she needed. She didn’t anyone taking the eyes off of her on her special day (yes, she knew it wasn’t technically just her day but, in her mind, it was).

She had finally been woken up when the bottle hit the floor, opening her eyes and immediately sitting up in bed just to see Josie leave her in the solitude of their room. Constance kind of pitied her, she could hear her roommate stirring most of the night, probably buzzing with excitement like everyone else. She slipped her bonnet off to reveal her freshly done finger waves underneath before getting out of bed to start her routine. But, not without a long glance at herself in her mirror. She ran her slender fingers along her jaw, her white claw-like nails softly scratching her skin. Only snapping out of it, when Valentine slithered from under her pillow. With a small smile, she let her familiar make his way up her arm and around her neck before offering him a small peck.

Within an hour or so, Constance was completely done, sure she could have done everything magically, but she wanted to absorb every moment of this day and just savor it. Her makeup done slightly different to fit with the virginal look of her flawless white gown with her putting on the final touch; an inverted cross necklace that she ‘borrowed’ from her father before he was buried. He wore it to his Dark Baptism, as did his father, and his father before him, and she refused to let the selfish, traitorous bastard be buried with it. It fit right under the collar of her gown, out of sight. With a growing smile and a small tear slipping out, Constance let out a sigh. Tilted her head up as she twirled her gown and looked at herself from every angle. Unholy shit, if little Constance could see her future counterpart, she wouldn’t believe in the woman she became. She was everything she dreamed she’d be; powerful, beautiful, and destined for greatness. It was all starting tonight. Constance groaned as she noticed the tear and wiped it away quickly as if at any moment someone would come in and see her tearing up at herself.

pcolor=#863348]“C’mon, Val. Time to address the masses.”[/color] Val made his way back on his perch around his master’s arm before the two left the room in search of interaction to make the time fly but, more than anyone; Luci. That impulsive drunkard had to be around here somewhere, she obviously didn’t find her way into Constance’s room last night after whatever mischief she had gotten into, whining to be held by Constance because she was a fiend for physical contact and it was doubtful she fell asleep in her own bed alone last night seeing that today was the big day both of them had been waiting for most of their lives. All Connie was hoping was that she didn’t go too hard and dead in a ditch somewhere.

Ah, just the orphan she needed to see, Ivy Bishop. Alone without one of her numerous bodyguards. Perfect. “Excuse me, puppy.” Ivy sighed before turning around to face her tormentor who has a shit-eating smirk on her face. “Hi, Constance. Happy Dark Baptism.” The towering woman faked a smile before it faltered, and the smirk returned. “Have you seen your roommate today?” Ivy shook her head. “Nope, I've been at--..” Constance held up a hand. “I didn’t ask for all that. Do you know where she might be?” Ivy took a deep breath, trying to keep the smile on her face as she shrugged her shoulders. Man, messing with the runt was fun, Constance could see the façade slipping away for a brief moment. “She’s your other half, you’d know before me but no, I wouldn’t. She didn’t come to the room last night. Can you just make sure she's okay.” Ivy smiled brightly. Constance could never tell if it was real or if the little puppy was just being passive-aggressive. The witch shook her head. “Aw, puppy, I'm not her keeper, she's fine.” Constance walked away without another word, of course, she was going to make sure she was okay, she knew she was fine, but Ivy didn't need to know that. Constance kept walking for anyone to help pass the time.

The room was warm with the scent of sage, the candles flickered with growing fervor, casting wanton shadows on the wall. As the warlock's incantations grew steadily more fervent, the shadows turned to hands, grasping and reaching, clawing at the walls of the room as though trying to climb them. The spirits were listening, and they were answering- but they weren't the spirits he wanted.

"Led by the scent of sage, Abel veni foras. By the mark of my blood, Abel veni foras. By the lure of my will, Abel veni foras!"

He opened his eyes, and the room was far larger than it had been before, and devoid of everything except the mark he had made in blood on the floor. On the plane, his hand was flawless and unmarred; evidence of his projection unto a world separate to his own. He got to his feet, and called into the dark. "Abel!" He felt a hand reach for his shoulder, but shook it off once he saw the spirit's solemn face. An irrelevant soul. One with a message, probably, but not one he cared to hear. "Abel, are you out there?" More reaching hands, more spirits with stories and messages and a yearning for warm touch. He pushed through the growing crowd, "Where-" A retreating back that looked too familiar- the same cloudy locks, the same narrow shoulders. "Abel? Abel! Wait!" He moved with desperate abandon, clawing through the space, through the spectres. But the distance between them only seemed to grow, and suddenly he felt as though he were wading through water, like running in a dream. "Abel, please! Stop!" The figure paused, and hope caught in the warlock's throat. He was so close- Abel was so close. 'Abel' turned slightly, his face obscured in the dark.

And then he turned back, and kept walking, and Emrys blinked to find himself back in his room, the candles blown out, and the shadows returned to their rightful place. Standing up, his right hand was slightly sticky from the cut across his palm, and his cheeks were wet with tears of frustration. Taking a moment to catch his breath, Emrys promptly began to destroy his bedroom.

He was minutes into his rampage when the glutton appeared at his door, poking her head through to catch the shocking sight of his anger unleashed. He hadn't expected to get caught in the act, but his eyes still saw red, and he had no energy for explanations or excuses.

"Get out."
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On the eve of a number of Dark Baptisms, Emrys wasn't alone in his sleeplessness. Neo saw them- her parents, holding out their hands. Their smiles were warm, their words welcoming. But when she reached to hold them, their faces melted like wax, and their hands turned to ash in her own. Screams echoed about her as she found herself falling, and when she finally awoke, she was in a cold sweat.

By the time morning hit, however, one could never tell.

Her attire was adjusted in silence, her face unyielding, giving away no sense of a whirring mind, nor a deepset resentment. Nor the touch of concern.

She had never gotten to write her name in the Book of the Beast- she did not entirely know the ramifications that would follow. Perhaps the ills she planned to commit once she amassed enough power would result in a terrible fate. Perhaps she would burn. Then again, perhaps she would be rewarded for her dedication to revenge, her commitment to vindication. Perhaps He liked that in his witches.

To be honest, it was all only so relevant. It raised curiosities, and slight concerns, but it didn't cause her to waver. Nothing did, and nothing would.

She had a thirst to sate, and this was just another sip from the goblet.

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Desdemona smiled at her reflection, as she was wont to. She wanted to ask Bodhi what she thought, but the girl, ever studious, had promptly left for the library early that morning. She tutted with annoyance as she once again noted her friend's absence, instead turning to Corvus, who sensed her gaze from his perch on her bedframe, and lazily opened one of his slate grey eyes. "Thoughts?" He gave her a long, considering look before his eyes shut again and he returned to his dozing. Des scowled.

"Asshole."

By the time she was finally satisfied with her appearance, Corvus had finally risen, giving her an apologetic nuzzle for his earlier sleepy dismissal before taking flight from her window. Des watched him go before taking one more glance in the mirror, leaving her room satisfied that, her night or not, she wouldn't be upstaged.

Emrys' own time spent getting ready had been considerably less enjoyable; his mind and sleep disrupted by memories of the series of events from the evening prior. He had never felt so close before, but instead of giving him hope, it had left him more resentful than ever, and he glared at his reflection, eyes touched by the shadows of sleeplessness.

"You look tired."

Emrys was used to Des just wandering in, and didn't even spare her a glance before replying.

“It's just nerves."

It was a lie, and an obvious one too. Des knew fully well that Emrys didn't get nerves. All the same, she could read the room even better than she could read her brother, and knew better than to pry. Or she should have, but then again, it was an important day, and after a moment of consideration, she decided that the air would taste better cleared.

“Still no luck with-?”

The never-cowed witch fell silent upon meeting his cool glower. Her first instinct should have been listened to; Emrys was clearly not in a sharing mood. Not even with her. She allowed her look of concern to turn into a reluctant smile, smoothly changing the subject. Whatever was responsible for the dark circles under Emrys' eyes, it could wait. After all, they had an important task ahead of them, and if she had any clue as to the source of Emrys' ire, another day of waiting would be little difference.

“Right, let’s get going, brother dearest. Bodhi should still be in the library. We'll pick up Neo on the way.” Befitting his mood, although he was indeed in the process of building up his usual pantomime of unwavering confidence, Emrys said nothing, sliding his hands into his pockets and following his sister as he had long-since learnt to.

By the time they met with Neona, and the two girls had exchanged their obligatory compliments, the mirage was flawless, and he glowed as the trio made their way to the library, finding Bodhi in her usual seat. Leaning over her, Des looked her up and down with a smile.

“I like it. Very 60's-housewife-married-to-a-millionaire-and-fucking-the-pool-boy.”

Desdemona had grown used to the barbs Bodhi sent her way. To be completely honest, any stranger would probably assume they were sworn enemies, rather than close friends; their relationship was funny, that way. Perhaps it was a consequence of their respectfully dysfunctional upbringings, but that was simply how they displayed affection to each other. Hence, the only reaction Bodhi's harsh comment received from Des was a wry smile, followed by an equally vicious rebuttal.

"No apology necessary. You had to take inspiration from someone, after all. And I'd hardly recommend your own mother."

Bodhi's step ahead was, strangely, far more offensive to her, and Des' brow rose in slight indignation before deciding to ignore it. Perhaps she was feeling jovial today, or perhaps Bodhi simply looked especially pretty all in white, but she chose to tether her irritation. Instead, she smirked, letting Bodhi have her fun. Especially when that fun was directed towards Lucia, irritating glutton that she was. Normally, a witch such as Lucia would be nothing more than an irrelevant, if slightly irritating mar to Des' periphery. The girl was not the sort to attract Des' attention, neither positively nor negatively, and such a nonexistent relationship is one she's sure they would have both been satisfied with.

Lucia's relationship with Emrys, however, had soiled any such possibility. Emrys was hardly prey to the black widow, he wasn't nearly so malleable, but the French witch brought out something in her brother that made him reckless for all the wrong reasons. It frustrated Des, and sometimes it frightened her.

“My father writes that the standards here are falling behind expectations. I agree with him of course. These days it seems that they’ll admit anyone. Even gluttonous drunks it appears.”

Eyeing the pair now, she replied to Bo with venom in her voice, "Standards have most certainly slipped. I'll be sure to amend that when I inherit my father's position."

Neo, who up until that point had remained quiet, tutted playfully at the girls, "Then again, aren't we encouraged to revel in sin? Perhaps Lucia's just ahead of the curve." She said it lightly enough, with no argumentative edge to her voice. It was nought but a gentle musing posed to ease the tension. A tension that always seemed to rise when witches with egos as big as those of her current companions' were in the same space together for more than a brief moment.

Des scoffed, resting an ebony-nailed hand on Neo's shoulder, "You're too soft, Neo. Revelling in sin is one thing. Fixating on it to the point of primality is quite another."

"Perhaps I am, or perhaps I don't want my roommate to hex me while I'm asleep because you and Bodhi insisted on throwing shade."

She retained her light tone, but her casual attempt to diffuse the situation went about as successfully as she expected. Des removed her hand from the girl's shoulder, offering her a faux-apologetic smile and a what-can-I-say? shrug, and Neo to raised a brow in a mixture of exasperation and resignation. Oh well, at least I tried.

Emrys, meanwhile, wasn't listening to the conversation whatsoever. Their words, familiar in their disdainful nature, passed over him as though he were caught in a separate, silent world. A bubble of his own thoughts. And in that bubble with him was Lucia. He glanced at her, remembering their exchange from the night before. They hadn't spoken since then, not that they had had any opportunity to, but still, the air between them was thick with words left unspoken, and actions unexplained. 'Get out,' he had said, deftly twisting what was initially a mutually reckless and untethered relationship into something far less comfortable. Just like that, someone had come, uninvited, to catch him at one of his weakest moments.

He looked away.

Pale hands fluttered over her shoulders, smoothing her sleeves and adjusting her collar. Desdemona's eye was furtive, glancing over every detail of Neona's attire. She felt oddly invested, but it was unlikely due to a platonic dedication. More likely it was yet another example of self-devotion; Neona had to look perfect, because Neona lingered about her, and those in her circle were mirrors to reflect her own brightness.

With a smile, she rubbed away a final mar on the surface, and raised her eyes to meet Neo's gaze. "Better. Now you're ready."

Neona's responding smile was warm plastic, soft but false, although she didn't know exactly who the fakeness was for. Desdemona? The girl with a privilege Neona had never known, one of Neona's many tools, a ladder in human form? Or was it for someone else? The one she was to be signing her name, her soul over to? The Dark Lord was ambiguous, and, for a witch who had for years devoted her life to calculation, that was terrifying. She did not want a master, nor did she intend to adopt one. But what was this relationship she was about to form? This promise she was about to make? A necessary step, but would she regret it regardless. Was this Dark Lord a ladder, or an anchor? She made a point to know everything- cyphers were unwelcome.

"Emrys. A moment."

It was not a request, Emrys could tell. His father was not known for requests, only commands. More importantly, his tone was firm like iron, and so too was his grip, still caught around his arm. Emrys looked to Desdemona, her own expression tinged by the uncharacteristic concern that only ever seemed to appear when her brother was involved. But then her face turned apologetic, and she forced a smile.

"I'll see you inside, brother."

A wry smile danced across his lips- his sister was bold enough to stand against the Dark Lord should he test her- but their father was, and always had been another story. He and the High Priest watched her and Neo hurry into the church before the elder man led his son to a quiet corner away from the wandering witches.

"I've been hearing whisperings."

Whisperings. Rumours. Tall tales. Even without clarity, Emrys was preparing convincing words of dismissal.

"Whisperings that you have been engaging in certain magic."

"I'm a witch, father. That's what we do."

Asmodeus was not amused, and his tone was icy as he offered a firm ultimatum.

"I'll say this only once, Emrys. If I find any reason to believe that you are engaging in necromancy because of that dead mortal, the consequences will be... severe."

Emrys' soul was shaking, from anger, frustration, fear. It shuddered with a rage he had grown up learning to temper, to varying degrees of success. It burned especially hot in this moment, but any onlooker would have never known, so still was his face, so calm his facade. He offered a convincingly lackadaisical smile.

" You told me to forget him, and yet here you are bringing him up, today of all days. 'Whisperings'? hah. Any fool can start a rumour, father."

A long silence, his father's expression changing only slightly. Potentially convinced, potentially not. Emrys held his smile, his heart shivering as he bit back his anger. Then his father nodded.

"That had best be the case."

The High Priest offered no further words to him, turning on his heel and striding towards the church. Emrys watched his retreating back, his smile slipping, exposing the glower beneath. Emrys waited for the space between them to bloom considerably before following his father into the Church. Finding his sister almost immediately (he always could find her quickly), he took a seat beside her.

"Did you tell father about my necromancy?"

His first words were hushed, hyperaware of listening ears, but her reply was less so, touched by indignance and offense.

"Did I tell-? You know I would never betray you like that."

She crossed her arms, regaining her usual snobbish composure.

"And even if I would, why would I? I’m hardly invested in your pathetic Orpheus bullshit."

There was a pause between them, and, in the spaces of quiet, her demeanour briefly turned sincere.

"But snitches get stitches, right? We can find who told him."

We. There it was. From the beginning until the end, they were []we.[/i] For the first time in what felt like a long time, Emrys smiled a genuine smile.