(so I’ve been researching true crime lately and getting increasingly angry at all of the women who get murdered by men they should be able to trust, so here’s some fury and catharsis. @trishaloach, @rrrawrf-writes. If you want to get @d when I post stories, reply to this post.)
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Olivia can’t say she didn’t see it coming, not when she was checking her failsafe spells twice a week, not when she lay awake at night afraid to fall asleep for fear that Allen’s peaceful breathing was faked to lull her into complacency, not when she stared at the phone for hours wondering if it was time to call her mom, call the police, call someone, get out. But he had never hit her, until the end, and she had loved him. Wasn’t this just how witches loved, all dark and full of teeth and danger? Wasn’t it exciting?
Look where exciting had gotten her. Six feet deep and rotting in pieces. He’d always underestimated her, so of course he assumed that her failsafes were the kind of thing that could be defeated with a little beheading and a grave-nail through the heart. What is she, a vampire? Nah. This is a setback, not a defeat. He’s still managed to fuck her over again, though. It’s going to take her ages to stitch herself back together, down here in the raw, worm-writhing earth.
These Vengeful Bones
Published
As small as the world 