Title: Craft
Character(s): Hecate/a demon
Further Reference(s): The Crossroads/Samhain
Pantheon(s): Greek/Wiccan/Christian/Celtic
Rating: PG
Summary: Hecate tries to enjoy Samhain, but is interrupted by a demon, at a crossroads.



Oh, how she missed the old days, and how it used to be; back when her kind was still in charge; back when they were still worshiped. In those days, if a human had seen her, they would have treated her with the respect that she deserved, knowing her for what she was (instead of staring at her blankly whenever she gave them her name). In the old days, she had been respected, and feared, but now ... now, her whole life was a joke, and she knew it.

In those days, she had had actual followers (with priestesses even, and those who brought sacrifices to her temples, so they could gain her favor). But now, there was none of that veneration, and certainly none of the organization. No, now it was the kids on the fringe (the goths, and would-be pagans), who had come across a description of her in the internet, and thought she sounded cool. It was all of the people who thought that she was rather 'New Age,' and since it was the popular thing to practice, they claimed to be big followers (posting supposed pictures of her, and links to websites with crap bios onto their blogs, next to some horribly written, emo poetry). And none of them truly understood the power they were tempting, in their efforts to seem cool, or edgy.

Her favorites were the ones who thought they could invoke her, and keep her bound, with some book they had found in the occult section. As if anything written in the past one thousand years could do anything to her; all of the really good magic was ancient anyway.

But occasionally, someone would find a book, or an ancient scroll, and recite what was written there. Sometimes she would come when those ones summoned her (if she was in the mood), because they had put the time and effort into finding something real (or to just stop their words from buzzing around her ears). And sometimes she would do what they requested of her, but usually she didn't. There were just not enough who were far enough along in their own studies to justify her showing them the really advanced stuff, and she hadn't met anyone in over a hundred years who was worthy of the knowledge of how to bring back the dead. She had seen too many people in the past abuse that power, and seen too many now who appeared like they might. She would much rather err on the side of caution, than have the streets full of zombies ... or have Hades come after her for showing too many people how to mess with the souls of the dead.

And she knew that this time of year would bring so many more insects buzzing around her, because of the significance of the day that was coming. They didn't seem to think that she had her own things going on on Samhain, and had all sorts of free time to go around and visit each and every one of them.

Well, ok, so her plan was just to go to a crossroads, after the sun had gone down, and bask in the thinness of the veil. Not anything terribly much, she knew, but it still sounded like a good plan to her. It was the one tradition that she had created for herself in recent years that she had started to become reluctant to give up.

As the days passed, she readied herself for the day, and for the buzzing that was bound to happen. There was a part of her that was very excited for the day to come, excited for the high she would get from it. None of the other gods had ever had the same reaction to the night that she had. And when she tried to explain it to them, she could never get the right words together to explain it, and so she didn't think that any of them really believed her. So, in the end, she had just stopped telling anyone about it. It just wasn’t worth it anymore.

She hoped that she wouldn't see one of those newcomers to the crossroads; the ones who thought that they could make deals there, without her noticing. It had been some time since she had seen one of them, and she thought that it was only a matter of time before one of them made an appearance again. So, she wasn’t holding her breath on that, and instead, focused on what she knew would come.

When the night finally came, she found a crossroads, not her favorite one, but one that seemed to have potential. Potential for the buzz, and the euphoria she would experience. It hardly mattered that there was a "coven" (if you could call them that) of those pesky teenagers, who were only using the craft to shock and appall, nearby. Once she opened herself up to the night, their buzzing became distant, and easily ignored. The full moon added to the waves that washed over her, and she wanted to sing, to raise up her hands, to do something that physically represented what she was experiencing.

But then, the euphoria was ... tampered with, that was the only way that she could think to put it. It darkened, and left a bad taste in her mind and soul. The only equivalent she could think of was eating rotten eggs, and washing them down with watery mud.

She dampened her senses, trying to get as little of the stink into herself. Looking around, she tried to see where it was coming from; not those children who were meddling in the craft. Those ones weren't even beginners, and couldn't have created this much stink. No, this came from someone that had dived into the dark arts ... or from something that had originated in the darkness itself.

She had the sinking feeling that it was the latter, that it was a newcomer to the crossroads. That would be just great, she mused to herself cynically, as she was sure that whoever it was would want to chat with her. They always seemed to want to do that, once they realized who she was. One of them even tried to offer her a deal, and thought that she would actually accept it. It must have been new, or had an overinflated opinion of its own abilities. It still made her smile, the thought of how it would've explained its failure, and its wasted time, to its superiors. There was a part of her that wished she could have seen the stammering explanations (or so she imagined how it would be), but mostly, she was glad not to be anywhere near the heavy stink.

But then, she was pulled out of her reverie by the real stink coming near her. She tried to hold her breath, or the equivalent to keeping it out of her mind, but it was still there, and she knew it.

"I was hoping to find you," a voice said from her right.

She turned toward the direction that the voice had come from, and she saw it standing near a tree.

"Why are you here?" she asked, exasperated, regretting the question as soon as she had said it.

"Do you really want to know?" it asked, taking a stop closer.

"No, not really. I'd really prefer it if you left. Now."

She turned her head, hoping that it would take the hint and leave. But it only stood there, leering at her, and making her start to feel uncomfortable.

"Actually," it said, coming a little bit closer, "I'd like to talk to you, if that's ok."

"No, it's not. So, why don't you run back home before someone misses you."

"They won't. Not tonight. Everyone's got a pass of some sort."

Her first thought was of a maximum security prison giving day passes, and that the prison this one was from, needed better security. Much better security.

"Here's an idea for you: go bother someone else, because I don't want to have to deal with you."

"That's not very charitable."

"I don't see why charity should be given to one of your kind."

"Because it's a virtue ..."

"And it's something that your kind lives by, I'm sure."

"No, we prefer truth."

"Truth?"

"Yes, it leaves such a lump in their throats that's so enjoyable to watch, as they try to make it manageable."

"When you put it that way, I'm not surprised that you prefer ... 'truth.'"

"But we are getting away from the real reason why I'm here."

"I don't care why, and I still want you to leave. You are throwing off my groove."

"Oh, well, we can't have that, now can we?"

Its entire demeanor was smug, so much so that it made her nervous. It was up to something, she was sure, and she was unsure whether she actually wanted to ask it was it was planning. She suspected that she would regret finding out what it was, even if its behavior made her wonder. After all, it wasn't up to her to make sure that it didn't cause any problems.

She was almost positive that this was exactly what it wanted: her immobilized, and still listening to what it had to say. So, she decided that it would probably be best to just leave; if she didn't know what it was up to, she wouldn't feel obligated to try and stop it.

"No," she finally said in answer to its question, and turning away, "we can't."

But as she started to take a step forward, she was suddenly stopped, as though there was an invisible wall in front of her.

"I don't think that we are finished," it said. "In fact, I think that we are far from finished."

"We are done," she said, not turning toward it. She mumbled a few words under her breath, and made a swift flicking motion with her hand, as though she were brushing something out of the air in front of her.

Again, she tried to take a stop forward, and again, she was stopped by an invisible wall. This time, she did turn towards it.

"What have you done?" she asked.

"You don't really think," it asked, "that you are the only one who can do this sort of thing?"

It grinned at her, menacingly. Then, it pulled its hands up in front of itself, and she saw a clear vile, with a long, pointed stopper in one hand. When the stopper was pulled out, the world blurred around her, and she felt like she was falling.

She blinked, trying to not feel sick, and when she opened them again, the world looked larger, and curved around her.

When she felt herself being lifted up, and saw the wicked grin, she realized what had happened. She was inside the vile, and she was trapped.