Bound by Blood

by Smokestarrules

Summary:

Amity,” Odalia says, "would you ever be interested in dying your hair again?”

The only reason it takes Amity more than a split second to reply is because she never thought she would have had to answer this question. “No.”

“Why ever not? You looked so pretty with green.”

/ /

OR:

Five times Odalia calls Amity after the Emperor is defeated, five memories, and the moment Amity chooses herself for good.

Notes:

This is essentially a love letter to Amity Blight and to ToH itself.

I hope you enjoy.

Edit: fixed a repeated line.

Bound by Blood

---

 

Amity goes to the Human Realm for her fifteenth birthday. 

It’s something she’d asked for; Luz had wrestled the wish out of her a week beforehand, doing her best to push aside the strange embarrassment the admission brought with it. Amity’s not sure why she felt so strange about asking—it’s clear that the Noceda household had become a safe place for many of them, but it had still come to them at a very hard point in their lives. It’s weird, maybe, how safe she still feels in the Human Realm, considering everything that had happened to them there, and that’s why she tries to stay quiet about it. 

Luz had figured it out anyway. Luz always figures it out. 

“I don’t want to bother your mother,” Amity had insisted, time and time again, and time and time again Luz had shot her down, insisting herself that Camila Noceda would like nothing more than to help set up a small party for her daughter’s girlfriend. 

“For you,” Amity,” Luz had said, soft, almost too soft for Amity to handle. “You’ve got to know she adores you.” 

Amity hadn’t been able to respond to that, really; in lieu of a verbal reply, she’d settled instead for a long hug, sinking into Luz’s embrace. A proper Human Realm birthday, she’d thought. Sounds… nice. 

And the day had been exactly good. More than good, really; Amity’s not sure when she last had such a nice birthday, surrounded by people she actually enjoys spending time with, and even Hunter, who’d inarguably had the worst of it in this dimension seems happy to be back, despite any hard memories. They’d all spent it together, walking through their favorite places in the Human Realm for the first time since they left, and by the time they’re done, everyone is half starving. 

Now it’s the late afternoon, the sun already long-gone and something meaty and rich-smelling simmering in the crockpot over the stove. Mrs. Noceda is making dinner (having rejected any and all offers for help) and everyone is sitting around the table, tired from the day but happy. At least, Amity thinks they are. She certainly is. 

Hunter’s telling some story about one of his old missions—time will only tell if this will be a traumatic tale or not, given Hunter’s track record—and Gus especially is hanging on his every word, gasping at all the right times and near single-handedly providing Hunter with the audience that he probably doesn’t even know he craves. Luz is sitting right next to Amity, across from Hunter, and Willow, always supportive, is ensuring his story is getting the correct amount of skepticism, interjecting at points to ask for clarification. Her questions always make Hunter stumble a little, and Amity finds it more amusing than she probably should. 

It’s been a good day, so when her scroll goes off, she’s not really sure who she’s expecting it to be. Her father, maybe, wanting to double-check about the plans they’d made for dinner tomorrow, or one of the twins with a twin emergency (very different from a regular emergency). Maybe, if she’s thinking really wildly, it’s Miss Lilith—though Amity’s not quite sure where they still stand with each other—or Braxus with a question. It certainly wouldn’t be the first time. 

(The realization that with the new and improved Portal Door their scrolls could receive messages and calls from across Realms had fascinated Gus especially, but now it hardly even gave any of them pause. It was certainly handy, despite the surely cluttered semantics of how.) 

It’s Amity’s fifteenth birthday, and when her scroll goes off, she’s really only expecting either her father or one—or both—of her siblings. Instead of being any of these, when Amity half-mindedly pulls the thing out of her pocket to take a quick glance at the notification screen, all she sees is: Mother. 

She freezes. 

It’s just—they haven’t spoken since Belos was defeated and everyone was un-puppetified, and as far as Amity’s aware, the rest of her family hasn’t either. It’s not as if they’d talked much before then, either, their last interaction being the explosion that came directly before the Day of Unity. As the remnants of the war had settled, Alador had sat Amity and her siblings down and told them of his intention to find a new place to live. 

“Of course, you’re welcome to come with me,” her father had said, gaze darting away, “but that’s only if you want to.” 

There’d been a moment of silence as they all looked at each other, and then Emira had said: “I mean it’s not as if we’re going to stay with mom.” 

He’d laughed, the rest of them had laughed, and Odalia hadn’t seemed surprised to see them packing up the very next day, watching from the doorway with an unreadable gaze. No one had spoken to her. Amity had almost said goodbye—she’s not sure why, really, uncertain if that instinct was lingering weakness or something else—but she’d bitten it back, turning away without another word. She hadn’t seen her mother since. 

The recent months have been a blur of cleaning up after the Collector and cleaning up after Belos and cleaning up after the Emperor’s Coven, but Amity supposes that’s still better than spending months still fighting. 

She’s been still for too long, and the others have noticed; the table has gone quiet. When Amity looks up, she’s sure her face is already twisted with guilt, strange as it may be. Across from her, Mrs. Noceda’s expression is concerned, Luz at Amity’s side, craning her neck to get a better look at her face. 

“Um,” Amity says, paling. She waves her scroll in the air a little pathetically, wincing as it continues to vibrate in her hand. “It’s my mother.” 

There’s an audible inhale from somewhere to her left; Willow, probably. No one replies immediately, probably scrambling to come up with a proper response in the first place, and already Amity can feel the irritation bubbling up under her skin; she’s angry, angry that her mother just reaching out causes this big of a reaction, angry that the comfortable atmosphere that had been cultivated over the hours seems to have vanished within an instant. 

“Do you want me to decline the call?” Luz offers finally. 

Her tone is gentle and doesn’t carry even a hint of pushiness. Amity struggles to meet her gaze, but when she does, all she can see is genuine concern in deep brown depths. She’d do anything for her, Amity knows. 

But this shouldn’t be Luz’s problem in the first place. 

“No. I’ll, uh—I’ll be right back,” Amity decides on a whim, that anger only whirring hotter with every second. She ducks her head to hide it, trying to avoid anyone’s gaze. 

“Okay,” Luz says immediately, endlessly sweet. “Do you want me to come with you?” Her brow is furrowed with worry, the last traces of her smile waning from her face, and Amity almost says yes. To have Luz willingly beside her is always something she’ll wonder at, something she’ll never quite understand how she deserves, and she knows that somehow, Luz feels the same. But her mother has hurt Luz before. If Amity has any power over it, she’s never going to let that happen again. 

In the end, she just shakes her head, trying to offer a small smile as she gets up from her seat. “It’s okay. I’ll be quick. You all just—” she makes a strange gesture with her hand. “You know.”

Her ears burn as she leaves the room, feeling the eyes of everyone on her retreating back, but the embarrassment doesn’t stay for long, being quickly replaced by that still-simmering frustration and an equally embarrassing wave of fear that she tries her best to press back down. 

Amity’s destination is the Noceda entryway, far enough from the kitchen to be out of earshot but not too far away overall. It’s warm and nice-feeling like the rest of the Noceda household is, but even the familiar family pictures on the wall can’t calm the riptide of feelings swirling in Amity’s stomach. The scroll is still vibrating in her hand, and there’s only so much more time before it goes blank again. Calling a second time would only irritate her mother further—if she’d even try a second attempt—and Amity doesn’t want to give her any reason to be mad. 

So, breathing in deeply, Amity steels herself and hits accept. 

“Mom?”

“Amity!” Her mother’s voice fills her ears for the first time in months, and despite all the time that’s passed, all the things she’s done since they last interacted, Amity finds herself straightening her posture, fixing her gaze at a spot on the far wall and setting her jaw firmly. “It’s been so long!”

“Um. Right,” Amity says after a moment, stumbling to reply. “I—did you want something?”

A beat. “Amity,” her mother says again, tone unreadable but still rather loud. “Is it not your birthday today?”

For some reason, that’d been about the last thing Amity had expected for her to ask. To inquire about her studies, absolutely; to ask Amity if she’d be willing to participate in another demonstration for whatever new company Odalia’s currently trying to promote. Amity finds herself stumped, just for a moment. 

Unsure how to respond, she ends up saying nothing but the obvious. “I—yes, it is.” 

“Splendid.” Odalia’s voice takes on a different tone, almost sickeningly sweet. “Fifteen now… I can’t believe it. You were always so little.”

Amity’s mouth opens and closes a few times, still floundering through the conversation. Finally she manages to say: “Why did you call, mom?”

A harsh inhale, like Odalia hadn’t been expecting that. “Whatever do you mean? Mittens,” she says, and Amity flinches. “It’s your birthday.” 

That doesn’t mean anything. Amity’s fourteenth birthday had been spent studying; though Boscha had pushed her for a party, Amity had eventually turned her down and no one else had asked at all, though Skara had given her a kind word. She can’t even remember if her mother acknowledged her at all that day. Her father certainly hadn’t. 

“Did you call the twins, too?” 

Edric and Emira’s seventeenth birthday had passed a month and a half ago and there had been an incredible celebration; there are still scorch marks on the couch that haven’t quite gone away. Amity’s sure her relationship with her siblings isn’t the best on the Boiling Isles, but it’s miles better than what it used to be, and they would have told Amity if they’d spoken to their mother, she knows it. What she doesn’t know is why she’s apparently so special. 

Amity swallows, pushing forward once more. “Or do you just think I’m the only one stupid enough to keep talking to you?”

The thought haunts her. She’s always been the one desperate to prove herself to Odalia, always been the one to crave her appreciation and love, much more so than Edric or Emira had. They would have never answered their mother’s call, and for a brief moment, Amity hates herself so much it hurts. 

“That’s just silly,” Odalia says, casual and seemingly unhurt by the accusation. “I did not contact your siblings, but you know how they are. They wouldn’t answer even if I tried.” 

So it was exactly because I’d be the only one. “...Right,” Amity says aloud. Her stomach is still churning, uncomfortable and half on its way to nauseous, but she can’t exactly tell her mother how much this seems to be affecting her. Odalia knowing would be so much worse. 

“So!” her mother goes on. “How are your studies going? I see that Hexside is back to being fully-staffed, yes?”

This is more expected. Odalia inquiring about Amity’s classes is about as consistent as the Demon Realm’s rain being boiling or Edric getting on her nerves, and ironically the more normal question actually makes Amity feel a little better, if only because of the familiarity. 

“Yeah, it is. Everyone’s still trying to revamp the Coven system, so it’s slow-goings, but there’s still our usual classes. I’m not failing anything,” Amity says, and leaves it there. She’s not going to tell her how she’s doing in her classes, at least not unless Odalia asks outright. She doesn’t have to tell her at all. She needs to remember that. “How—um, how are you?”

Amity just hopes she won’t start talking about whatever startup she’s for sure been working on ever since Blight Industries tanked. She truly does not want to know about whatever her mother’s been getting up to in business terms—she hardly even wants to know whatever her mother’s been getting up to in any terms, and the last thing she wants to risk is getting roped back into some sort of demonstration work again. 

“Oh, you know,” her mother replies, and Amity does not know, but she doesn’t think she wants to know, either. “It’s been tough, but I’m getting by. We’ve all had to learn to switch things up a tad, haven’t we?”

It doesn’t feel like she’s actually asking for Amity's opinion, and so she doesn’t give it. This seems to be the right decision, as Odalia only goes on, sweeping past any potentially awkward moment.

“Of course you would know that, what with all the changes being made at Hexside. Sometimes I wonder if it wouldn’t be better than to just scrap the place and build a new school, but I’m sure that would have to be a much longer conversation.”

Amity hesitates. “I think Principal Bump is trying his best to run the new curriculum, and the Owl Lady is helping him, too. It’s new for everyone, being allowed to learn anything you want.” 

“Right,” says her mother. “Well, I suppose it does allow you to feel more concrete in your decisions, yes? Oracle was only ever the choice for me, but it seems that many your age are going for more than one, yes?”

“It really depends, but—yeah,” Amity replies, unable to read her tone. “But that’s all really up in the air at the moment. For now, we’re allowed to have whatever color uniforms we like and to attend whichever classes we like, though the semester’s going to be shorter than usual as everyone figures out a new system. I’m in a few classes now that I wouldn’t have been able to take before all of this.”

“How nice.”

“It is! I—I think it’s a good change for a lot of reasons,” she goes on. “If anything, people are feeling far more free.” Including myself, she doesn’t say. For a multitude of reasons. 

Despite herself, Amity finds herself beginning to soften slightly, the horrible feeling growing more dull as the conversation goes on. She still doesn’t trust whatever this is, but Odalia’s not yet intentionally provoked her, not really, and this is probably about the most polite conversation they’ve had in years, if ever. It’s silly, but Amity wonders—just for a half-second—if this means her mother’s finally going to try. 

“Yes, I can understand that. Well then,” Odalia responds, casually changing the subject, “given that it is in fact your birthday, did I pull you away from your siblings? I’d love to speak to them, if that’s possible.” 

Uh-oh. “Um, well. I’m actually in the Human Realm right now,” Amity admits, hating the way it feels like an admission at all. She’s perfectly allowed to do what she wants. “Mrs. Noceda is making dinner.” 

“...I see. So,” her mother says, tone sharpening in an instant, “you’re still with that human girl, then—”

Amity hangs up on her. 

She makes her way back into the kitchen, numb and angry that she’s feeling that way. No one else seems to have budged, everyone still in the same exact spots she’d left them in, but it seems as if the storytelling has shifted from Hunter to Gus himself, hanging half out of his chair as he adds to his tale with wild gestures with his arms.

Still, the conversation ceases as she sits back down in her chair, Luz instantly leaning closer so that her shoulder brushes against Amity’s in a wordless show of support. Across the table, Mrs. Noceda is the first to catch Amity’s eye, and she tilts her head somewhat, giving Amity a sad sort of smile. 

“Amity, estimada,” she says gently, “are you okay?” 

And—

Amity doesn’t know. 

Her mother’s not changed, is all, and it’s not as if she’d expected her to have. She’s always had no idea of who Amity actually is, nor has she ever cared about who Amity cares about. This is no different, and it’s silly that it’s bothering her as much as it is. Certainly not something that she can say aloud; no one would laugh, she knows, but maybe she deserves to feel a little foolish right now. 

In the end, this is what she does know: any ridiculous disappointment Amity may be feeling right now is her own fault for letting her guard down. 

So Amity does her best to smile, then; she smiles at Mrs. Noceda’s concern and reaches out to intertwine her fingers through Luz’s. “I’m fine,” she says, and even if no one believes it, they’re also not cruel enough to challenge her. “She’s just… annoying to talk to.”

“That’s an understatement,” Willow pipes up unexpectedly, sending Amity a friendly wink. “Sorry she’s still bothering you.” 

“Yeah, well. At least I don’t have to live with her anymore,” Amity jokes, and that seems to effectively break the tension; Gus snickers from across the table, unable to stifle the sound entirely, and even Hunter cracks a smile. 

Mrs. Noceda smiles as well. “Yes,” she says, standing from the table to go and check on the food. “I suppose there’s that.” 

The rest of the night isn’t horrible, per say. Dinner is fantastic, as all Noceda dinners are, and Amity tries to get back into the swing of things. They sing happy birthday— against her will—and no one mentions it again. 

Luz is a little softer afterwards, a little more gentle, and Amity loves her, loves her so much more than she ever thought she could, loves how much Luz loves her, trying to be comforting despite the fact that this is something Amity actively brought on herself. Luz is softer, Camila is gentle, Willow is supportive, and even Hunter and Gus seem to make an effort to tone down their usual obnoxiousness. (Not that Amity would mind it either way, though she might pretend to.) In a word, the night remains nice. 

The problem of course is this: her mother’s call doesn’t leave her mind. 

She can’t get it out of her head and she’s not even subtle about it; despite herself, she finds herself somewhat distracted for the rest of the night, even unable to completely get out of her own head during a rewatch of The Good Witch Azura: Hecate’s Choice, her favorite of the Azura films. Her birthday ends with that, everyone heads back to the Boiling Isles, and then Luz walks her back to the new Blight home, which is now just a twenty minute’s walk from the Portal Door. 

Luz doesn’t ask about what happened earlier, respecting Amity’s wishes to just forget about it, and she acts like her usual self as they walk, bumping shoulders and intertwining fingers and laughing and loving and Amity appreciates it more than she could ever put into words.

When they arrive, Luz says goodbye with a proper kiss, and then another on the cheek. Amity leans into the touch and wishes the night didn’t have to end. (Everything has to eventually.)

“Happy birthday, hermosa,” Luz croons afterwards, backing away like the dramatic dork she is. Amity rolls her eyes, ignoring the way her heart still skips a beat whenever Luz uses a nickname with her. 

“Good night, Luz.”

She just wishes that it hadn’t been ruined. The rest of the day had been so nice, had been perfect, and yet—more than anything, Amity hates that Odalia’s still capable of doing this to her, of sending her head into a whirlwind of irritation and anxiety. More than anything, she wishes she could just stop caring. 

So that night, while laying in bed, she opens her scroll to Odalia’s contact information. Her mother hasn’t texted—Amity’s not sure she knows how; before everything, Odalia had tended to communicate through her Oracle necklace more than anything else—but the silence feels more deafening than anything she could have said. Like despite everything, Amity’d still lost. It hadn’t even been an argument, but she still feels like she’d failed at the conversation. 

Amity grits her teeth.

She refuses to lose to her mother again.

Taking care not to disturb Ghost from their spot curled up near her feet, Amity sits up slightly so that she can better see the screen. She pulls up her message history with her mother—empty—and swallows, hard. Noting with slight humiliation that her hands are shaking, she sums up every last drop of courage that exists inside her to type out a short message. 

It’s quick, it’s succinct, and it doesn’t give a single bit of leeway. Most importantly, it’s Amity putting her foot down; it’s Amity saying that if her mother wants to keep speaking to her, she has to respect Amity’s boundaries. At least this one. 

With trembling fingers, she hits send. 

Amity: Luz as a conversation topic is off-limits. Do you understand? 

She shuts off her scroll before the urge to delete the message becomes too strong to fight and shoves it back underneath her pillow, taking a deep breath. Awakened by the sudden surge of emotion, Ghost comes to curl up on her chest, their soft purrs slowly calming Amity’s pounding heart. It takes a little bit, but she manages to fall asleep to that very sound, Ghost’s very presence inherently soothing and comfortable. She doesn’t quite go to sleep with confidence, but there is a determination brewing inside, bubbling up into her ribcage. She doesn’t want it to stop.  

There’s still no response by the time she wakes up in the morning, but the little tick underneath the message says that Odalia’s at least read it. A reply must have been too much to hope for, an apology never even been expected. 

But this time, the resounding silence almost feels victorious. 

 

.

 

.

 

.

 

(Amity’s seven, and she’s in the Principal’s office. 

Not because she’s in trouble, of course—Blights don’t get in trouble—but it still makes her nervous; the association is tugging at her mind, and the only thing that’s keeping her from bouncing her knee is the knowledge that her father is on his way. Blights do not fidget, Blights do not give away any nervousness. Blights do not feel nervousness. She knows that. 

Principal Bump is sitting at his throne. There are papers spread all across his desk that he’s clearly trying to look through, though he can’t seem to stop glancing up every few seconds, as if he thinks she’ll disappear the moment he takes his eyes off of her. 

Amity’s been studying the memorabilia all around the room; there’s a respectful portrait of the former Principal up on the wall, surrounded by dozens and dozens of books and folders. Outside the window, she can see the beginning hints of a sunset, and her ears burn at the implication. 

Classes ended two hours ago. 

She swallows. “Sir,” she says, finally having worked up the courage, and he looks up again, this time meeting her gaze. “I—my father must be nearly here by now, I’m sure I would just meet him on the way there—”

“Miss Blight,” he says, shoulders slumping, “you know I can’t let you do that—”

“But it’s not even that far,” Amity replies. The realization that she’d just cut him off sinks into her a second too late, but it’s too late to backtrack—Blights do not retreat. “I’m fully capable of walking here from the Manor, so the opposite shouldn’t be any different—”

“Be that as it may.” The Principal waves his hand, silencing her instantly. “The rules are rules for a reason, Miss Blight. I’m sorry, but I cannot let you leave my office alone.” He sighs. There’s a weariness in his eyes that’s only been deepening as the minutes wore on, further influencing Amity’s desire to be anywhere but here. “If no one’s here before dark, I’ll just walk you myself. But I’d rather not be accused of kidnapping, so you can see why that’s our last resort.”

Amity’s spent the last two hours working on homework—not tomorrow’s, of course, given that she always intends to be four days ahead—but by this point there’s not much more left to do. She wishes she could have accepted Boscha’s offer of a playdate after school today; it would have risked her parents’ anger if she went without permission, but clearly she had the time. 

On the other hand, she’s not sure if an afternoon with Boscha would have been any less nerve-wracking. She doesn’t usually like the games Boscha likes, unless they’re playing Grudgby—though it’s the off season for Little Leech, too—and even then they usually end matches angry with each other. Amity’s too hellbent on winning, Boscha’s too competitive, and it never goes right. That’s why it’s better that they’ll be trying out for the same team, or else Amity’s fairly sure they’d end up close to murder. 

There’s only a few more years until she can join the official Grudgby team—she still needs to make her case to her parents before even that, another thing to remember—but she does wish she could be doing something else in the interim between. 

And maybe there is. 

“Um, sir?” 

“Yes?” To her relief, there’s not any irritation in his voice when he replies, eyes finding hers as he looks up from his desk. “Do you need anything?”

“No, I just—” she swallows. “I wanted to ask… if you’d given any more thought to the idea I proposed at the start of term?” 

It’d been the first week of classes when she approached the Principal to ask about the creation of a Student Council. Amity wants to do more, wants to make her parents proud, and she’d thought it’d been a fantastic idea to involve herself more in the community of Hexside. Surely she’d be voted President if she was the one to create it, after all, and even if the other students think she’s too young, she’s positive in her ability to prove them wrong. It’s a fantastic idea. 

But Principal Bump doesn’t seem to agree. His face softens as he opens his mouth, hesitating to answer, and with a sinking feeling in her stomach, Amity feels as if she knows what he’s about to say already. 

“Amity,” the Principal says, “I understand why that sort of thing would appeal to you, but—” he rubs wearily at his nose, fingers catching on the hood of his Palisman. “I don’t think it would be a good idea. A Student Council just isn’t something I believe Hexside needs. No matter,” he adds, “how good you would be for the job.” 

She’s not convinced. He’s just saying that to make her feel better about being turned down, and he hadn’t actually given a good response as to why not. She wants to reply, wants to demand a proper explanation, wants to prove she’d be good enough—

But it’s not like she can do anything about it. In the end, Amity bites her tongue—Blights do not argue with authority, always take fair rejection with a proper acceptance—and says, “Yes, sir.” 

Her head bows low as she avoids his gaze, which is a particularly childish thing for her to do, but the alternative is to look straight at him and allow him to see the near-disobedience flickering across her face. She’d only get into trouble, and so she looks away.

She doesn’t speak again, and the Principal goes back to his papers. 

Another half-hour passes with all the impossibly-slow speed of a snail-slug. Amity tugs at her necklace as she waits, wishing more than ever that the thing’s communication worked two ways. If it did, she could contact her mother directly, could ask her for permission to walk home on her own. If nothing else, she could at least ask her what’s keeping her father. 

But the necklace remains as one-way as it always has and Amity does not dare speak up again. The Principal continues to go through his paperwork and Amity busies herself as best she can—perhaps she can improve on her homework even more if she goes over it a third time. 

It stays like this, quiet save for the Principal’s occasional grunt, until finally, finally, there comes a sharp rap on the door. 

This should be fairly freeing, given that it signals the end to this particular hell, but that’s not at all the feeling that the sound evokes. Rather, Amity freezes, her shoulders stiffening as she’s driven out of her distracted reverie. 

That’s not the sound of her father’s knock. 

Principal Bump gets to his feet with a relieved sigh. Amity turns in her chair to get a look as he crosses the room to open the door, but his steady figure blocks the doorway from Amity’s eyesight. Her hands fist in the bottom of her cowl, knuckles whitening. She hadn’t thought her mother would be the one to come, can’t think of a single time where it’s been Odalia who picked her up from Hexside at all. She’d been expecting her father. 

“Ah, Miss Blight,” Principal Bump says, dashing all of Amity’s remaining hopes. She winces. “This office does not double as a daycare, I hope you know.” 

“Yes, and you have my deepest apologies for the wait,” Odalia says in greeting. She’s using her customers-only voice, high-pitched and almost apologetic. “Her siblings were supposed to pick her up this afternoon, but they must have gotten sidetracked with their schoolwork instead.”

Amity can’t see the Principal’s reaction to that, but he makes a quiet grunting sound. “Edric and Emira Blight were sidetracked with their… schoolwork,” he repeats, tone dull. He shifts to the side, allowing Amity to finally see her mother. Odalia doesn't look at her. 

“Of course!” she replies, clasping her hands together. “In any case, they’ll be getting a stern talking to for forgetting their sister like that. Apologies again for making you wait here with her,” she adds, tilting her head to the side. “I cannot wait until she’s old enough to head home on her own.” 

“Yes, well.” Principal Bump shifts his shoulders with another sigh. “It could have been worse, I suppose. Miss Amity is very well behaved.” 

With that comes a glint of pride, but it doesn’t last long. She shouldn’t have had to be well-behaved in the first place. Amity’s going to be battling the embarrassment from this prolonged stay in the Principal’s office for a long time yet. 

She gathers up her finished homework and tucks it into her book bag, slinging it over her shoulder as she stands from her chair. For whatever reason, the walk from the desk to the door seems unreasonably humiliating, and Amity’s hands curl quietly into fists as she tries not to slouch. 

“Amity,” her mother says, “are you ready to go?”

“Yes, mom,” she replies, sliding past Principal Bump to stand side by side with Odalia. The instinct to apologize is near-overbearing; she shuts her mouth and stays quiet. “I’ve got everything.”

“Good, good.” Odalia shifts by her side, leaning further into the doorframe as if she’s trying to be less intimidating. In Amity’s opinion, it doesn’t work. “Good day to you, Principal.”

“Good day,” Principal Bump says in return. 

And maybe Amity’s a little more tired than she thought she was, maybe she’s sick of sitting in this horrible little room or maybe she’s embarrassed about being forgotten or maybe it’s some combination of those things, but whatever it is has an ill effect on her manners. 

The problem: she turns to leave—

“Amity,” Odalia says again, sharper, and she winces, having already forgotten herself. “What do you say?”

“Thank you for sitting with me, sir,” Amity says dutifully, turning back to face him and standing as tall as she can manage. Her bag bumps into her right hand as she tilts her head up, meeting Principal Bump’s gaze. 

“Have a good evening, Amity,” he says in response, blinking kindly down at her. He even manages to crack a small smile, his first in a few hours. “I’ll see you tomorrow.” 

Principal Bump does not follow them out into the hallway, but Amity doesn’t hear him shut the door, either. She and her mother walk quickly—Amity stumbling somewhat to keep up—and it’s eerie, the school being damn-near empty like this. Amity doesn’t like it. The walls seem taller, darker; the atmosphere cold and unfriendly. She wishes she could just close her eyes and have it be tomorrow already. 

“You didn’t bother him, did you? The Principal is a very busy man,” Odalia says as soon as they’re out of earshot of the Principal’s Office, her tone sharp. “Did you finish your work silently?”

Amity thinks of asking Principal Bump about the Student Council. She hopes she hadn’t been too disruptive. He had said she was well-behaved, but she could have been more quiet. For a moment she agonizes over the prospect of him telling her parents that; if she stays quiet and the Principal tells them anyway, she’ll get into even more trouble than if she confesses here and now. 

But she’s also tired, and that more than anything stays her tongue for a few seconds longer. That doesn’t matter, of course; in the end, her mother always finds out anyway. That’s the deciding factor, as it always is. 

“Um,” Amity says finally, ducking her gaze, “I—might have bothered him a little bit. Not—not the entire time!” she adds, hurriedly trying to defend herself as Odalia comes to a stop. “I just—asked him a few questions, that’s all. I’m sorry. I should have stayed quiet.”

A beat. Amity’s shoulders are stiff. 

“Hm. I’m disappointed,” her mother snaps finally, and then says nothing more.

Yeah, Amity thinks. I know. She follows her mother home, head still held high because Blights do not slouch. She wishes tomorrow were the weekend, wishes she could hole herself up in her room and spend the next two days studying, wishes she didn’t have to see the Principal again tomorrow, the Principal and his sure disappointment. She must have just been too wrapped up in herself to realize she was annoying him. 

She hopes he can forgive her.)

 

.

 

.

 

.

 

The Collector returns to the Boiling Isles at least once every few weeks. 

His visits are always fleeting, hardly lasting more than a couple of days at the most, but they’re also always nice; it means that he gets to spend more time with people who are not himself, and he always leaves with a big smile on their face. King enjoys these visits the most, probably, but Amity likes the Collector, too. 

They’re just like any other kid she’s ever read to—give or take some godlike powers and immortality—and they have a charm to them that always makes Amity smile. They seem to like her, too, and Amity’s been cornered into telling him a story on more than one occasion, not that she minds it all that much.

Today he’d arrived without warning, plummeting from the sky into the market directly in front of Amity as she walked. Having already been on her way to the Owl House, she’d taken them with her. Most of the residents of the Boiling Isles have forgiven him—it’s not as if he had been worse than the Emperor—but there’s still a few that are fairly uncomfortable whenever the Collector visits, and Amity would rather avoid any potential situation arising from that.

Amity holds onto their hand as they walk together, listening attentively to the new stories he’s brought from the stars. Apparently he hasn’t found the Archivists yet, but he’s hard on their heels, he says, and she believes them. By the time they make it to their destination he’s just wrapping up, bouncing alongside her as Amity walks inside behind them. 

No one else is here; though they’ll be back soon, Luz and King are out doing deliveries for Eda, and the Owl Lady herself is probably currently helping out with the relocations for the Left Arm, unless Raine Whisper’s already dragged her away for the day. A few months ago, Amity wouldn’t have at all been this comfortable alone in the Owl House, but by now she’s had nearly every resident express to her that she’s allowed to come in whenever she pleases, and Hooty hardly even bothers her anymore, apparently still remembering the scratches he’d sustained the last time he tried. 

She still has no idea what Miss Lilith sees in him, though. The house-demon had been busy writing a letter to her when Amity and the Collector arrived, which apparently involves slamming his face against a typewriter and gaining a new bruise for every character. If anything, Amity has to admire his stubbornness. To go through life without opposable thumbs is not a pretty thought. 

“So… what do you want to do?” Amity asks once they’ve settled inside, the Collector upside down on the couch as he glances around, still wide-eyed every time he’s invited somewhere. “We can play a game—erm, one that I decide the rules in,” she adds quickly, wincing at the way he deflates. “Or I can look and see if there’s any books around here, or…” 

Eda doesn’t particularly strike her as a very big reader, so if anything there’s probably a few Azura books laying around in Luz’s room, but Amity’s not sure the Collector would be entertained by those for very long. 

“Hm,” the Collector says, staring at her with big eyes, “do you have any pictures?”

Amity brightens. “Yes, I do,” she says, sliding her scroll out of her pocket. “Would you like to look through them while we wait for Luz and King?” 

“Ooh!” They sit up with an excited kick of their feet. “Yes, please!”

So they do. Amity never used to take many pictures, but making the scrapbook in the Human Realm had certainly been fun, a nice way to capture good moments. The two of them dig deep into the depths of her scroll, laughing whenever someone’s been shot with a funny face, and there’s quite a few; there’s at least three of Hunter sleeping in various strange positions, Willow demonstrating her influence on the Noceda garden (much to the concern of Ms Camila), Gus putting on a show for the kids in the library (a collaboration between himself and Amity) and then, well… Luz. Lots of Luz. 

Luz smiling, Luz drawing Glyphs, Luz playing with King, hugging Eda; a half a dozen so-called selfies with Luz’s arm wrapped around Amity’s shoulder. Judging by their reaction, the Collector seems to like those the most, and Amity can’t really blame him. They’re her favorites, too. 

“You sure have a lot of pictures of Luz,” he comments at one point, and Amity smiles, wide and flushed. She’s not embarrassed; Luz probably has even more photos of her. 

“Well, I happen to think she’s very photogenic.”

The Collector blinks up at her, eyes sparkling just a little in that way they do whenever he’s about to ask a question. “What’s that mean? Photo—genic?” 

“It's a description for someone or something that looks particularly nice in pictures,” Amity tells them, leaning back against the couch. 

Their face only opens up further, sparking with something close to wonder. “Am I photogenic?”

“Why don’t we see?” She holds up her scroll, pointing the camera towards him. “Smile!”

He does. 

Amity takes the picture, then turns the screen around to let them look it over. “All right, what do you think?”

The Collector had thrown up his hands around his head for the photo, fingers splayed wide and palms upturned, giving them the impression of a strange-looking headdress. “I look funny!” he laughs, zooming in to better see the silly expression he’d plastered on his face. “Do you think it’s a good one?”

Amity pats him gently on the shoulder. “I think you’re very photogenic.” 

It’s such a small thing, but the Collector lights up at the compliment, this smile a little different than before; it’s softer, though no less excited. “Cool,” he murmurs, nearly too hard to hear. Then he claps his hands together once more. “Do you have any more?”

She swipes out of the Collector’s new picture, scrolling up to find some even older ones that they might not have looked at before. Amity cringes when she sees a few of them; Boscha’s commanded a sizeable influence, and that had been back when she still had green hair. She thinks, Hm, maybe not, and begins to click away, but the Collector’s sudden gasp freezes her in place. 

“Oh!” He seizes the scroll from her—another thing they need to work on—and holds it up delightedly, grin widening. “You look like Mamadalia in this!”

Amity pauses. “...What?” 

“You know!” They summon one of those round little dolls, green-haired and blue-eyed, presenting it to Amity with a bright expression. “She helped take care of me when you guys were in the Human Realm! She made me pizza bagels.”

“I—” Amity scrambles to find another photo. She thumbs through the older ones, the ones she hasn’t had time or patience to look through and delete, until she finds one with her mother in it. The thing is old and blurry, her mother’s face stern and cold as she stands, talking with Amity’s father by the front door of the old Blight Manor. She doesn’t even remember why she took it; the date tells her it’d been years ago. Amity shows the Collector the image, studying his face as he looks it over. “This witch?”

“Yeah, that’s her!” His face contorts with confusion; they’re getting better at reading social cues, and their head tilts to the side. “Is that… bad? Did I do something wrong?”

“No,” she’s quick to assure him, “no, I’m just… a little confused, I think. I didn’t realize you had anyone else you talked to other than King at that point.” 

Something flickers; there’s a hint of guilt whenever that time period is mentioned, and Amity feels bad in turn for pressing him about it. “She was the only other one,” they say eventually. “I just thought it’d be nice, is all, to have someone who could be like a mother. King always talked about how Eda was like his.”

Like a mother. Amity wants to laugh, wants to laugh, wants to scream. She doesn’t do any of those things, but the only reason is the Collector sitting in front of her, eyes wide as if they still believe they’re going to be in trouble. They’re not, and she wants to make sure he understands that. 

“I’m not mad at you,” she says gently. “No one would be. I just didn’t expect that. Mamadalia—” she winces. “—Odalia is, well—she’s my mother.”

If possible, his eyes only go wider. “Oh.”

“And she’s not exactly what I think your first brush with parenthood should have been,” Amity goes on, stumbling over trying to explain it. “I didn’t realize that you knew her.” A pause. “She certainly never told me she knew you.” 

The Collector doesn’t seem to quite get it, but they’re learning to accept that they might not understand everything just yet, and so Amity thinks he takes more time to think it over than he would have a few months ago. 

She’s preparing herself to be ready to answer any other questions, but thankfully this excruciating conversation is cut short by Hooty’s abrupt cry of victory from outside; he swings the door open with a mighty crash—is he not hurting himself with maneuvers like that?—and Luz and King calmly walk inside, far too used to his dramatics. 

Instantly, the Collector’s face lights back up. 

“Luz! King!” he whoops happily as he launches himself from the couch, tackling them both in a hug and landing all three of them on the ground. “Hi! I’m back!” 

Luz laughs, voice slightly muffled and tinged with the surprise that only someone who’s just been knocked off her feet can feel. “I see that. Hi, Amity,” she wheezes, craning her neck from the floor to meet Amity’s gaze. 

Blinking away the strangeness of what had happened just before, Amity smiles. “Do you need help?” 

“I got it!” King rolls to his feet—claws, paws?—and immediately tackles the Collector in turn, freeing Luz from his grasp. “The Collector is no match for the mighty King of demons!”

They tussle on the floor for a moment, Luz scrambling to her feet, and Amity watches as they roll; King gets on top and shoves the Collector’s robe over their head, the Collector retaliates with a knock to one of King’s horns, and so on. Both creatures easily capable of creating some of the most incredible magic Amity’s ever seen, tussling on the floor together. 

“Hi,” Luz says again, sidling up next to Amity to plant a quiet kiss on her cheek. “How’s your day been?”

“Better now that you’re here,” Amity fires back, the tease coming easily. “But slow. Some of those classes are just dull.”

“Aw, it must be hard being too smart,” Luz snipes in return. She opens her mouth to say something else—probably to double down on her joke—but is cut off by another, louder voice. 

“King! King! Did you know I’m photogenic?” It’s the Collector, of course, his high-pitched tone drawing everyone’s attention.

The resounding silence makes Amity laugh. “Um, what?” King says, nearly drowned out by the Collector’s own laughter. “I don’t even know what that means.” 

From there the rest of the interaction devolves into chaos as it so often does; they move on and Amity tries to focus on other things, but the connection between the Collector and Odalia Blight sticks, wiggling in the back of her head. Impossible to forget. 

The Collector had known her mother, had called her Mamadalia, which is something Amity would have never in a million years expected to hear. She’d assumed her mother had been Puppetified along with the majority of the Boiling Isles, but apparently she’d been living with the Collector, taking care of him in some strange way. She’d been just fine, probably better off than anyone else. 

…Did she even try to look for Edric and Emira? For Amity? Amity’s not even sure she wants to know the answer to that. 

But she can’t stop thinking about it, and, fittingly, it’s only a few days later when Odalia calls her for the second time. (Her mother is fairly predictable, is the thing; she tends to call every few weeks, and though it’s never a good conversation, she hasn’t stopped yet. Amity always picks up.)

Amity hadn’t reached out to her. She’d thought about it—thought about demanding answers, thought about ambushing her mother for a change—but in the end had decided against being the one to contact Odalia, if only to put the inevitable off a little while longer. 

Today’s a slow day. She hadn’t had any classes with Luz today, and the heat outside had made the prospect of meeting anyone outside an unbearable one. Instead, Amity’s taken shelter in the cool garage of Alador’s house, a place that she’s been trying to take over for her own for the last few months. 

It’s got a fully-functioning lab with fire safety, a wide middle space for multiple barrels of Abomination goo, and even a corner with a built-in decontamination shower. The area was first made to be Alador’s, but he hasn’t used it more than once ever since Raine Whispers approached him, asking for his expertise for a project they’re working on. To contrast, Amity’s in here nearly every day, puttering around and putting her hands to work. She’ll be the first to admit that she’s mildly obsessed with Abominations and how they take shape, and this is the exactly the right place for which to delve deeper into them. (Figuratively.)

Today’s been spent on the blueprints of her most recent project: a new kind of flying machine that decidedly does not run on electrified Slitherbeast bones. It’s messy work—especially when she has to tinker with the entire engine, which is necessary on a near-daily basis—and she loves it. 

Here’s how it goes: 

The scroll vibrates; the word Mother popping up onscreen is just as scary every single time, and though Amity still has to ensure she takes a deep breath, steeling herself for whatever this will be, she’s got a bone to pick with Odalia for once, and that gives her strength. After taking a moment to make sure there’s no more lingering Abomination goo on her hands, Amity answers the scroll with a vengeance, barreling past any semblance of a greeting. 

“Did you work for the Collector?”

A pause. Whatever her mother had been about to say seems to be gone entirely, and for a moment, Amity entertains the idea that she’s simply hung up. She’s not sure if she’d want that or not. 

Then, finally, there comes a noise. A short sniff, and then, “Pardon?” 

Amity doesn’t slow down. “When the Collector took over the Isles and almost everyone was Puppetified. You were too, right?” She wants to see if her mother will lie about it, but the only response she gets is silence. “Mom?”

“Hm,” says her mother finally. “The Collector themselves told you, then?”

“So you did.” Amity sighs deeply, pressing her fingers to the bridge of her nose. “Just—what in the Titan’s name, mom? You were working for him for all that time? Everyone got Puppetified—at least, we thought everyone did! You were the only one who didn’t! Why didn’t you ever tell anyone?!”

“Because I knew you would react like this,” Odalia snaps in return, “and of course, you’re not willing to hear me out—”

“Not willing—” Amity nearly snarls. “What about dad! About Edric and Emira? Did you look for them at all? Did you look for me?” 

She hears her mother suck in a deep breath and seizes the moment to reign herself in as well. It’s no good if they both get irritated, and Amity needs to be able to have a clear head for whatever this will turn into. 

“Of course I looked for you,” Odalia says finally. Amity doesn’t believe her. If she had, she wouldn’t have kept the fact that she wasn’t ever Puppetified a secret. “What did you want me to do, fight the Collector all by myself? I did what I could to survive.” 

“You could have tried—” 

“Who do you think I am, the Emperor himself?” 

“Former Emperor,” Amity corrects sharply, her temper rising again. “He’s gone and dead now and he never deserved his title anyway.”

“...Of course.” She’s just agreeing for the sake of it, and Amity has to take another deep breath so that she doesn’t do something stupid. “Either way, my hands were tied. You simply cannot believe that I chose that horrible job or title. I was just as trapped as the rest of the Isles were.”

But that’s not true. The Puppets hadn’t been able to move, to think for themselves. Odalia had been free from all that, had been constantly left alone by the Collector. She’d had her chances, and Amity knows it. Her mother had simply decided that her own life was worth more than the potential lives of everyone else. 

She’s been quiet for too long, and Odalia takes in another breath, still ready to defend herself. “Mittens, I—”

Another blow to a rapidly deteriorating patience; Amity lets out a sharp sigh, cutting her off. “I’ve asked you not to call me that.” 

She gets an even sharper sigh in return, which is just great. Something else she’d gotten from her. “And I’m your mother,” Odalia snaps, voice gone cold. “So I can call you whatever I’d like.” 

Maybe it’s childish, how much that old nickname still affects her. It’d been a relief to hear the origins came from her father, but hearing it still sends an unpleasant shiver down her spine. Even the twins have since strayed far away from the dreaded moniker, and Amity’s far more grateful about that than she should be. 

“No,” she says, unwavering. “I don’t like being called that.” 

It takes a beat, but she wins. “Fine. Amity,” Odalia sighs into the receiver. “It’s more complicated than just fighting back. You must know that.” 

Must she? 

Amity’s not sure. Maybe it is too much to demand the idea of fighting back from someone, maybe it’s cruel to assume that her mother could have done anything without being Puppetified herself. But even before then Amity had done so many scary things for Luz and for the rest of her friends, and the idea that Odalia didn’t even try, not even for her own family… 

Her mother’s still waiting for an answer. She says, pointedly, “Amity?” 

“Goodbye,” Amity says, and then hangs up.

As if suddenly exhausted, she takes a seat on the nearby desk for a moment, feeling as if half her bones have turned to that human food Luz had called jell-o. 

That had gone about as poorly as she’d expected. She doesn’t know why she even tries; it always goes as poorly as she expects, and yet she still picks up every time. Maybe it is because she’s weak, maybe it’s because Amity’s just like her mother. She may have changed her hair, may have tried to distance herself from her as much as she can, but maybe the way she thinks is still from Odalia through and through. Maybe her mother had succeeded in making another version of herself. 

Maybe Amity’s just kidding herself with the thought that she’s completely broken away. She still picks up. Every single time, she still answers the call. 

Left alone in her workshop, Odalia’s voice still echoing through her ears, Amity sighs.

What a mess. 

 

.

 

.

 

.

 

(Amity’s twelve, and she’s back in the Principal’s office.

Still not because she’s in trouble—at least she hopes. She doesn’t think she’s done anything wrong, but her name had been called over the intercom and classes were just getting out so nearly the entire school had been in the hallway at the time and everyone else around her absolutely thinks she’s in trouble. 

The year is only a few weeks away from ending, Amity’s first real year in Hexside, and she’s exhausted. There are half a million things running through her head at any given second, final projects have effortlessly taken over her life, and she hasn’t really slept in a month, so if it had taken a little longer than usual to realize that it was her name being called, well, she just hopes no one else had noticed that part. 

“Amity Blight to Principal Bump’s office,” is how the announcement had gone, loud and unsubtle and freezing her in place in the middle of the hallway, shivers running down her spine. What did she do? “Amity Blight to Principal Bump’s office.” 

Boscha had laughed heartily at hearing that, snapping Amity out of her frozen stupor, and had said, “Ooh, what’d you do?” 

Amity hadn’t been able to answer. 

Now she sits in that same horrible chair that she had those years ago, staring up at Principal Bump as he sifts through some documents in the drawer behind his desk and desperately trying to figure out whatever she’s done wrong. 

She can already hear her parents’ reactions; her mother’s sharp scolding, her father’s absentminded disappointment. Blights do not get in trouble. Blights do not get called to the Principal’s office. Blights should not do anything to even warrant a call to the Principal’s office in the first place.

Blights also do not allow themselves to be overcome with fear, but worrying in itself isn’t quite her biggest concern at the moment. 

“Sir?” Amity’s sure her anxiety is written all over her face; she needs to clear her expression, but it’s all she can do not to sway in her chair and keep her eyes focused in front of her. Not even the fear can jolt her out of the haze completely. 

Slowly, taking his sweet time, the Principal turns around to face her, placing his hands together on the desk. His own expression is a mask of professionalism, not a flicker of emotion that she can see. Her nails prick at the insides of her palms, close to drawing blood. She holds her breath. 

“Let me start,” he says finally, “by telling you that you’re not in trouble, Miss Blight.” 

Immediately it feels as if Amity can breathe again; the relief is so overwhelming that her shoulders slump, just for half a second before she pointedly straightens them again. She swallows past a lump in her throat, feeling ridiculous as literal tears prick at the corners of her eyes. “I—I see.” 

Then what? Now Amity almost feels angry, still embarrassed by Boscha’s earlier jab and already worked up from her worst fears. She is incredibly glad her parents aren’t here to see her, she’d probably get in trouble just because of the way she’s acting.

“Someone wanted to meet you, actually,” Principal Bump goes on pleasantly, like he hasn’t even noticed Amity’s own reactions. She’s grateful for that. Then, as if that someone had been listening with their ear against the door, there comes a knock immediately after, making Amity jump. “Ah, perfect. That’ll be her, then,” he says, standing from his chair to go and open the door. 

“Oh?” A teacher from another school, perhaps? Amity’s not sure why the Principal of Hexside would allow that, but if not another teacher, then who? A business partner of one of her parents? 

Principal Bump swings open the door, stepping aside as he does, and Amity catches a glimpse of the person—a witch. Tall; long, dark hair; piercing eyes and a pale complexion. Adorned head to toe in gold and white. Amity knows who this is, and she’s certainly not another school’s teacher. 

This is Lilith Clawthorne. 

Lilith Clawthorne, who is the leader of the Emperor’s Coven, the most powerful Coven on the Boiling Isles. Lilith Clawthorne, the very same who’s been sworn to take in the Owl Lady despite being her very sister. Lilith Clawthorne, who Amity has a poster of hanging on her bedroom wall. 

“Thank you, Principal Bump,” she says politely, her voice cold and contained; it’s the first time Amity’s ever seen her in person, and she looks and sounds exactly like Amity has always imagined. Regal, chin high and proper; her hands clasped cordially behind her back. 

“Of course. I’ll be right outside,” the Principal replies politely, and closes the door behind him. That leaves just Amity and the leader of the Emperor’s Coven inside this small, stuffy room, and—

For the second time today, Amity tries her very best not to panic. 

Her palms, clammy in an instant, curl into the top of her cowl to hide the fact that she may very well be shaking. Her back straightens, puffing out her chest as she raises her chin, plastering a not-too-stern-and-yet-respectful-and-calm expression on her face. She hopes, anyway.

She says, her tongue as thick as lead, “Ma’am?”

Miss Clawthorne doesn’t respond for a moment, seemingly content to just look at her, and Amity has no idea what she’s looking for, but she hopes she’s able to find it. She tries again to clear her expression of anything too emotional, determined to be impressive in any way possible. 

“My name is Lilith Clawthorne,” says Lilith Clawthorne finally, as if there’s any world in which Amity doesn’t have any idea of who she is. “I currently run the Emperor’s Coven. Do you know what we do there?”

Amity does. “You keep the peace,” she answers succinctly, smoothing out her uniform. “Coven Scouts are meant to help out with those who need it and to punish those who seek to destroy the Emperor’s way. They’re incredible.” She twitches, once, and then goes for it. “I plan to join once I’m of age.” 

“Oh?”

“I find being in the Emperor’s Coven a huge honor,” Amity recites profusely. “You get to learn all kinds of magic and you get to use it to help the Boiling Isles! I can’t think of a better calling in life.” 

Miss Clawthorne tilts her head to the side, studying her. “What do you have passion for, I wonder? Is it the community of the Scouts?” A beat. “No, I don’t think so. The urge to assist, then? Or is it just that you want to learn more?” 

Amity grips the top of her cowl tightly in her hands, feeling the imprint of her nails even through the fabric. It’s the last one, she knows it’s the last one, but saying that would feel too akin to admitting that she doesn’t truly care for the Emperor’s Way. Amity has passion and care for helping the citizens of the Boiling Isles too, but it’s not at all a bad thing that Coven Scouts are allowed to wield all types of magic. The freedom in the very thought of that has her wrapped around its finger, desperate to move forward in any way possible. She likes to think that this is her making her parents’ dream her own. 

But she cannot lie here, not to Lilith Clawthorne. 

So Amity takes a breath, sums up her courage and replies honestly. “I want to learn.” 

In response, Miss Clawthorne simply raises an eyebrow. “And what is it that you want to learn?” 

“E—Everything! I work hard, ma’am, and I work hard so that I can learn more about magic and how to be better.” Amity swallows, voice growing more faint. “It’s fulfilling, knowing that I’m able to work hard enough to excel at something. I—I’m not very powerful, but—”

“How so?”

Amity hadn’t expected to be interrupted; she grasps for stability, thoughts bouncing around in her head too fast to comprehend. Finally, she says, “My magic levels… they’re a little lower than other witches my age. But that doesn’t stop me!” she goes on, determined to make this point heard. “I swear, I study as much as I can.” She studies until it feels like her eyelids will fall off, until her back is aching from hunching over her desk, until it’s easier to just get dressed for the day instead of trying to sleep for an hour or two. She tries so hard. 

Surely Lilith Clawthorne can understand that, if nothing else. 

“Hm,” Miss Clawthorne replies finally. “Thank you for being honest with me. Believe me when I say that it’s never going to be easy, but there are ways, if you work hard, to begin to mend that problem you may be having.”

Amity nods sternly. “Of course.” 

She’s always known this, but hearing it from someone she looks up to is only giving her that much more inspiration. She has been doing the right thing, all this time, and she finds herself biting back a smile, unable to fully hide her excitement. 

“Well then, with that out of the way...” Miss Clawthorne crosses her arms, somehow making even that look impossibly regal. Nothing about her gives away what she’s thinking, which—curse her cool-ness. “Do you know why I’m here, Amity?”

Lilith Clawthorne knows her name. Hands now clasped safely behind her back—where no one else can notice the way they’re trembling—Amity shakes her head. “No, ma’am.” 

“The Emperor has given me a new mission,” says Miss Clawthorne casually, like that’s not one of the coolest things Amity’s ever heard. “He wants me to personally overlook the training of some few students across the schools, to find some witchlings to become my protegés.” She pauses, looking Amity over one last time. “The Hexside student, should you accept, would be you.”

Oh. 

Amity had suspected, maybe, but hadn’t dared to hope, definitely. A part of her wants to accept immediately—this is her chance to finally prove herself—but there’s something that holds her back, just for a heartbeat. 

She swallows. “Why me?” 

“I know who you are, Amity. I’ve done my research.”

That’s what she’s afraid of. Something cold drips into her stomach, and Amity struggles to retain eye contact. “...You know my parents?” 

“Well… yes,” Miss Clawthorne says, tilting her head. “But I know you as well. I’ve talked to your Principal extensively, as well as most of your teachers. They all tell me the same things: that you are curious, determined, and above all, hard-working. I think you would make a wonderful apprentice, given your clear passion for magic.”

Amity’s not sure she can breathe. Lilith Clawthorne thinks she’s passionate, thinks she’s hard-working. Lilith Clawthorne thinks she would make a wonderful apprentice. 

This is more than Amity ever thought she’d get. Edric and Emira certainly hadn’t been taken in by a member of the Emperor’s Coven, and they’ve always teased her for her lack of physical prowess. That’s part of why she even played Grudgby from such a young age, in the hope of becoming stronger. It’d worked, if not to the point that she’d hoped. 

“So, what do you say, Amity?” Miss Clawthorne tips her chin back, eyes narrowed. “Do you have what it takes?”

“Yes ma’am,” Amity says quickly, barely even considering the question. “I can prove it to you.” 

It doesn’t matter if she has what it takes or not. What matters is that she will, that she has to, and that she is determined to make Lilith Clawthorne proud. Lilith Clawthorne, who wants to train Amity! Edric and Emira certainly never had a member of the Emperor’s Coven offer to take them under their wing, let alone the leader of the Coven herself. 

Amity’s finally got something that they don’t. 

The thought burns like fire in her veins, ice-hot and satisfying. She’s going to rub this into their stupid, smug faces for the rest of their lives. 

Her answer seems to suffice, too; Miss Clawthorne’s face smooths out, and though her resulting smile is still somewhat cold, it’s still a smile in the first place, and who else here in this school can say the same? It’s just for Amity. Amity Blight, who’s going to be one of Lilith Clawthorne’s protégés. 

“Good. Then it’s settled,” says Miss Clawthorne, clapping her hands together. “I’ll reach out to you after term ends so that we can begin to build a schedule. I look forward to working with you, Amity Blight.” 

She looks forward to working with her. She wants to teach her, to help Amity grow and become more powerful. Amity impresses her, interests her in a way that no other student in Hexside has, and out of everyone, it’s Amity who Lilith Clawthorne chose. 

Amity’s future is effectively secured, and she has absolutely no idea how to process that. So she just says, respectfully, “Yes ma’am,” and this time it almost feels real. 

The conversation wraps up quickly from there; Miss Clawthorne takes her leave and Principal Bump returns in her stead a moment later, looking down at Amity with kind eyes. 

“Well done, Miss Blight,” he says. “You’ve clearly done well.” 

She can’t read his tone, but she thinks there’s a touch of pride in there, if nothing else. It’s undoubtedly an honor for him as well, a Hexside student being taken in under the wing of Lilith Clawthorne, and Amity tries not to preen too visibly. 

Her heart is still pounding, contracting almost painfully against her bile sac, and she takes a few deep breaths—all while careful not to give away that she’s having to take deep breaths in the first place. She says, voice only slightly higher-pitched than usual, “Thank you.” 

She has so many things to do. She needs to let her parents know—finally, something she’s excited to tell them about—she needs to make sure she’s up to date on all her spells, she needs to finish out this first year at Hexside, but Amity’s confident; if not in her own natural ability—which she’s working on—then in her promise to work hard enough in order to render that little problem obsolete. She will become more powerful. She has to. 

Wait ‘til Boscha hears about this.)

 

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“Come on, Amity,” Willow says encouragingly, pumping an excited fist in the air, “you’ve got it!” 

It’d be far more encouraging if her voice wasn’t so smug-sounding, clearly delighting in the way she’s so much better than Amity at this, and Amity glares vaguely in her direction as she struggles with raising herself off the ground once more. This is worse than fighting the Emperor, maybe; it’s at least worse than her parents’ Abomatons. Amity kind of wants to die, but that would be giving up. 

“You—” she gasps, panting for air, “are— insane! You do this— every day?!” Willow’s got to be some kind of a masochist, she decides. That, or she’s simply miles ahead of Amity in this regard, but she figures that just goes without saying. 

“No giving up!” Willow replies, cheerfully ignoring the insult. “Come on, ten more!”

“Ten?” Amity groans, immediately regretting the waste of breath. She sinks back down, arms shaking with effort, and slowly works her way back upwards into another push-up, breathing heavily through her nose. Sweat drips down the side of her head; a small cut on her right forearm stings from the salt of it. She doesn’t stop. 

It’d been Willow’s idea of course, the working out. 

Amity had approached her a few months ago with the desire to hang out more often, just the two of them, and with their still-memorable past having not been all that too long ago, she’d of course encouraged Willow to be the one to decide what they would do in these one-on-one meetups. Willow, being a fairly insane person in her own right, had immediately declared that they would be spending this time training. 

Like, professionally. Like no casual joking around, no taking any breaks that are longer than five minutes, no giving up until Willow’s approved the departure. This is something Willow’s obviously very serious about, and for better or worse, Amity’s not sure she’ll ever be able to say no to her. She’s earned that much, at least. 

But even through the torture, she likes spending time with Willow again, likes the way it makes her feel (warm, nostalgic with a tinge of novelty that’ll probably never go away) and she especially likes that Willow likes it too, that WIllow enjoys these days where they can talk together, even if that has to happen during Willow’s regularly scheduled torture tactics. 

Today, they’re working on arm strength. Amity’s never considered herself very weak—she’d more than held her own against Hunter that one time and has fought more than her fair share of genocidal maniacs—but Willow had quickly proven that she’s just on another level, easily able to continue long past Amity’s stopping points and with more stamina where that comes from. She’s blown past Amity in this regard—which Amity is being, of course, very professional about—and it’s not at all the first time this has happened. Amity wishes the embarrassment would lessen, but it seems immovable. 

“This is the tenth!” she cries finally, pausing on an upwards push to tip her head back and look Willow in the eye. “This is the tenth, right?”

Willow’s smile turns a tad cruel. “Oh, I don’t know,” she says casually, studying the backs of her hands. “I wasn’t counting. Is it the tenth?”

“I—” Amity nearly chokes on a huff. “I don’t even care anymore. Yes, this is the tenth. Even if it wasn’t, it is.”  

With a final wheeze, she collapses onto the soft ground, turning her head to the side in a desperate attempt to refill her rapidly-dwindling lung capacity. As she attempts to recuperate, she can vaguely hear Willow start to walk closer, the gravel crunching underfoot. There’s another crack as Willow halts, and Amity turns to look the other way, peering upwards as her friend takes a knee, tilting her head as she makes sure Amity’s still alive. 

The amused look on Willow’s face hasn’t budged the entire afternoon. “Ready for pull-ups?”

A pit drops into Amity’s stomach; it’d be cold if she weren’t already overheating. “You are insane,” she accuses as best she can, still panting. “I can’t even feel my arms right now.”

“Oh, you’re just being dramatic.” Willow tsks, waving a dismissive hand towards her. “I’m even having an off-day, you know? With a little determination, you could beat me this time.”

It’s both a flat-out lie and a very obvious trap. Willow knows how competitive Amity can get, even during times that she knows very well she cannot win in, and she’s deliberately trying to get a rise out of her. It’ll work, they both know it’ll work, and that only makes it worse, but Amity can’t not. 

She opens her mouth to agree, determined to move forward despite her aching body—

And, blessedly, her scroll starts to go off. 

It’s an instant excuse. Amity scrambles up to go and pull the thing out of her jacket, cast far aside at the end of the clearing; she says, “Um, one second, please—” as Willow sighs dramatically, leaning to the side in a far more graceful stretch than Amity could ever pull off. 

She’s not really thinking when she opens up her scroll. She’s expecting an image from Luz, maybe—she tends to send pictures of herself on the days she isn’t able to make it into the Demon Realm, which always makes Amity’s stomach twist pleasantly—or even a message Edric or Emira, asking her if she can pick something up at the market before she comes home. Unfortunately, it’s neither of those, and her scroll doesn’t stop vibrating. 

“Amity,” Willow says, a teasing note in her voice, “no using Luz as an excuse to stop!” 

Rude. It’s not as if she’s done that more than… two or three times. But Amity doesn’t have a snappy remark this time. 

“Oh, sorry, it’s—” she cuts herself off with a sigh as she rereads the name flashing on-screen: Mother. The instinct to lie is immediate, to say that it’s her father or one of her siblings instead, but lying to Willow has never gone well, and Amity’s trying her best to squash that particular impulse. “It’s… my Mom.” 

A pause, and then Willow makes a soft humming noise. Amity doesn’t look at her, ears burning with embarrassment. “I didn’t realize you were still in contact with her.” 

“I’m not, really, it’s just—” again she bites back the urge to explain herself; there hadn’t been any judgment in Willow’s tone, just genuine curiosity and maybe even a hint of worry that Amity’s still sure she doesn’t fully deserve. “I don’t know,” Amity says eventually, which is the full truth. “She just calls me sometimes.” And I always answer, she thinks but doesn’t say; it would be too much, too vulnerable even now. Willow doesn’t need to deal with more of her baggage. 

“Well, if you want to answer, we can take a break for a minute,” Willow says, probably being more understanding than she should be. She shrugs. “I need to go and refill my water bottle anyway. I can refill yours if you’d like!”

Amity tries to smile. “Thanks, Willow. I’ll be quick,” she promises, backing away with the scroll still shaking in her hand. 

Willow turns to head out of the clearing with a casual wave of her hand, and, sucking a final breath through her teeth, Amity clicks to answer the call. 

“Mom?”

“Amity!”

Her mother sounds tired, like how she does when things aren’t going very well for her various companies. Her most recent one is some healing service that claims to be able to slowly remove Sigils, though Amity’s not heard about it in weeks and she never put too much stock in the truth of the company in the first place. She’s instantly suspicious. 

“Um—can I help you with anything?” she asks, rubbing at the back of her neck. Her hair’s getting longer, she notes idly. Maybe she should get it cut again. 

“Oh,” her mother says. “Are you busy?”

Beyond the semi-exhaustion, Amity can’t read her mother’s tone, which is never a good sign. Odalia is at her worst when she’s incomprehensible. “I was training,” she says eventually, adding, “with Willow,” after a beat. “We meet up after school every week.” 

She’s not ashamed of Willow. She’s never going to be ashamed of Willow, not ever again, but she still winces when her friend’s name leaves her mouth. Willow shouldn’t have to be on Odalia’s radar, not now or ever, and Amity’s finger twitches over the end call button, ready to press if her mother makes a single wrong move. 

“How nice.” In the end, Odalia sounds completely normal when she replies. In fact, there’s nothing that Amity can hear to make her think her mother even remembers who Willow is. She isn’t sure if that’s a relief or not. 

It’s a quick conversation, which is a plus. Odalia wants to know if Amity’s interested in returning to her old job at Blight Industries—that is, being a demonstrator—which is a question that Amity’s dreaded for months. You’ll be paid, of course, her mother had said, and it would be very appreciated.

Amity had hated those promotions. She didn’t really mind being on stage, but if nothing else, it had usually been boring. She had felt patronized, pretending that whatever she was showing off is as good as it’s supposed to be, and that had only been part of it. 

She’d told her mother no. Odalia had hung up without another word. 

(At least she hadn’t put up a fight.)

By the time she’s able to look away from her scroll, she can spot Willow through the trees while she waits for her just out of earshot, always the respectful one. When Amity approaches her, she makes a point to look her up and down, as if speaking to Odalia would leave a physical mark. 

“You okay?”

Amity sighs. “I’m fine.” 

“We can be done if you want,” Willow says, tilting her head to the side as she surveys her. “It’s getting a little later anyway.” It’s not. They’d usually be going another hour at least, but Willow’s still one of the kindest people Amity knows, and she’s not going to call her out. Just the fact that she’s giving her an escape here is more than she probably deserves, and Amity’s beyond over taking advantage of her. 

“No,” Amity says finally, furrowing her brow. She lets out a soft chuckle. “Actually, I think I feel like hitting something more than I did earlier.”

She sees Willow digest that, huffing a small laugh of her own. “All right,” she says, cracking her knuckles, “let’s see if we can’t burn that energy off of you.” 

And so they keep going; Willow, bless her, doesn’t treat Amity any differently than she’d been treating her earlier before Odalia had shoved herself into the day, and though she pushes harder than usual, it’s appreciated. Amity hardly even has time to worry about anything except surviving the drills Willow puts down for her, and the afternoon passes quickly. 

It’s not perfect. Odalia’s voice seems to ring in her ears no matter how far she pushes herself, but it’s the best she can get. As usual, Amity tries not to think about her mother at all. 

 

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(Amity’s thirteen, and she’s in the Bonesborough library. 

And she’s obscenely bored. 

It’s a weekend day; tomorrow is back to classes like usual, but Amity’s been done with her homework for at least three days, Miss Clawthorne is out on a mission for the foreseeable future, and Amity has absolutely nothing to do. 

She could practice with her training wand, but none of the spells are new to her, and there’s nothing worse than wasting her own time on things she’s already learned. Not even the Azura books are calling to her now. She’d spent a few minutes trying to reread the third one, flipping through absentmindedly, but even that hadn’t been able to keep her attention for more than a half-dozen pages. 

Closing the book with a slightly-rougher-than-usual slam, Amity exhales a loud sigh.

She’d found the secret room in the library a few months ago, and as far as she knows, she’s the only person on the Boiling Isles who knows about it. It’s a fantastic place to study, to hide from her siblings, to just be able to get away from the world for a little while. But today is boring, and maybe even being annoyed by Edric and Emira would be better than this insufferable dull feeling.

…She misses Willow.

The thought comes to her without warning, as it always does, and Amity’s stomach twists sharply. It’s not something she likes to think about—Willow’s not someone she likes to think about at all—but the comparison is almost too easy. She’d never been bored when she was with Willow. 

Which is obviously unhelpful for a myriad of reasons. She can’t be friends with Willow. She hasn’t been friends with Willow for years, and honestly, it’s about time she stops thinking about and talking to her. Amity does things she’s not proud of when she sees Willow nowadays. 

Maybe she’ll see if Miss Clawthorne needs anything. She’s very busy, of course, and Amity would hate to bother her, but sometimes her mentor appreciates Amity’s forward-thinking in terms of helping out. She’s spent countless hours delivering paperwork, setting up meetings, researching, and anything else allowed over the past year, and while she’s still not permitted to officially join the Emperor’s Coven until she’s older, Amity’s determined to cement her future. 

On the other hand, Miss Clawthorne is not usually kind towards being sought out without a proper reason. She’s the best teacher anyone could ask for—Amity would rather die than say a bad thing towards her—but there are times that the things she says cuts right to the bone, angry and too frustrated to care about softening her words. It’s fine, obviously; Amity’s glad she doesn’t lie to her, but when Miss Clawthorne’s in a bad mood, it’s best to stay away entirely. 

Of course, it’s Amity’s own inferiority that she can’t handle constructive criticism. That’s another thing she’s working on. 

Either way, Miss Clawthorne or no Miss Clawthorne, Amity can’t bear to stay inside this little room any longer. She quickly gathers up her things, tucking a school book under her arms, and heads out without another thought. 

Amity steps outside into the main library, the door sliding shut behind her, and she—

Immediately comes face to face with a librarian. 

She freezes. The head librarian, actually; the bird-seeming demon with big wings and low-hanging eyeglasses. He’s never been intimidating without his wings hanging over his head, but right now, having just exited a room Amity’s not sure she’s actually allowed to be in—if he even knows of its existence—she finds herself completely paralyzed, eyes wide and mouth gaping helplessly open. 

“Good afternoon, sir!” she says quickly, trying to lean casually against the bookshelf that definitely had not just finished closing. “Um—having a good day?” 

She hopes he didn’t see. If he's seen, she might be banned from the secret room—or Emperor forbid, the library itself—and she’s not sure how she’ll ever explain that to her parents. She’ll have nowhere to study without fear of her siblings annoying her, nowhere to hide from the rest of the world. There’s something sharp and cold stuck in her throat, threatening to choke her. She pushes it back down. Play it cool. 

At the very least, the librarian doesn’t seem to have noticed where she came from. He says, in a higher-pitched voice than she would have expected, “Oh, you know. How’s it going for you, kid?” His eyes dart down to the book in her arms. “Find everything you need?” 

Amity relaxes, just a little. “This is mine,” she says, and then realizes how that sounds. “I mean—it’s for school, it’s a book I brought so I could study. I’m just leaving now.”

“Without anything new?”

She hesitates. “I haven’t really found anything to read in a while. Nothing that I can really get into, at least.” There’s a beat, during which she idly shifts her weight, and then decides to be honest. “It’s just been a boring day.”

“What? Dude,” he says, voice tapering close to a whine, “you should never be bored in a library.” 

Amity winces. It sounds even more pathetic when someone says it aloud. “I know. I used to have plenty of extracurriculars to attend to, but…”

“But?” 

“They didn’t work.” When it seems as if he’s not going to let her go without getting more, Amity shifts again. She doesn’t like to talk about this. “I used to play Grudgby, but I haven’t played in a while now. I do have an apprenticeship now—a good one!—so I’m focusing a lot on that right now.” 

The librarian tilts his head. “So why aren’t you working on that now, then?” 

She doesn’t have a real reason. I don’t want her to get mad at me isn’t a real reason, after all, and Amity absolutely cannot say that in front of someone like this. It’s bad enough that she’s even thinking it. Casting around, she replies, weakly, “She doesn’t need me today.” 

If nothing else, he doesn’t miss a beat. “Hm. So you need something to do, is that it?” 

Amity hesitates another second, then nods. She always does better when she’s explicitly told to do something. It’s simpler that way, easy to gauge what will and won’t get her in trouble. She appreciates direct instructions, and she’ll follow them without question. Usually. 

The demon grins. “What’s your name, kid?”

…Ah. 

She resists the urge to sigh, but answers politely. “Amity Blight.”

There’s always a point whenever she introduces herself when the other person gets a new look in their eye. Blight, she can always hear them think, this is a Blight. Their eyes will dart to her hair—will linger slightly longer if her roots are growing in—and then, as it goes, their attitude will usually change. For better and for worse. 

Then the librarian says, “Cool. My name’s Malphas. Would you be interested in volunteering here?”

Amity pauses. Nothing in his face had changed, and he’s still smiling. If he does recognize her last name, he’s not letting on. She’s—honestly not sure how to respond. 

A volunteer job at the library. On paper it sounds perfect; it’d give her something to do and she already spends half her time here anyway. It’d be a new experience, too, and certainly wouldn’t look bad on any official papers either. But Amity’s nearly positive that her parents will never accept something like this for no reason. She can’t say she’s bored, she can’t say she’s looking for something to do; they’d just assume she’s slacking on her classes. 

Her shoulders slump. “I don’t think I’d be allowed to. My parents are very concerned with my schoolwork.” 

“Oh,” Malphas says, tilting his head, “you’d get extra credit for it.” 

Extra credit. She can absolutely use that. 

“What would I be doing?” There’s plenty of options; research would be the most ideal, or organizing events to draw more people to the library in the first place. She knows her way around a clipboard—she would have made a great Student Council President, thank you very much—and just the thought of it makes her brighten. That would definitely look nice whenever she officially applies to the Emperor’s Coven.

So when Malphas’ response ends up being, “You’ll be reading to little witchlings!” Amity is somewhat thrown for a loop. 

“Oh,” she says, and then, “Oh.” 

He tilts his head. “You sound, like, disappointed or something.” 

She’s being horrifically rude right now. It’s her fault for getting too ahead of herself in the first place, and so she’s quick to backtrack. “Not disappointed! That just wasn’t what I was expecting. I don’t—think I would be very good at that.”

“What do you mean?” 

“Children,” she says, and winces at how that sounds. “I mean, witchlings are… hard to deal with, right? I doubt they’d like me very much.” She’s never really had to interact with people younger than her for more than a few minutes before, and just the thought makes her stomach twist with dread. What does she even do? Make jokes? She barely even knows any. She’d be no good at all. “You might want to look for a different person.” 

“What? Nah.” Malphas waves a hand listlessly, as if he’s sweeping all her doubts aside. “What’s your favorite bedtime story, kid?” 

Something comes to mind immediately, but Amity waits a few seconds before she answers. “Otabin.” 

“And why’s that one your fave?”

Because she’s always liked the character, especially when she was little and hadn’t yet met Willow. It’s embarrassing to say, but she’d related to his struggle in finding friends, and even now that experience doesn’t feel entirely dissimilar. She just has other things to worry about now that she’s older. 

She says, “Because his determination stuck through to the end and he was rewarded for it.” When Malphas gestures for her to say more, she pauses. “Um. He was good-hearted and didn’t let his unfortunate circumstances turn him into a bad person. I like his resolve.” 

Does this answer suffice? She’s not sure. She doesn’t even know what she’s just revealed about herself, if anything. This is why she doesn’t tell anyone about The Good Witch Azura. 

“Yeah, you’ll do great,” Malphas says finally, crossing his arms. A beat, in which he studies Amity’s doubtful expression. “And, hey, if not, you can always let me know and you won’t have to do it again. You’re not legally obligated, dude. It’s just an idea.” He pauses again, looking down at her with a kind look on his face. “Wanna try it out?” 

She’s not sure. On one hand she’s still fairly certain that she’s going to be bad at it, and there’s almost nothing Amity loathes more than being bad at something, but on the other hand, she may have boredom slightly more. 

Plus, if it goes badly, she can always abandon the library entirely, no matter how much that would throw off her weekly schedule. 

Amity sucks in a short breath. “Okay,” she says. “I’ll try.” 

Malphas smiles. 

All things considered, her first reading session comes ridiculously fast, only a few days after she first meets Malphas. Her parents had been delighted at the sound of extra credit, just as Amity had assumed they would be, and she’s definitely not nervous about it, not at all. 

She heads over to the library right after classes end and gets her volunteer card from Malphus. Despite any hesitations, it does feel nice to put it around her neck, having something that she’s involved in, even if it’s still shiny and new. 

“They’re waiting for you,” Malphas tells her kindly. “You’ve got this, dude.” 

Amity’s got this. Definitely. 

By the time she makes it to the room she’ll be reading in, the children are all sitting and waiting for her, just like Malphas had said. They’re also all staring at her, and they stare even more as she hesitantly picks her way to the front of the room. Already uncomfortable, Amity wonders if she’s supposed to say something. She’s not sure what she would say, and so she keeps her mouth shut.

“What’s your name?” asks a child with a shockingly deep voice.

His face, warped and red and toothy, is kind and unassuming, tiny fingers gripping at the top of his cowl in a familiar position. A Hexside student. Amity looks down at him for a moment, him and the rest of the kids. There’s all sorts of them today; some Hexside, some Glandus, and she thinks she can spot a single kid wearing a St. Epiderm uniform near the very back. They all seem very excited. 

Amity takes a deep breath. “I’m Amity,” she says. “I’ll be reading to you guys today.”

Another kid raises their arm, but they start speaking before she can do anything like wave at them. “What book is it?” 

It’s not Otabin. Amity had been allowed to choose the book, but she didn’t want to come off as obsessed. Instead, she’d looked around and found a children’s version of another favorite of hers. 

She smiles, trying to exude both confidence and kindness. “It’s called The Lone Witch & Secret Room.” 

“What’s it about?” asks the first kid. He’s since sat back down, finding himself a spot near the front. At his question, more heads seem to perk up. They’re curious. 

“It’s about a witch,” Amity says after a moment. “Who feels as if she doesn’t belong anywhere. The story is about her finding someplace for herself where she can exist.” She pauses. “There’s dragons.”

“Cool!” says the kid, and though his expression doesn’t change, something about the excitement in his voice calms her nerves, just a little. “Are the dragons good guys?”

“That would be a spoiler,” Amity replies, trying to relax. “Would you like to find out?” 

He says, “Yes,” at the same time another kid goes, “Yes, yes!” and another after that starts to clap her hands. Amity’s shoulders feel less tense already. 

“Okay,” she says, going to sit on the stool set aside for her. “Let’s get started.”)

 

.

 

.

 

.

 

“Ugh,” Amity groans, her head throbbing, “why does he have to care now?” 

Sometimes it seems as if having an attentive father is more trouble than it’s worth. Case in point: Alador is apparently sure enough of himself to forbid her from leaving the house or working on any projects until she’s feeling better, despite the fact that the illness in question is clearly something fleeting and will be gone within a day, if not less. 

(“I’m putting my foot down,” he’d said with not even a flicker of indecision on his face, “and you are staying in bed until you’re feeling better.” 

Because he’s a jerk. Obviously.)

Now she lies here in her room, miserable, resenting him with every bone in her body. Part of that is probably just because she feels miserable in general, but Amity would love to believe that everything that currently hurts is her father’s fault. Just for prosperity. 

“I mean, Dad’s right,” Edric argues from her other side. Immediately, he winces. “Which isn’t exactly something I ever thought I’d say, but—”

“You needed a break anyway,” Emira interrupts him, crossing her arms over her chest with a stern expression. “You’ve been overworking yourself for weeks and were bound to come down with something. You’re just lucky it’s just a mold.”

“But—” Amity sighs; she twists her head around to look at her sister, but that only increases the pulsing in her forehead, and she closes her eyes until it dulls once more. “Luz and I were supposed to meet at the market today—”

“So we’ll tell her you can’t come,” this time it’s her who Emira cuts off. “The world isn’t going to end just because you have to cancel on your girlfriend one time.” 

It might, Amity thinks but doesn’t say, holding off in order to save herself from the teasing that would follow. She does say, “It’s not like either of you would know for sure.” 

Edric’s mouth drops open; for a moment, head spinning, Amity wonders if she’s genuinely offended him, but then he huffs out a laugh before he starts to reply, and she relaxes once more. “Wow! It’s not my fault I’m so intimidating, is it? I’m just too out of everyone else’s league,” he adds, crossing his arms pointedly. “No one wants to get too close because they know they’re not cool enough.” 

“Ed,” Emira says, a smile twitching at the corner of her mouth, “you got rejected by Jerbo Dominicus last week.” 

He glares at her. “You swore never to speak of that again.” 

“You spoke about it just last night when you told me that you were completely over him, actually, and it’s for good that he said n—”

“Yeah, but it’s fine when I speak about it!” Edric throws his hands up in the air, glasses slipping further down his nose. “I’m the one grieving here!” 

Emira sighs. “You—I—” she sucks a deep breath through her nose, letting it out more slowly than the last. “I don’t know why I even bother.”

He doesn’t seem to have an immediate response to that, and Edric’s eyebrows bunch furiously over his glasses. Seizing her chance to speak, Amity says, dryly, “Wow, thanks for the show.” 

They’re both absolutely ridiculous. It’s not as if she’d ever expected them to grow up— her siblings, no way—but she really has gotten better at handling them, dealing with the absurdities as they come. But that’s when she’s feeling her best. Today—though she’s not sick, not really—is clearly not her best. Unfortunately. 

“Wow,” Emira says. “Do you want us to leave?”

“That would be wonderful, actually,” Amity replies, shutting her eyes. “You are both so loud.” 

“I’ll have you know that we’ve actually gotten much quieter over the years!” Edric protests, loudly. A beat, in which Emira definitely shoots him a side-eye, and then he adds, “Sorry. Yeah, we’ll go.” 

“Call if you need us,” Emira says, just as Edric goes, “Let us know if you need anything,” and Amity would roll her eyes if her head wasn’t aching just thinking about it. She hates it when they do that. 

“Yeah,” she grunts, keeping her eyes shut. “Sure. Bye.” 

And then they’re gone. She supposes there’s that; when she’s sick, they’re less instigative for sure, which she appreciates. Not that she’s actually sick, of course, but the thought is still there. 

Amity gets about forty-five seconds of blissful silence before it’s interrupted by her scroll vibrating. She knows who it is before she even looks at it. 

Seriously—how does her mother know her siblings have just left the room? If Amity were a more paranoid person, she may have been concerned about Odalia potentially using a Scrying potion to spy on her. If her mother would ever stoop to using Potions magic, that is. 

She toys with the idea of not answering, but if her mother wants to speak to her, her mother is going to speak to her. If she doesn’t answer this call, there’s going to be another one and then another and then another until she finally picks up. Amity would just like this to be over with. Quick, Titan willing. 

“Uh—” Because the world is against her, the moment she swipes to answer the call she’s cut off with a sneezing fit, eventually coming back to the scroll to continue, weakly, “hi, mom.” 

“Amity? Are you sick?”

She bites back the urge to explain herself—Blights don’t get sick, Blights certainly don’t take sick days —and just says, “I’m fine. Just the mold, I think—I’m okay, really. Do you need something?” 

“I was just calling to let you know that my new display is going to be released next month,” her mother says. “You’re invited, of course, as are your siblings.”

Amity’s not sure there’s something she’d like to go to less. “Um. Thanks,” she replies, throat thick for a couple reasons. “I’ll let them know. We might be busy, but—”

“Of course,” Odalia interrupts. “It’s just an offer.” Then she sighs; it doesn’t sound annoyed, but it is sharp. Head still spinning, Amity’s not sure if it’s one of her normal sighs or not. “Well, if you’re not feeling your best, I should probably let you go.” 

“Is that all you needed?”

A pause. “I believe so,” her mother says, and then, before Amity can even really get her hopes up, “Oh! Wait, before I go—”

“Yes?”

This time, when her mother pauses, it feels more calculated. Amity’s immediately on alert, even if it’s exhausting to be so. “It seems,” Odalia croons, “that I am getting older. Unfortunately, my work is finally starting to catch up to me, and I’ve started getting gray hairs.” 

Amity cannot even imagine her mother with gray hairs. She stays silent. 

“So,” her mother goes on, “I think I may need to start dying my hair, just like you did. Do you have any recommendations?” 

“Um,” Amity says, only after she’s sure it’s her turn to speak, “I mean—I can send you the brand name that I used to use, sure. I don’t remember it, but I can find it again for you. If you want.” 

“That would be wonderful.” Now she can hear Odalia smiling. “I trust your judgement on this sort of thing, since you used it for so long. Amity,” she adds then, tone shifting ever so slightly. “Would you not ever be interested in dying your hair again?” 

The only reason it takes Amity more than a split second to reply is because she never thought she would have had to answer this question. “No.”

“Why ever not?” 

“It’s not something I’d want to do again.” 

“But you looked so pretty with green.”

Amity had hated the way she looked with green hair. She’d tried to love it— it’s an honor, she’d told herself, day after day after day, an honor to uphold the family image —but it had never quite been able to stick. There had been a short period of time where she tried to pretend that the color was based on Azura, but even that hadn’t been worth it. She’d hated it, and Odalia knows that. 

“No.” She doesn’t back down in the slightest. Already the pulsing in her head is worse than before, and she rubs at her temple wearily, dropping back down against her pillow. “Mom, I’m not feeling very good. Is that all you needed?” 

Luz has texted, anyway. Amity waits to read it, listening to her mother’s breaths as she hesitates to respond. 

“Well, all right. Feel better, dear,” Odalia says, and then hangs up before Amity’s even able to say goodbye.

She should probably worry about that—it only means her mother will be more upset next time—but right now, she honestly can’t bring herself to care. Shaking her head, Amity sighs and goes to pull up her messaging chain with Luz. 

Batata: sorry youre sick :( do u want me to come over? i can bring eye scream! 

Amity smiles. 

Luz is one of the kindest people she’s ever met. Even now, she’s able to make Amity smile. She may not ever feel as if she deserves her, but she hopes she makes Luz feel even a fraction of the way Luz makes her feel. 

Amity decides that she can forget about her mother for today. There are more important people to spend her time on.

 

.

 

.

 

.

 

(Amity’s eighteen, and as she steps up to the door of the Noceda household, all she can hope is that she isn’t sweating too visibly. 

She’s aware enough to know that her hands are shaking visibly, just a little bit, and so she tucks one of them into her pocket for safekeeping, the other clutched tight around a bouquet of lava lilies that, miraculously, had survived the trip through the Portal Door. (She’s not sure what she would have done if they hadn’t. Died, maybe.)

It’s a beautiful day; through some saving grace it’s not unbearably hot outside—which would not help with her potential sweat issue—and though the breeze is rare, it brings with it a cool relief. She’d passed more than one human walking while on her way here, but thankfully the neighborhood itself seems to be quiet, no one around to witness any fumbling that may or may not be about to happen. 

“Okay,” Amity says aloud, taking a few deep breaths. “Okay. Come on, Amity. I’ve got this.” Another breath, this one held tight between her teeth. She releases it slowly, closing her eyes. Luz loves her, she knows. Luz loves her, Luz loves her. 

She can do this.

Hanging on to that exact thought, she adjusts her hand on the bouquet to hold it up a little more properly, and then, as ready as she’ll ever be, she leans forward and knocks smartly at the door. 

Tonight will go fine. Nothing can possibly go wrong—not with how well Amity’s planned it—and even if it does—a horrible but necessary thing to consider—Luz won’t begrudge her of it. She knows this, and it’s that which gets her through the agonizing wait before someone answers her knock. 

After what must have only been mere seconds, Amity’s ears prick as she hears footsteps approach the door. She straightens her back, doing a quick check to ensure that the flowers have indeed not imploded during the few moments since she looked at them last, and then, scrambling a bit to find a suitable position for her other hand, finally places it on her hip, hoping the stance comes off more confident than she feels. 

The door’s handle starts to turn. Smiling, Amity opens her mouth, ready to greet her girlfriend, and then goes very still when it immediately becomes clear that Luz’s mother is the one opening the door instead. 

“Oh,” Amity says, deflating, and then panics. That had been rude. “Er—good afternoon, Mrs. Noceda! How are you doing today?” 

Mrs. Noceda beams, her smile remarkably similar to Luz’s own. “Amity, estimada, it’s so good to see you! Come in, come in,” she says, stepping aside to allow Amity access to the house. “Luz is still getting ready to go, but she should be downstairs soon.” Then, spotting the flowers as Amity takes a step inside, she adds, “How pretty! Did you make that yourself?”

Amity flushes, feeling a tinge of pride. “Yeah, I found them in the woods behind the Owl House earlier today,” she admits, passing the bouquet to her other hand as she talks. “Do you think Luz will like them?” 

“I think she’ll love them.” Mrs. Noceda is closing the door behind her, a proud look on her face. “She’s still getting ready, but she should be done soon. You can wait just in here, of course.” 

“Oh, t—that’s fine,” Amity says, still nervous. The butterflies in her stomach only increase upon hearing Luz’s name, and she has to focus to ensure she doesn’t trip right over her own feet. “I’m in no rush.” 

As she shifts her weight, unsure of where to go, there comes a clatter from the other side of the hallway. Startled, Amity looks to see Vee hanging her head out of the kitchen, a spoon in her hand as she waves. “Hi, Amity! You look cool.” 

Amity looks down reflexively, as if she’s completely forgotten what she’s wearing. The lilac suit had been her own idea, but the black shirt underneath had been all Emira’s. They’d both deliberated over Amity wearing a tie, and had eventually decided on a small one; golden, like the old light Glyphs. (Or, Emira had said slyly, like your eyes, you know.) 

“Cool is certainly a word for it,” Mrs. Noceda laughs kindly. “Luz isn’t going to know what to do with herself.” She leans closer, almost conspiratorially, and adds in a quiet voice, “She’s been worrying about her own outfit for days.” 

That makes Amity feel better. She’s sure her siblings had come close to tearing out their own hair with how much she’d been bothering them all day, but she’s happy with how she looks, and despite all her worries, she knows Luz loves her. Luz loves her. 

“How’d you get your ears to be all round?” Vee asks, squinting at her hair. “Illusion spell?”

“Something Gus showed me,” Amity chirps proudly. “I figured that would be easier than trying to cover them up all night. The magic’s supposed to laugh for eight hours on its own.” 

An interested grin spreads across Vee’s face. “Ooh I wonder if that would work on me. I’ll ask him next time I see him.” She finally emerges from the kitchen, a bowl of eye scream—or, ice cream, as it’s called here—in her hands. Flashing a peace sign, she starts heading back up the stairs to her room. “Have fun!”

“Fascinating,” Mrs. Noceda muses, taking a seat on the couch. She gestures for Amity to join her, and she does. “Does that mean there can just be witches walking around with round ears? Is there any way to tell?”

“Most witches don’t seem to be very interested in the Human Realm in the first place,” Amity says, which is true; in fact, the more Luz tells people about her home, the more scared of it they seem. “But even if anyone were to sneak through, the new Portal Door keeps a record of everyone who uses it, human and witch and demon alike.”

It’s just to be used in worst-case scenarios. That had been Eda’s idea, and Luz had agreed quickly, not wanting any potential dimensional wars to come about because they weren’t careful about a Portal to a different Realm. In any case, Luz’s mother seems more than satisfied in this response, taking the information with an interested Hmm! and Amity tries not to give herself a pat on the back for simply knowing something. 

“So,” Mrs. Noceda says then, changing the subject. “How's school coming? Ready for graduation?” 

Amity chuckles, gaze darting down to her feet. “I think so. I’m studying nearly nonstop, so I’m hoping exams will go okay.”

“I can only imagine what it means for you to be studying ‘nearly nonstop,’” Mrs. Noceda teases gently. “Don’t stress yourself out, estimada. I believe in you, and if your… excitable siblings can graduate, I have no doubt you will, too.” 

Camila Noceda’s meeting with Edric and Emira had certainly been an interesting moment in Amity’s life. She thinks Mrs. Noceda tends to exaggerate her reaction to them as a joke, but there had been a solid few minutes where Amity had wanted to do nothing but drag her siblings away before they could do more damage. She’s closer to Edric and Emira than she ever used to be, but they can still be a lot, and it’s not as if they’ve ever protested that particular fact, either. 

Amity laughs self-consciously, still unsure how to take the compliment about her grades. “Thank you. I’m going to do my best.”

“Your best will be more than enough,” Mrs. Noceda says confidently. “Luz and I both know that.” Then, another thought coming to her, she leans back, looking at Amity with a renewed fervor. “Are you eating enough, dear? You need to come here more often and have dinner with us. Is Luz actually inviting you all those times, or is she just telling me she is?” 

“Luz is! I’m just busier right now,” Amity’s quick to say. Luz invites her over for dinner nearly every time she sees Amity, and it’s clear that it’s not just her mother who wants it. “I always love eating here.” 

“Hm. So you say, at least.” Mrs. Noceda sends her a wink, and Amity smiles back. She finds she’s less nervous around Luz’s mother every time she speaks to her. 

Suddenly there comes a clatter from upstairs. Now Amity winces, and then shares an amused look with Mrs. Noceda as a shout reaches their ears only a few seconds later. “I’m coming, sorry!”

Luz seems to be done. Amity gets to her feet, the nerves suddenly back, and Mrs. Noceda follows her, placing a gentle hand on the small of her back as they wait for Luz to come down the stairs. Multiple thumps are then heard, and finally those concerning sounds give way to Luz’s figure, taking the steps two at a time in her haste. 

By the time she’s made it to the first floor, every single thought in Amity’s head has already vacated the premises. 

Luz is wearing a dark purple pantsuit that extends all the way down, tucking into a pair of tall, dark boots that Amity’s never seen her wear before. The same purple continues down off her shoulders and ends in a flat ripple near her ankles, giving her the illusion of wearing a cape. It’s silly, absolutely dorky—Amity’s half-sure Azura wears something similar in one of the horrible movies—and Amity cannot take her eyes off her. 

She’s  stunning.

“Woah.” Luz is the first to speak, equally as wide-eyed. “Your hair is like… woah.” 

Amity’s not done anything different to it, but she supposes the normal itself is still fairly new, having only shaved the sides less than a week ago. Luz’s reaction is worth it every time, even if it’s a little embarrassing to happen in front of Mrs. Noceda. 

She says, falteringly, “Hi.” 

Luz lets out a single, nervous chuckle. “Hi.” 

It takes her a few seconds, but Amity finally remembers the bouquet of flowers she’s holding. “Oh! These are for you,” she says, holding them out for Luz to take. “I—hope you like them.”

“Woah,” Luz says, for the third time. The way she holds the bouquet is almost reverent, and Amity feels a flush of pride work its way down her spine. “These are so cool.” 

In the back of her mind, Amity’s sure that this happening in front of Luz’s mother is something she’ll surely wallow over later, but right this moment she can’t care less. She swallows, but her throat is suddenly dry, and she has to try a few more times before anything substantial can actually come out of her mouth. 

“Um. Are you ready to go?” 

“Huh?” Luz’s eyes snap to hers, and Amity tries her best to ignore the pleased rumble in her chest. “Oh! Yeah! All good here!” Effectively trying to snap herself out of it, Luz relaxes her posture and starts to head towards the door, waving for Amity to follow her. 

She’s halfway through a dramatic bow before Mrs. Noceda reminds them both of her presence. 

Camila Noceda halts them both in their tracks with a snapped, “Wait!” and Amity freezes. “Oh no, you’re not leaving until I get pictures.”

Luz’s face scrunches up with disgust as she starts to back away. “Mami, it’s not like we’re going to prom or anything. It’s just dinner!”

“It’s not just dinner,” her mother argues, crossing her arms. “It’s not every day that you celebrate your three-year anniversary! Now come on, line up. Solo serán unos minutos. Indulge your poor Mami, won’t you?” 

Still grumbling under her breath, Luz shoots Amity a look that says It’s probably easier to just agree, and, unable to fight back the smile still spreading across her face, Amity thinks she’s probably right. She also doesn’t totally disagree either; it’ll be nice to have a physical memory to hold onto.

In the end, Mrs. Noceda stays true to her word. The photos really do just take a minute or two; she directs Luz and Amity into various poses as she angles her phone to get just the right lighting, and by the time it’s over, Luz is laughing, the bouquet of lava lilies now placed safely on the front table. Amity can’t stop shooting glances at her—though admittedly she doesn’t try too hard—and she’s not sure there’s anything more delightful in the world than Luz’s smile. 

Soon enough, Camila Noceda’s phone is tucked right back into her pocket, and she beams at them, seemingly satisfied. “All right, have fun, kids! No te quedes fuera demasiado tarde, entendido?” 

“Si, Mami,” Luz groans, just as Amity says, “Yes ma’am!” and Mrs. Noceda smiles. 

“That’s what I like to hear. Now go, go, go!” She claps her hands together, effectively shooing them out the door. “Vee and I are going to watch a movie. Have a nice movie!”

She closes the door behind them, and Luz says, “I think she may have been too excited about me leaving the house.”

“Uh-oh,” Amity teases, “is Vee winning at being the favorite right now?” 

Luz shrugs playfully. “No, I get it. No one could compare to a shape-shifter, could they?” Her face is soft when she says it, and Amity wonders if she knows. Luz’s affection for others has always burned bright, but her care for Vee has always been particularly endearing to witness. 

Amity loves her so much. 

“Anyway,” Luz says. She rolls her shoulders, puffing out her chest. “You ready?” 

When Amity looks, Luz is waiting for her with a sly expression on her face, made incredibly more ridiculous by the way she tries—and fails—to wink, holding out her arm for Amity to take. Irritatingly enough, the boots she’s wearing serve to make her even taller than the usual two inches she has on Amity. Even more horrifying is that this is working for her. She’s wonderful. 

Amity loops her arm through Luz’s own, smiling back. “Let’s go.”)

 

.

 

.

 

.

 

She’s lucky, at least, that her mother waits until she’s back home before she calls. 

It’s been a long day—Amity’s always known that her graduation day would be fast-paced, but she hadn’t at all been prepared for how much it actually turned out to be. She and Luz are the only ones here, having stopped back at Alador’s home to shower and change, but the plan is to leave soon and meet up with everyone else for a celebratory dinner. Amity’s all ready herself, waiting in her room as Luz finishes up with her own shower. It’s been a long day already, but it’s also been a good one, everything going off without a hitch, and she supposes it’s only fair that an issue arises the moment it can. 

So when her scroll begins to ring, she doesn’t even have to look at the name to know who it is. “Mother,” she says when she answers, and tilts her head back against the pillow to preemptively ward off any incoming headaches. 

“Amity!” 

“Hi, mom.” Amity tries to force a smile in her voice. Odalia’s absence from the graduation ceremony itself had neither been a surprise or necessarily a bad thing, though she’s sure that won’t be mentioned at all. 

“So,” her mother says, “you’re finally done, yes? How did it go?” 

“About as well as anyone could hope. It didn’t rain, so we had it outside,” Amity tells her. “I’m back home now, but Luz and I are going to meet up with everyone to eat dinner in an hour or so.” She doesn’t extend an invitation. Her mother wouldn’t take it even if she did, and she doesn’t think it’s a good idea at all to even try. 

“Wonderful. Well, then.” Odalia pauses for a moment, as if she’s trying to get her thoughts in order. “How would you like to come and work for me and the company for a little while?” 

Now it’s Amity’s turn to hesitate. “...What?”

“I think it’d be a wonderful opportunity for you,” Odalia says, carrying on without a care in the world. “You’d be given a fair start in the world, and you know how much passion I hold for this venture. It’d be perfect.” 

Stunned and racking her brain, Amity doesn’t think she even knows which company her mother’s talking about. There seems to be a new one every few weeks, and Amity stopped committing them to memory long ago. It’s hardly even a question for so many reasons, and really, the only answer is—

“No.” 

A pause. Then Odalia sniffs, like she hadn’t expected Amity to say anything other than Yes, thank you, that’d be wonderful.

She asks, voice like steel, “Where else are you planning to go?”

“I—don’t have a concrete plan,” Amity replies stiffly. “I’m figuring it out as I go.” 

This is something she’s struggled with, something she’s finally starting to get a handle on, the idea of going with the flow of things. She’d spent nearly her entire life meticulously planning, never focusing on the present, and now she’s trying the opposite. Nothing is set in stone, not yet, and that’s somehow freeing. 

Not that her mother is going to understand that. 

“Thank you, but I don’t need your help,” Amity goes on, before Odalia can respond. “I’ll find my own place in the world. It’s my life.”

“Amity,” her mother says, “I suggest you think very deeply on this. I am offering you the chance of a lifetime, and you’re not even considering it. The daughter I raised would understand the smart decision here.”

Amity’s blood boils. The daughter she raised had hated herself for so long, is still trying to learn how not to, how to be better. She says, trying to keep her tone steady, “I’m my own person. I don’t have to be helped along by my last name.” 

This time, Odalia doesn’t miss a beat. “What, you think you’re anything beyond the Blight name? You barely even qualify. You never have.” 

A few years ago, that would have devastated Amity to hear. Her only goal while growing up had been to be more like the Blight she was, to make her mother and her father proud and to change whatever she needed to about so that she’d make them proud. She used to crave her mother’s attention like nothing else, used to want to hear You did well and You’ve made me proud and You’re exactly what a Blight should be more than anything else in her life. 

Not anymore.

Amity doesn’t reply. She doesn’t know what to say, doesn’t know how to convey any of what she’s thinking. It’s not like Odalia would even understand anyway, and so she stays silent, waiting for the other shoe to drop. (A human metaphor; Amity quite likes it.)

She’s right: her mother hangs up without another word, and Amity doesn’t even have to end the call herself. She feels—strange. She, newly graduated and capable of making her own adult decisions—comes this close from screaming into her pillow. If only her teachers could see her now. 

Screaming into a pillow or not, nothing can stop Amity from letting out a loud and exasperated sigh, and because she forgets to be subtle, it’s noticed. 

“Amity?” It’s Luz, of course, entering the room quietly, face soft and hair still damp. “Was that your mom?”

Amity had forgotten she was even here, Luz’s presence in the bathroom dwindling down to insignificance in the face of Odalia’s anger. Her memory’s not usually so bad, but something about her mother always gets her head spinning. Another thing she loathes. 

She doesn’t even consider lying. It wouldn’t work, and Luz knows her better than that. Yeah,” she says tiredly, pulling herself up to a sitting position. “That was her.”

Luz makes some noise in her throat. “How often does she try to contact you?”

Too often, Amity thinks. At least once a month. There are usually two and a half weeks in between calls. This week has been so busy, she thinks, that I forgot to worry about it. 

Aloud, she says, “...Often.” 

(I always answer, she thinks.)

“Oh, sweet potato.” The bed sinks slightly as Luz sits down next to her. Amity avoids her eyes. Her hands are shaking, just slightly, and she curls them together to hide it. “I’m sorry.”

Amity swallows. “It’s not your fault.” 

It’s no one’s but her own. She’s still the one who allows herself to be hurt, every time. She hardly even deserves to be comforted about it; the whole thing is so stupid. 

Stll, without another word, warm arms envelop her from behind. Unsurprised, Amity finds herself sinking into her touch, already feeling that much lighter. Luz’s affection has always been all-encompassing, more powerful than anything else she’s ever encountered in her life, and that hasn’t changed at all over the years. 

“Why—do you still talk to her?” There’s no judgment to be heard, the tip of Luz’s nose pressing softly into the prickly baby hairs of Amity’s undercut. “It’s okay if you don’t have an answer.”

Amity has an answer. 

She’s never not known her mother, is the thing. Obviously. Odalia’s always been there, since before Amity can remember. She’s always hated her, always craved her attention, always wanted her to be proud. Even during the worst times, Amity’s never been able to resist the thought of Odalia throwing a compliment her way, giving her an approving nod or a proud tap to her shoulder. She’d grown up starved for any kind of sentiment like that. 

And— obviously —she knows that her mother is not a good person. She’s known that nearly the entire time, probably, even when she listened to every word she said. Odalia’s too self-absorbed, too concerned with appearances, and she drags every other person down with her. 

But every time Amity even considers the idea of never speaking to her mother again, she can only remember Luz’s face on the anniversary of her dad’s death, half-shattered and trying desperately to pretend that everything was okay. That night had shaken Amity to her core, and ever since, the thought of distancing herself from her mother entirely has haunted her. What if, as messed up as it is, she still needs her? What if Amity stops talking to Odalia but then continues to hate those same parts of herself? What will she do then? 

She honestly has no idea how to say that without having Luz immediately blame herself. She’s still prone to that kind of self-deprecation, even after all these years, and Amity couldn’t live with herself if Luz were to take Amity’s issue on her own shoulders. Not again. Luz has done so much for her, and to burden her again would be the worst thing in the world. 

But she has to say something. Luz is waiting, quietly, and Amity has to tell the truth. She’d never lie to her. 

So she does. 

“I don’t know who I am without her,” Amity finally admits, shutting her eyes as if that’ll save her the embarrassment. “Even now, I feel like—nothing whenever she speaks to me. But she raised me, turned me into the witch I am now, even if that’s just because I learned to go against her. I—” she takes a deep breath. “She created every version of me that still exists, if only because I have to make sure I never turn out like she did. So if I never talk to her again… what does that make me?” 

Luz takes a moment to reply, and when she does, her voice is gentle. “Amity,” she says, sounding sad and in love and everything in between, “can you look at me?” 

Amity could never deny her. 

When she does, Luz is already gazing back, eyes soft and brimming with emotion. As Amity turns her head, Luz is ready to reach her hands up and cup Amity’s face, holding her with the utmost of reverence. Titan. Luz hasn’t even said anything yet, and Amity’s already blinking back tears. 

“Amity Blight,” Luz says fiercely, “you are everything, no matter what that woman does or hasn’t done. She’s never deserved you, and you have to know that.” She leans back, but never stops touching Amity. “She’s just a miserable old woman, and she shouldn’t have to ruin today for you.” 

She’s right, of course. Luz is rarely ever wrong, which is a trait Amity finds simultaneously impressive, admirable, and sometimes irritating. In this case, it’s not the latter. 

“You,” Amity says, swallowing, “may be just a little biased in that regard. Just a little,” she goes on, unable to keep from smiling at the look of utter outrage that crosses Luz’s face, the atmosphere softening. “A smidge.”

“What, you think that you being my girlfriend has any impact on how I see you? That’s just silly.” Luz crosses her arms, pouting something fierce. Still, her eyes are soft when her smile returns, crooked in the most delightful way. “Look, I’ll set Stringbean on her if you want. I’m sure Ghost would like to help! We can make a day of it.” 

She’s ridiculous. “I don’t think we need to go that far.”

“But I will if I have to.” 

Amity knows she would. She’s not sure she could ever put to words how much that means to her, but she thinks Luz may know anyway. She always has. 

“And,” Luz adds, tilting her head to better study Amity’s face, “whatever happens, I’ll be right there with you.” Her expression turns teasing, though the gentleness never fades from her touch. “You can’t get rid of me that easy, Blight.” 

Still ridiculous. She’s just talking, just being that same confident Luz that she’s always been, just being as close to perfect as anyone could be.  

Here’s the really crazy part: Amity believes her. 

 

.

 

.

 

.

 

(She’s right to believe her. Like always, Luz makes good on her promise, and she’s already by Amity’s side the next time Odalia calls.

It’s been nearly three weeks since they graduated from Hexside. Tonight they’re at the Noceda household, curled up on the couch and watching Azura the Movie: The Reawakening for the third time. It’s Amity’s favorite of the (admittedly pretty bad) Azura films, and Luz enjoys quoting nearly the entire thing under her breath. That’s almost more entertaining than the movie itself, and sometimes Amity loves her so much it feels as if her heart will burst from it. 

It happens in the midst of Hecate’s big speech, because clearly everything concerning Amity’s mother has to be intrusive. Arguably the best moment in the movie, Hecate has finally broken herself free from the main villain’s mind-control, and, grabbing onto Azura’s arm, declares her intention to help her fight. It’s a beautiful scene, and Amity’s scroll starting to vibrate while halfway through ruins it entirely.

She’s already frowning as she looks down, going to just turn it off, but just once glance at the name—like always—freezes her in place. Her shoulders go stiff. That warm feeling in her chest has turned to ice. 

Luz notices, of course. She pauses the movie, taking great care to take Amity’s hand. Without a word, she intertwines their fingers, squeezing gently. She doesn’t say a word. 

Amity shoots her a glance. Luz only smiles. 

The call is still incoming. 

Releasing a short, controlled breath, Amity declines it. Then she swipes up to block the number. Her mother won’t be able to message her again. Not unless she seeks her out physically, that is, and Amity has a feeling Odalia’s pride won’t allow her to do that.

Because she’s wonderful, Luz doesn’t make a big deal out of it. All she does is wrap her arm around Amity’s shoulders, squeezing softly. Unpauses the movie after another moment. Allows Amity to slump into her touch as the scene continues to play on the TV. She still doesn’t say a single word, but there’s a proud tinge to her smile when Amity looks. 

Somehow, it’s that easy.)

Notes:

if you've somehow made it to the end, thank you so much for reading!

I've been working on this fic since essentially the final episode of ToH aired, and while I know that it's been a while and that this is coming fairly late, I hope it's still managed to have a few of the same emotions I felt while writing it.

This show has been a phenomenal part of my life for the past few years, and it's something that will undoubtedly stick with me for a very long time. My writing has easily improved because of it--and because of the amount of fic I've written for it--and many of the characters, especially Amity, have found their way inside my heart. Amity Blight is one of my favorite fictional characters of all time, and I doubt that's going to change. I hope I did her justice here.

Anyway; again, thank you for reading! I really hope you had fun with this piece. I had an absolute blast writing it.

Have a great day!

 

-Smo