Chapter Text
Angela Ziegler was running out of time. Dashing through the halls of her modest townhouse she rummaged through the drawers, stuffing papers down her blouse and in the leather satchel hung at her side. Running down the stairs Angela threw open the cabinets in the kitchen, vials upon vials falling and shattering at her feet, pale fingers grabbing only the most important and placing them as gently as possible into her bag. Banging on her front door made the blonde turn her head with a start to watch as the old wooden door shook in the foyer. Grabbing her staff the witch placed a simple charm on the splintering oak before running to the couch in the living area. With a wistful smile, the young woman ran a few fingers longingly across the back of the inherited piece of furniture before shoving it aside with a huff.
“Miss! Miss, open up!”
A gruff voice sounded on the other side of the door and with a final look around her home, Angela slipped into the entrance of the cellar via the trapdoor hidden among the floorboards. With a quick hiss of enchantments, Angela could hear the couch moving itself and the sound of the door giving way to hurried bootsteps.
Bustling about the cellar, Angela locked the doors to the hidden rooms before rolling aside a great stone that leads to the wilds beyond. Without hesitation the witch ran into the darkness of the tunnel, the boulder righting itself after her passing.
In the dark of the tunnels, the echo of a cackle could be heard bouncing off the walls.
She’d done it again.
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When Angela finally stumbled through the underbrush and overgrowth to the clearing in the depths of the woods she was only slightly surprised to find familiar figures waiting there for her. At the center of the clearing and old stump at least seven feet wide sat embedded into the dark mossy earth below it. Years of use showed on the smooth top of the stump, the edges bearing little to no bark. Around it sat stools, of many colours and cultures. Stolen or found when needed, sometimes made. On one of the stools sat Satya Vaswani, cleaning under her nails-that bore quite the resemblance to talons in Angela’s opinion-while her raven lounged idly on her shoulder. Behind her off to the left of the clearing, Amélie Lacroix could be seen in the shadows fondly rubbing the head of her familiar, Sombra, a purple cat. A boney hand gripped her shoulder firmly, “Angela, I’m glad to see you’ve made it.”
Almost at once Amélie stepped out from the shadows, Sombra vanishing as the witch stepped forward, “Well? How does it go, do they suspect you?”
This seemed to peak Satya’s interests as the other woman lifted her head slightly and raised a perfectly sculpted eyebrow.
Angela furrowed her brow, “I’m not sure, it’s hard to say. They came knocking at my door but I made sure to leave before then, obviously I took everything with me. I’ve informed Mei that as far as everyone knows I’ve been out of town, visiting family for the past week and therefore cannot be the cause of my husband’s death.”
Ana smiled, “I see, let me ask you, child, what of his family? Surely they’ll want your head, this is the second son you’ve gone through, you know.”
Satya smiled, clearly deeming this as something worth her opinion, “Oh please, I’m sure most people know Hanzo left town with those bandits hoping to go to America.”
Briefly Angela’s mind flashed back to a bandit with red eyes and white hair, smooth skin rubbing deliciously and sinnfully against her own in between the sheets of a bed in an inn far, far away in the middle of nowhere. Hanzo, her fiance at the time, had taken a liking to her bandit’s counterpart-a ruffian of a man with a beard and an affinity to cigars-and it was agreed that he would run away with them to the America’s while she stayed behind and played the story of a wife-to-be whose husband ran away from her in the night.
The Shimada’s, as if to make up for Angela’s loss of a husband, offered her their second son, Genji, in his brother’s place. This was fine by Angela, easier for her to carry out her plan on someone she hadn’t befriended over a mutual understanding of their true desires in a partner. So, Angela did with her third husband what she did to her first, and waited until the night they planned on attempting insemination and killed him while he slept in a flurry of spells and untraceable potions.
The aim of her plans, of course, her husband’s inheritance. As if reading her mind, Amélie asked with a truly devilish smirk, “So, how much this time?”
Angela shuffled her feet looking to Satya when the woman chuckled, “Well, Amélie, you know the Shimada’s are rich, I daresay richer than you and Gerard. Why, Angela, you’d have to have made nearly-”
“It was quite a bit, yes.” Angela slumped onto one of the stools around the table, resting her tired body and sore feet.
Ana, a woman whom she looked up to immensely, rested a wrinkled hand on her shoulder. “Come now dear, lay down in The Hut and have a rest. Besides, don’t feel ashamed of your actions now, the men you tempt are merely pigs anyway.”
Amélie’s cold hand brushed against the nape of her neck, her ponytail moving with the motion, “Of course, mon cher (my dear) , consider yourself, un ange (an angel) , for the women of this town.” As always the woman's thick french accent sent shivers down Angela's spine. She was as much of an outsider as they all were, Satya from the lands of spices and beautiful fabrics, Ana from the lands of heat and sand, Mei from the other side of the continent, and herself from the alps of Switzerland and the woods of Germany.
“I suppose you’re right, as always Ana.” The older woman smiled, the wrinkles around her eyes prominent yet she still looked beautiful.
“Come, let’s get you to The Hut, Fareeha’s here and I’m sure she’d love to see you again after all these years.”
Angela wasn’t sure what she felt at the prospect of seeing an old friend again, but for some reason, the ache in her feet didn’t seem all that unbearable and the general tiredness that seemed woven into her limbs seemed to fade.
“I would quite like that, yes.”
Ana smiled and turned to walk out of the clearing, following a well-worn footpath that lead through the wilds. Quickly Angela turned to give Amélie a hug and Satya a wave before following Ana down the familiar path.
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The Hut was just as Angela remembered it, quaint and nestled deep within the vines and ensnared within the tree roots. As always smoke puffed lazily from the chimney, and the stones that lead to the door seemed almost fully submerged into the ground, yet they never were whenever Angela walked their path.
Ana neared the door and Angela marveled at the door opening on its own, the house seeking to appease its master. Since the first time, Angela stepped foot into Ana’s abode the blonde always had to stop in the doorway and marvel at the size of the place. From the outside, it looked as though someone had strung a door to the trunk of a tree and placed and roof and chimney on top. However, the inside was quite possibly larger than the castles and mansions that also inhibited the lands of England.
Shelves lined the walls, packed with vials and ingredients many of which Angela had only read about in her spellbooks. Tomes and spellbooks alike adorned the bookcases within the house, many of which sat with layers of dust on them, though the cauldrons remained spotlessly clean, a testimony to Ana’s true talents.
“Go ahead and set your things in a spare room, I assume you’ll be staying here awhile? Then come to the kitchen, I’ve had a stew going all day. I presume Amélie will join us, oh! And Sombra, that familiar of her’s, I swear she eats more than Fareeha does!”
Angela laughed, “More than Reinhardt?”
Ana laughed, “No one eats more than that man…” The older witch trailed off, and Angela sighed wistfully. Angela thought for a moment, trying to think of a lighter topic for the woman before her, and herself.
With a smile, she asked, “How are Emily and Lena?”
The old woman smiled and shook her hands, elation in her eyes, “They’re doing well dear! I swear every time I see them Emily has that girl wrapped further and further around her finger…”
Her words made Angela smile. It had been a while now since Moria had come to their little town, hand in hand with her newly orphaned niece, unsure of how to care for such a child. Naturally, as witches do, Mei sensed her magic and directed her to Ana, where the older woman had basically raised the small girl. She herself had been nothing but a rowdy teen at the time, Fareeha and Bridgette both younger than her and closer in age with the new addition to their hodgepodge of a family. Moria had run off to the America's seeking glory and a name for herself, while Emily remained behind to learn how to use her surfacing magic. While Ana had been teaching herself and Emily how to control their magic there had been Fareeha and Bridgette, both born without magic though their mothers were powerful witches, pushed to the sidelines while their mothers taught their friends. For Brigette, this meant being rowdy with Fareeha or spending time with her father or Reinhardt, but for Fareeha who hadn’t a father of her own, she spent time with the “family” she did have. In recent years Angela would wonder if this childhood of being almost the second thought was what drove Fareeha to run away and join the army, dressing as a man and fighting alongside nights and nobles for some king who never once would see a battle with his own eyes. Emily had stayed, learning as much as she could, until one day a bubbly brit quite literally stumbled upon them even though no one should have been able to find them. There had been a knock on the door from a scrawny girl dressed in rags asking for directions to the closest town.
Amélie had found immense joy in making the girl squirm, getting into her head and figuring out what made her tick, until one day Lena had simply vanished before their eyes and reappeared a few minutes later asking why she had just relived the previous day. By then Angela was rushing off into the world looking for love and adventure, finding both in a man that nearly killed her while Ana and Emily taught a young Lena how to control her seemingly sporadic abilities. Bridgette was working in the shops with her father, making swords and hammers and guns while Fareeha was at war. Amélie and Satya selling fortunes in which the two would then make true, while the former made plans to marry.
When Angela came back, running from the cold body she left in her sheets, Emily had been sitting with a scrappy looking dog, boring a striking resemblance to Lena. It was then that Angela learned of familiars and the possibilities that one woman could love another.
The sound of the door opening pulled Angela from her head and the blonde nearly dropped the bowl Ana had been handing her when she saw who walked in. Gone was the ruddy girl who tripped over her own feet with limbs too long to handle and in her place stood a mountain of a woman.
Muscles bulged from under the scratchy fabric of Fareeha’s cotton shirt, choppy collar length hair pulled into a small braid and tucked into the brim of her hat. Dark skin seemed to glow in the fire and candlelight, perfect white teeth gleaming when the woman laid eyes on Angela. And-
Oh dear god was she beautiful . Angela wondered how anyone could mistake the woman before her as a man or anything other than absolutely gorgeous . And then she spoke and dear god-
“Angela, good to see you.”
And her voice was husky and low, but not unfeminine. Laced with a delicious accent from the plains of her homeland, curling around the letters of her name in a smooth drawl.
“I-it’s good to s-see you too.” She managed, though Angela could feel her cheeks heating up and the room seemed to grow a little warmer.
“Want me to take your things to a room?” Fareeha moved towards her with kindness in her features and concern in her tone, “I’m sure it was quite a walk to get here.”
Removing her bag from her shoulder, Angela handed Fareeha her satchel and staff, sputtering out a "thanks" in return.
Fareeha nodded then ducked through a doorway Angela knew led towards the spare rooms.
“When did...when did she get so-”
“Big?” Ana finished for her. Angela nodded and Ana merely smiled. A sadness entering her eyes as the woman sat down in a chair next to her, sliding Angela a mug while taking a sip from her own. Angela didn’t know when she had put on tea but it was warm and fresh. “Truthfully, I do not know. One day I remember looking down at my little girl and telling her to go outside and chase the squirrels while I cleaned the house and brewed, the next thing I know I’m turning around to watch my delinquent of a daughter run off with her friend to go join the ranks, shouting at the door for her to come back only for her to be long gone.”
Angela remembered that day, when she came to Ana’s for no real reason in particular other than to have a cup of tea with a friend, only to find the woman sitting at the table holding a photo, the house alive without her. Angela had walked to the kettle which was making tea itself and trying-and failing -to get it’s contents into one of the teacups when Ana had muttered the words, “Fareeha ran away.”
Instantly Angela grabbed her staff, turning it into its broom form in her hand, asking how long she had been gone. At the time Angela had been unsure what her intentions were, what was she going to do? Search down the whole forest until she found one scrappy girl? However, when Ana replied, “Two days,” Angela realized she was far too late. That had been the last time Angela saw Fareeha until her first wedding when Angela was looking out at the small crowd that had come to see them, her hands interlocked uncomfortably with her soon-to-be husband’s only to see Fareeha looking back at her. When the other girl noticed she had been seen she smiled a little sadly and waved. Angela nodded and watched as Fareeha turned and pushed her way through the crowd. Instantly Angela had wanted to run after her, to call out her name, more than she wanted to be married to the man in front of her, but before she could move and rough hand was grabbing her chin and forcefully pressing her lips to the pair of whiskey coated ones in front of her. And then she was married and being pulled along by her husband to their- his -house and thrown onto the bed.
She had shoved him off of her, claiming that he was squishing her body and that he was wrinkling her dress and that his stubble was too scratchy to be on her neck and a bunch of other obscenities, anything and everything to get him off of her.
Thankfully he had relented, claiming she killed the mood, only to grab a bottle of whiskey and try the same thing a few hours later. The second time Angela took candle wax and smeared it on her nightgown, claiming she had started her period, to which he grumbled and went to sleep. Never in her life had Angela been more relieved than she was when she was able to keep her last name instead of taking up Reyes, and she wrote as much to her cousin Jack the very next morning. To which he wrote back apologizing profusely for ever suggesting she and his friend Gabrial get together after her first suitor nearly beat her to death.
Nearly a week went by before he tried again, just as drunk if not more than the first time. However, this time Angela was ready, slipping many poisons from Amélie into his bottle of whiskey before giving him just enough to drink that it would look like he drank himself into an eternal sleep. Angela had run to the edge of the woods, flying on her broom to get to Ana, uncaring if she was caught. The blonde had stumbled into her hut, crying and fell to the floor on her knees showing the wealth of bruises she had gained throughout the night. Ana had instructed her to run as she had to her in the morning to the police, to tell them that she found her husband dead in the bed next to her and that she didn’t know how it happened.
So, the next morning Gabrial Reyes had been pronounced dead and Angela Ziegler had been pronounced a widow. To sell the lie Angela had worn black for a week along with enchanted necklaces to hide the marks on her skin, before moving back into her home, crying with relief that it was all finally over.
A month or so later she caught the eye of a wealthy man passing through from Nigeria, by the name of Akande Ogundimu. Then, it had become a game. Angela knew it wasn’t right, but she couldn’t convince herself it was wrong either. Akande was known for his “ruthless” tactics in business and having many concubines and children born from them. She was his third wife, he her second husband. Many called it the fates giving them each another chance. However, the town was shocked when only a few weeks after their marriage Akande was found dead in an ally, presumably shot in the back. It was the first time a gun had been in their little town, aside from the ones the king’s personal men owned. Angela had made sure to announce that she was going to visit family, claiming she wanted to tell them about her new husband whom she “loved dearly”. It had actually been planned by Amélie and herself as well as Ana that she would just cast a charm on one of his organs, make it fail, when Gerard offered to kill the man.
Initially, Angela had been shocked, until Amélie told her of the fortune Akande possessed in comparison to her husband’s own. So, if she had lost a husband, and the Lacroix’s got a little richer as well as herself then what did it matter? A bad man had been killed and Angela found that was strangely okay with her.
Then Fareeha had shown up at his funeral and wrapped her arms around Angela tightly while they lowered his coffin into the ground and she felt as though she needed to cry, to sell this lie to Fareeha even though it felt dirty making her believe it all. Word had spread, rumors began as to who the man was holding Angela tightly at her late husband’s funeral. But then Fareeha went back to the army and the rumors died down a little. When the Shimada’s came to town with their money and their reputations. Angela’s “unfortunate” luck with husbands was forgotten in favor of any and all gossip surrounding the Shimada’s youngest son, Genji. Genji swept through the maidens of the village, two children bore in his wake. To try to amend their son's actions the Shimada’s agreed to marry off one of their sons to a woman of the village's choosing. By now no one wanted to affiliate with the family but no one had the power to tell them away, so, heads turned to Angela.
The witch had agreed, thinking Genji were to be her husband, and then she could be rid of that pig of a man like the Shimada’s had ordered those “bastard” children of his to death. Instead, she was introduced to their eldest son, Hanzo. At first, Hanzo seemed nice, kind, if not a bit reserved and Angela searched for a reason to kill him. When he offered to take her into the woods with him, for them to get to know one another better, Angela had no option but to accept.
On their way there in the carriage, Hanzo had turned to her and looked her in the eyes and told her simply, “I’m gay.”
For some reason, Angela didn’t find this odd, and merely nodded and said, “I see.” It was then she had admitted she’d fantasized about women more than once and a friendship of sorts was made between the two.
Nearly an hour from the inn they were to stay at, they were ambushed by bandits. A man and a woman dressed in leather and guns, however, when the man laid eyes on Angela he lowered his gun and climbed into the carriage with them. His partner followed suit, albeit a bit confusedly, and they set off again to their destination.
The man had revealed himself to be Jessie and a friend of Fareeha. When asked for proof he shrugged and drawled, “You’re a witch, blondie.”
That had been enough for Angela.
When they reached the inn, Hanzo and Jessie left Angela with Jessie’s partner, whom she learned went by “Ashe”.
Angela walked into her room, Ashe ahead of her, and closed the door behind her. The moment she turned around Ashe pressed her into the door and a raspy low voice was whispering, “So you’re a witch, huh? Never slept with one of those before…”
The next morning over breakfast Angela told Hanzo she thought she was gay too, and his only response had been, “I figured.”
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Walking down the hallway towards the rooms, feeling pleasantly warm from Ana’s tea, Angela stepped into the room that was always reserved for her.
On her bed sat her satchel, her staff leaning neatly on the bedpost. On the nightstand sat a burning candle, one that filled the room with hints of cinnamon and other scents Angela had never smelt before. On her bed, just next to her satchel was a stack of three books with something wrapped carefully in parchment paper on top.
Stepping into the room with a yawn, Angela picked up the item on top of the books, looking at it curiously.
A voice sounded from the doorway, “Its Frytour Blaunched, it’s a dessert from the castle, I thought...I thought maybe you’d like to try some.”
Angela turned with a smile to see Fareeha, leaning her wide shoulders against the doorway, “What is it?”
Fareeha grinned boyishly, just like she had when they were kids and stepped the rest of the way into Angela’s room. “It’s a type of fritter, you’ve had those before, correct?” Angela nodded and Fareeha pointed to the small fried object in her hands, “This one is honey covered and stuffed with ginger almonds.”
“From the castle you say?”
Again Fareeha grinned, “You could say I’m favored by a few of the cooks…”
Angela smiled and looked down at the pastry in her hands, “Well, go on then, take a bite!” With Fareeha’s words, Angela bit into the treat in her hands and moaned at the taste.
“Mmm, Fareeha! This is delightful!”
Looking up into brown eyes, Angela saw mirth and something... else there. “Good, I’m glad you like it.” They stood for a moment, looking into each other’s eyes, the fritter in Angela’s hands making the paper it was wrapped in sticky and the room smell like ginger before Fareeha looked away. “Well, here’s some books I got from the vendors. One is from Spain, another from Ireland and the last from Switzerland.”
Looking down Angela saw the familiar title of a childhood book looking back at her, “Fareeha!” Whipping her head around she came face to face with the other woman’s smile, “How, where did you find this? Oh mein gottI!”
Fareeha laughed, “I’ve told you, the market is full of vendors from all over.” Laughter filled her voice but there was softness in her eyes. A softness that Angela found comforting and wanted to dive into.
There was a lull in their easy conversation where Angela desperately wished she had something to say before Fareeha broke the silence between them. “Well, I’ll leave you be. Get some rest Angie, come find me whenever...it would be nice to catch up after all these years, yeah?”
Nodding, Angela picked up one of the books, thumbing through it, “Wait!” She felt more than heard Fareeha stop in the doorway and turn to look at her, “Would you...would you care to stay and read with me?”
The moment she said it Angela knew it sounded stupid, but Fareeha was looking at her like that so maybe it wasn’t so stupid after all.
“Sure, but I’ll have you know I can’t read the languages…or at all...”
Smiling Angela gestured Fareeha in with her hand holding the book, placing the others on her nightstand, “That’s quite alright, I’ll read to you then.”
Quickly eating the rest of her fritter Angela took off her boots and placed them by her broom, removing her hat and resting it on a bedpost. Looking over to the other woman, Angela saw her awkwardly standing in between the bed and desk.
“Well, go ahead, take off some of that castle garb, I can’t imagine it’s very comfortable.”
Walking over to the desk Fareeha first took off her hat, then bent down to take off her boots. Angela sat on the bed, watching the process unfold before her. With her boots off Fareeha lost a few inches though she still remained a good head taller than Angela, and with her hat off her wavy hair stopped just above her collar bones. Taking off her overcoat Angela was surprised to see pads sewn to the shoulders.
Even without her coat Fareeha still had broad shoulders, not entirely feminine but less masculine. Unbuttoning the first few buttons of her shirt Fareeha turned to Angela, suddenly unsure, “Do you mind?”
At first, Angela thought Fareeha was asking her to turn away, until she saw the wrap around her chest the girl was gesturing to, “Oh! No, no of course not.”
Getting up, Angela approached Fareeha whose shirt was almost fully off. When she stood behind the other girl she stood in nothing but her pants and wrap, and Angela couldn’t help but drink in the dark skin presented to her.
“All this, just to join the army?” Angela couldn’t imagine going through so much trouble to hide her identity just to fight senseless battles for someone else over something as stupid as land.
Fareeha hummed, “I take it you are against the wars?”
The witch understood that it was human nature to fight, that no matter what there would always be wars, “I don’t know that I’m against them so much as I am you being in them. I mean, it’s not like there will never not be a war, but there’s only one you, and it seems a shame that there could be a time when there’s not a you.”
“With that kind of mentality, no one would fight.” Angela finished helping Fareeha with her wraps and the soldier shrugged her shirt back on, turning to Angela while she buttoned the buttons.
Something inside Angela spoke without her consent and the next thing she knew she was pushing Fareeha’s hands away, “Here let me.”
“Thank you.”
With Fareeha more comfortable Angela moved to the bed in the corner of the room. Nothing big or particularly fancy, but comfortable and homey all the same. Climbing in first and resting her back against the headboard, she patted the bed next to her.
Somewhere between chapter two and twenty Fareeha’s head went from the second pillow to Angela’s stomach and Angela’s left hand went from helping her right hold up the book to running through Fareeha’s thick black hair.
Around chapter thirty Angela noticed the candle was going out and looked down to find Fareeha asleep partially on top of her. Smiling to herself the blonde closed the book and put it on the nightstand, blowing out the candle before slipping lower against the pillow under her back until she could comfortably feel Fareeha’s warm breath mingling with her own.