Chapter Text
"I swore my loyalty to me, myself and I Right before you lit my sky up"
— "The Fate of Ophelia", Taylor Swift
Sarah Alder had lived for more than three centuries. She had commanded armies, waged wars, freed slaves, and witnessed a world in constant transformation—so fast and so brutal that at times it became unbearable. She had seen too much. She had done even more. And she had endured it all with the steely composure and coldness that, over time, became both her shield and her defining trait.
Not that Sarah was a cold woman, not in essence. But when you've lost so many people, when you know that no one will live as long as you and that inevitably every bond will be severed by the passage of time... then opening yourself to others becomes a rarity, a dangerous luxury. And yet, lately she felt she was already allowing herself too much, especially with her Biddies and with Anacostia.
She had had true friendships, sisters—by blood and by soul—and enough lovers to lose count. But there was one experience, just one, that she had never gone through in all her long existence: marriage.
Just thinking about it made her uncomfortable. Unnatural. She wasn't made for that, and she knew it. Even now, when marriage had been reduced to a simple contract devoid of affection, a formality sealed with signatures and the functional purpose of perpetuating a bloodline. It didn't matter how stripped of romance it was.
Sarah had witnessed true love.
She had seen unions founded on something more than utility or duty. For many people, marriage was sacred. And that kind of surrender, that intimate promise... was something she couldn't offer. Not really. Not under normal circumstances.
But these were not normal circumstances.
Now she walked through the matrifocal complex in her impeccable military uniform, hands clasped behind her back, gripped perhaps a bit tighter than usual, flanked by her Biddies as always. Her stride was straight and purposeful, the complete opposite of the chaos that was her mind.
How had she ended up in this? How had they cornered her like this? How had they managed to convince her?
She clenched her teeth, almost without noticing, as she remembered Wade. Perhaps it hadn't been her idea originally, but when the proposal arrived, she did nothing to stop it. On the contrary. She encouraged it. She held Sarah's gaze with that satisfied expression, as if enjoying Sarah's discomfort, and told her in a calm voice:
"You undoubtedly understand what sacrifice is, General Alder. Besides, isn't that what's expected of you? You can't ask your people to do something you're not willing to do yourself."
The words fell like thunder inside Sarah. How dare she? How dare she insinuate that Sarah promoted practices like this, or worse, that she imposed them on her soldiers?
With each phrase, Wade revealed her ignorance regarding the true nature of her people. Or perhaps it wasn't ignorance... Maybe she simply thought little of Sarah.
And yet, as insulting as her attitude was, Sarah couldn't say the same about her strategic understanding. Wade knew perfectly well how critical the Army's situation was: the number of witches decreased every year, while Spree attacks became more ferocious, more frequent. The gap between strength and threat was becoming increasingly unbridgeable.
No, in that aspect Wade was not ignorant. She knew her witches very well, their gifts, their tactical importance, and how to extract maximum advantage from them on the battlefield. And that's precisely why she did nothing but pressure Sarah again and again, backed by the insistent Secretary of Defense who had supported the idea from the beginning. Because, of course, who could be more appropriate for this than Sarah Alder herself?
But for Sarah, the logic was exactly the opposite. Why her? Wasn't it enough to be the general of the United States Army? Didn't there exist absolutely anyone else who could take care of such a matter?
However, Wade and that damned fawning bureaucrat of a Secretary of Defense—whose name Sarah hadn't even bothered to remember—had insisted to the point of exhaustion.
It was true that they were going through an alarming personnel crisis. Every year more witches chose to defy mandatory military service, becoming fugitives or, worse yet, joining the Spree directly. And if this was already worrying, the birth rate, which had been falling for decades, made it a desperate situation.
The Army needed recruits, cadets, capable witches. Sarah understood this perfectly, but what was she supposed to do about it?
Because, despite understanding the gravity of the situation, this simply felt wrong. Horribly wrong. How could she justify imposing this burden on a family that had every legal and moral right to remain on the sidelines of the Army? How could she force a mother who had already lost four sisters to live in terror at the thought of losing her daughter too?
But there was no alternative. They didn't have enough recruits, and the Craven lineage, known for the gift of Sight, was too valuable to waste precisely now. Witches with this talent were crucial for military planning: they could serve as expert spies, formidable scouts, vital personnel in combat, capable of seeing through even the most complex illusions. Sarah had personally known some whose vision bordered on clairvoyance; women so intuitive that it was a tragedy not to be able to count on their abilities in these dark times.
And yet, no matter how much the world saw her as cold or relentless, Sarah Alder was not inhuman. If mother and daughter preferred a quiet life, far from the pain and losses they had already experienced, being the last survivors of their lineage, then she wished nothing more than for them to live in peace. To be protected from the suffering that military life would inevitably bring them: a life of constant struggle, endless sacrifices, and bloodshed. Too much blood.
A life like hers. A life that, however valuable or admirable some might consider it, she wouldn't wish on anyone.
Sarah saw herself as a very particular kind of monster. She knew perfectly well the extent of her power, the magnitude of the decisions she had made throughout her life, and the devastating repercussions of many of them. Especially those that had turned out wrong.
She didn't consider herself perfect; quite the opposite. She was very clear about her flaws, and she fought every day to correct them, to do better. For her people. For her witches. For Fort Salem.
So that it would always remain a refuge for all of them.
She had so much to do, so much to repair, that even with all the centuries she had lived and the many she still had ahead, she felt she could never fully correct any of her mistakes.
And this mistake, precisely the one she was committing now, in which she had to impose on an already shattered woman the terror of losing her only daughter and family member... this mistake seemed unforgivable. May Craven had earned the absolute right to see her daughter grow up in freedom, to see her have a full and safe life. How could such a crime be compensated? If Tally Craven died in the near future because of this, Sarah knew she could never forgive herself.
She finally stopped in front of the Craven house. It was an ordinary dwelling, perfectly uniform, so similar to the others that it was almost indistinguishable. Same color, same structure, same monotony.
Sarah took a deep breath and slowly relaxed the tension in her arms behind her back. She wasn't nervous; of course not. General Alder possessed enviable composure, and her hand definitely didn't tremble when she raised it to knock on the door.
Imperceptibly, she released the air she'd been holding between her clenched teeth and gave three firm knocks. Then she returned her hands to their comfortable, though rigid, position behind her back, gripping them tightly as she waited.
For the umpteenth time in less than an hour, she wondered what the hell she was doing there. And, also for the umpteenth time, she silently cursed Wade.
The ultimatum the president had thrown at her still rang clearly in her mind. Petra had also been present that day, barely concealing her enjoyment of Sarah's humiliation.
"Any other younger officer wouldn't have the authority or legitimacy to use this mechanism without causing a scandal," Petra had said, as if it were obvious, as if Sarah should have reached that conclusion on her own. "You are undoubtedly the one who can best handle the controversy, General. Your iron reputation precedes you."
"No one else has sufficient legitimacy to assume this burden without endangering the internal structure," Wade had continued. "We are in the midst of a military emergency, General Alder. We must safeguard the interests of the State."
Sarah clenched her teeth so hard that lightning suddenly cracked in the office.
Wade, who seemed to know Sarah's worst moods perfectly—mainly because she was usually the one who provoked them—continued speaking before Alder could articulate even a word against it:
"Perhaps I should be more concise. Either your signature appears on the marriage certificate, or on your retirement letter. The decision is yours, General."
The Biddies reacted immediately with a furious hiss, but Wade didn't even blink. She held Sarah's gaze with absolute serenity, and for a brief instant, beneath the layers and layers of hatred and resentment, Sarah felt the slight and bitter respect that gesture provoked in her.
Wade left without saying another word, followed closely by Petra, who left the room with that insufferable expression of smugness that Alder knew too well, with that greedy and opportunistic look.
Did Petra expect her to resign?
Would she be capable of doing it? Could she stand firm in front of the Craven's door, as Sarah was doing right now?
Could she proudly hold her title, her rank, at that precise moment when May Craven opened the door and all trace of cordiality immediately disappeared from her face?
Would Petra Bellweather be capable of erasing all emotion from her face as she entered a house where she hadn't been invited, listening without flinching as May Craven raised her voice, shouting indignantly? Could she do it while remaining impassive, as if she owned the place, feigning an authority she didn't even feel was legitimate? Would she do it knowing, in the depths of her soul, that she completely agreed with that woman, with that furious mother?
No. Sarah didn't believe Petra was capable of maintaining her composure. She doubted her voice wouldn't falter, that she wouldn't stammer under the storm of May Craven's claims and reproaches. Sarah, on the other hand, remained unperturbed, her voice firm and steady, even though inside she felt every word like a stab wound.
"Given the current military emergency and the legal restrictions that protect the Craven family, it has been decided to employ a special exemption clause through direct bond," Sarah announced calmly, with absolute authority, even as May interrupted her again and again. She knew she had to finish this, and she would do it right now. "The formalization of legal union with citizen Tally Craven has been approved to allow her incorporation into the Army under extraordinary conditions."
The immediate response was negative, categorical, devastating. Sarah had no doubt about how unfair all of this was, but she was about to truly falter for the first time when she saw Tally Craven emerge from inside of one of the rooms.
That young woman, who was barely twenty-five years old, seemed to overflow with life. She had everything ahead of her, a future that hadn't yet been touched by darkness. Despite the frown and the uncomfortable, shy, and embarrassed expression with which she was observing Sarah at that moment, she seemed like a woman made for joy.
Sarah couldn't explain why, but upon seeing her for the first time, she had the absolute certainty that that face should never be destined for anything other than happiness.