Lesson Taught
Story Title: Lesson Taught
Author: velara
Rating: K+
Characters/Ship: The Witch, Azkadellia
Disclaimer: Tin Man belongs to Sci Fi, and Frank L. Baum/his estate. Not me. I'm just playing.
Summary: The Witch had to teach the child her place.
Warnings: emotional and physical abuse, pre-series
In the beginning, it had been easy for the Witch to manipulate the child. There had been jealousy towards the sister to work with, at first. There had also been the normal rebellious feelings towards her parents, the feelings one would expect from a teenager. All she had to do was whisper the right words to guide the young girl. It had been so easy to turn her, to mold her into what she wanted and needed. It hadn’t mattered that she was just a voice in the child’s head. She was being heard. Her will was being worked, if only a few small things at a time. She had needed to hide anyways. She was still too vulnerable, too weak in control.
But as time went on, the Witch grew stronger. The body she was in was growing up, no longer a child. She wished to control it. To do so, she had to come up with lessons. Object lessons that were needed as she firmed her grip on the body and mind of the princess. Systematically, the Witch had taught Azkadellia when not to fight, when not to question her. This body, this life would be hers, not the child’s.
It had been one lesson in a long line of many lessons she had been taught the child as her body had grown older. She had made sure Azkadellia would never forget it. For the first time, the Witch had pushed her aside and taken her body as if it was her own, rather than be the voice in the back seat. The spirit had delighted in dressing in the green dress, reveling in the fact that this young body could do so much and was so beautiful. Now that the princess was a young woman, she had a body that could be useful to the Witch, and the Witch had wanted to experience life again. She knew Azkadellia had loved this dress. It had been her mother’s once. Now the Witch was going through her mother’s wardrobe, taking the memories of her mother wearing the clothes and replacing them with the memory of the Witch in Azkadellia form wearing them.
The Witch had taken her new body to the Crack in the OZ, still wearing that (now hated) green dress as a reminder to the previous owner that the Witch had chosen her outfit. They had flown on a broomstick that the Witch had enchanted. It had come back to her just as easily as it had always been, using the magic. It had been so easy to call on the girl’s light with her own will. The light had also tasted so sweet, which had been unlike the dark magic she had been used to. It had been young and full of life and promise; a sweet bouquet. Her own magic had to be used to control the body she was wearing, it required all she had. It also was darker and tasted bitter, much like a wine that had sat too long. Using Azkadellia’s light had been refreshing.
She had taken the girl out onto the edge a wall built on the high cliff. The Witch had balanced herself and looked over the edge to the bottom, so far off. She knew the child would have to see what she saw. She stepped to the edge and let go of her control over the body. Azkadellia had been thrust back into control quickly and with no warning. She had lost her balance, swaying on the cliff edge. The child had been so scared, so frightened of falling. She had tried to balance herself, arms reaching out to the side. She had screamed for help but the Witch had brought her to this spot alone. No one else could have come along with the broom ride. She was all alone. Her arms had wind milled as she tried to find her footing. The Witch had waited silently, letting the girl believe that she was gone. She enjoyed the terrified screams, the frantic thoughts and the racing heartbeat that she was hearing. Azkadellia had started to fall forward, unable to stop herself. The child had closed her eyes, waiting for the drop and the Witch swooped in and took control again, pushing Azkadellia back into the recesses and away from conscious control. She quickly used the girl’s light to stabilize their balance, and she again looked deliberately down the gaping chasm. The Witch enjoyed the feeling she had, that of a living body, under her control. She exulted in the feeling of power, as the child cowered in the back of her mind.
I will be the only help you will ever get. There’s no one else. Just me.
The lesson had been taught, now to see how fast the girl learned.
Author: velara
Rating: K+
Characters/Ship: The Witch, Azkadellia
Disclaimer: Tin Man belongs to Sci Fi, and Frank L. Baum/his estate. Not me. I'm just playing.
Summary: The Witch had to teach the child her place.
Warnings: emotional and physical abuse, pre-series
In the beginning, it had been easy for the Witch to manipulate the child. There had been jealousy towards the sister to work with, at first. There had also been the normal rebellious feelings towards her parents, the feelings one would expect from a teenager. All she had to do was whisper the right words to guide the young girl. It had been so easy to turn her, to mold her into what she wanted and needed. It hadn’t mattered that she was just a voice in the child’s head. She was being heard. Her will was being worked, if only a few small things at a time. She had needed to hide anyways. She was still too vulnerable, too weak in control.
But as time went on, the Witch grew stronger. The body she was in was growing up, no longer a child. She wished to control it. To do so, she had to come up with lessons. Object lessons that were needed as she firmed her grip on the body and mind of the princess. Systematically, the Witch had taught Azkadellia when not to fight, when not to question her. This body, this life would be hers, not the child’s.
It had been one lesson in a long line of many lessons she had been taught the child as her body had grown older. She had made sure Azkadellia would never forget it. For the first time, the Witch had pushed her aside and taken her body as if it was her own, rather than be the voice in the back seat. The spirit had delighted in dressing in the green dress, reveling in the fact that this young body could do so much and was so beautiful. Now that the princess was a young woman, she had a body that could be useful to the Witch, and the Witch had wanted to experience life again. She knew Azkadellia had loved this dress. It had been her mother’s once. Now the Witch was going through her mother’s wardrobe, taking the memories of her mother wearing the clothes and replacing them with the memory of the Witch in Azkadellia form wearing them.
The Witch had taken her new body to the Crack in the OZ, still wearing that (now hated) green dress as a reminder to the previous owner that the Witch had chosen her outfit. They had flown on a broomstick that the Witch had enchanted. It had come back to her just as easily as it had always been, using the magic. It had been so easy to call on the girl’s light with her own will. The light had also tasted so sweet, which had been unlike the dark magic she had been used to. It had been young and full of life and promise; a sweet bouquet. Her own magic had to be used to control the body she was wearing, it required all she had. It also was darker and tasted bitter, much like a wine that had sat too long. Using Azkadellia’s light had been refreshing.
She had taken the girl out onto the edge a wall built on the high cliff. The Witch had balanced herself and looked over the edge to the bottom, so far off. She knew the child would have to see what she saw. She stepped to the edge and let go of her control over the body. Azkadellia had been thrust back into control quickly and with no warning. She had lost her balance, swaying on the cliff edge. The child had been so scared, so frightened of falling. She had tried to balance herself, arms reaching out to the side. She had screamed for help but the Witch had brought her to this spot alone. No one else could have come along with the broom ride. She was all alone. Her arms had wind milled as she tried to find her footing. The Witch had waited silently, letting the girl believe that she was gone. She enjoyed the terrified screams, the frantic thoughts and the racing heartbeat that she was hearing. Azkadellia had started to fall forward, unable to stop herself. The child had closed her eyes, waiting for the drop and the Witch swooped in and took control again, pushing Azkadellia back into the recesses and away from conscious control. She quickly used the girl’s light to stabilize their balance, and she again looked deliberately down the gaping chasm. The Witch enjoyed the feeling she had, that of a living body, under her control. She exulted in the feeling of power, as the child cowered in the back of her mind.
I will be the only help you will ever get. There’s no one else. Just me.
The lesson had been taught, now to see how fast the girl learned.