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The crash from within the cottage had been audible as Mary closed her car door, and she hastened inside, finding the source of the noise with ease: one of the coffee tables, teak rended roughly asunder, lay in the middle of the room. Another moment's search revealed the likely culprit of the destruction, standing before the hearth, dressed in an untied emerald robe, her back to Mary as she rested her head and arms atop the mantel.
“What happened?” Mary asked, as though the answer wasn't obvious. She kept her distance, stepped only far enough inside to close the door and hang her coat and satchel.
“I'm sorry. I'll get you a new one.”
“I don't think that's possible,” it had been an heirloom, “but, what's going on?” Her new vantage point revealed too a wineglass upon the carpet, and an accompanying red stain, some of which still clung to the table.
“I'm sorry.”
Two apologies in under a minute had her deeply concerned, yet Mary was wise enough not to put herself within the First Witch's area of influence.
“Nevermind that. Lilith, answer me: what's going on? With you?”
She had measured her tone, but still worried that it had sounded harsh; she was only human, and her voice was a slave to each pulse of emotion, whichever colour it might take.
“I couldn't see it,” came the breathy voice, heavy with shame. “When I stood, the wine glass... I knocked it. Because... I couldn't see it.”
So that was it. Mary knew it hadn't been a stray gesture, or sudden blindness which had caused the accident; but rather, the unremitting progression of Lilith's much-maligned pregnancy.
She said nothing, waited for Lilith's follow-up, whenever that might come. And eventually, as the First Witch pressed her face into her hands and drew them up through her hair, it came:
“It fell at my feet. And yet I still,” she drew her hands into fists, catching up bunches of thick dark hair, “I still couldn't see it.”
“Lilith, can you look at me?” Mary would attempt no offerings of comfort, she had learnt that it would do no good. But if she could only connect their eyes across the room, and share her spirit with Lilith's...
“All right.”
She turned and Mary bit her lip to still her gasp: all around Lilith's pregnant belly, bloody abrasions ran, some long, some short and criss-crossed, most markedly wherever her body first curved to swell. As though she had tried to claw the whole thing off of her. Lilith's ancient blue eyes showed no sign that the pain concerned her, yet from the shape of the smears across her torso, it was clear that she had folded over and hugged herself in recent time.
Mary made herself look away from the blood and lock eyes with Lilith, her gut clenched so tightly that she could barely breathe.
“Will you come over to me? Do you, do you want to—”
“I can't.” Lilith's face was melting, much as she attempted to keep it firm.
“You can't... come?”
“I can't do this. Mary, I... I need it to end. It's been...” she glanced around, as though searching for a calendar, among areas where a calendar could never hang.
“Six months,” Mary offered. "Nearly seven."
“Too long. I can't be this way. It's with me... all the time.”
Her already breathy voice was growing thinner, and had she been mortal, Mary would have expected her to faint, though knew it would take more than that to fell the First Witch.
“I know. Lilith, please come over here.”
Mary was resolute; if Lilith was going to allow her interference, she would need to actively allow it, or Mary would know to leave her alone for the duration.
The look on Lilith's face was plaintive, but she nodded, and moved past the chairs with grace that seemed strained, exhausted. Once she reached Mary's side, she frowned down at the ex-coffee table.
“I'm sorry for this.”
“Thank you.”
“For all of this.”
“I know.”
Sensing the approval of her proximity, Mary placed a hand on Lilith's shoulder, marking her passage, and stepped behind her, careful to avoid touching any part of Lilith's swollen front. She drew her arms around Lilith's, hugged her above the breasts, rested her face against dishevelled hair. And said nothing.
“I can't,” Lilith repeated. “I don't want this.”
“I know.”
“I need my body back, Mary.”
“You'll have it. Just a little longer.”
“No. I'll go mad.”
“We're more than halfway there.”
“No.”
“Are you certain?”
“Yes. I must.”
Mary felt the quavering of Lilith's tensed muscles, which resulted in a slump, and found that she was in the unusual position of keeping Lilith upright. “All right. But, if you end it...”
Lilith swallowed and the motion carried through Mary's hands and up her arms.
“I know. My insurance will be ended too.”
“But it's not worth it? To just,” she hated to say it, knowing Lilith's stance, but she had to, “hold on, a little longer? I'm here, you know, for every part of it. I can even leave my job, if you need me here full time. It doesn't cost much to live anymore.”
“No. Mary, I appreciate that. But no. I'm... I'm just too tired.”
She was sinking to the ground, and Mary followed her, ending in a loose sort of kneel.
It wasn't a physical weariness, Mary knew that much from Lilith's journal, which she had left open to be read as Mary wished: the witch's life-force was essentially limitless, she had been engineered that way, and no single infestation of her womb could drain her thus. It was an immense fatigue of the soul, brought upon by constant, unpredictable change and progressively more numerous restrictions. Lilith barely even bothered to clothe herself anymore, in order to not have to deal with the fact that none of her favoured garments would fit her.
For someone who was used to magically altering her form, to however best suited her needs, the terror of this body being now so outside of her control... Mary couldn't begin to comprehend how that must feel. Her heart was too afraid to try.
“Demons want to be born, Mary...” Lilith's words were growing more distant, sinking into sense memories. “They have no patience for it. However they can leave my body, they will do it. The shortest route. So why—” Her voice cracked and Mary felt it in her own throat, experienced the sensation of choking. “Why won't this thing leave?”
Mary moved one hand to rest against Lilith's temple, emphasising her presence with the lightest of touches. “I understand. You need your freedom. Of course you do.”
“Even if I were to wait, even if I could, I would still have to feed it, to watch over it.”
“Demons have never asked that of you,” Mary said, so that Lilith wouldn't have to.
“It would need me. All the time. For how long, I'd have no way of knowing.”
“All right.” She stroked Lilith's hair with just the tips of her fingers. “How do you want to do it?”
“Separately. I want to have some days to run free. To fly. Before he finds out.”
“And so?”
“There is a creature I know. She will remove the problem. It's far later than she's used to, but...” she shook her head, disbelieving her faith, “I trust she will manage.”
“That's good. It won't hurt you?”
“Not at all.”
“All right. And then?”
“We should,” Lilith turned, grabbing Mary's hand as she did, clasping it in both of hers, which were drier and colder than Mary was used to, “go somewhere. Somewhere you haven't been. So I can see it with you.”
Mary pressed her lips together, desperately holding back the tide of desolation which had flooded up against her barriers, and whose weight pressed against them from every angle, weakening her at the hinges.
“I'll think of somewhere.”
“Thank you.”
“And then?”
“I'll do it myself. Once I know he's coming for me. I don't want to die at his hands.”
Those words took Mary to her limit and she broke their contact, pressed a hand up to her face, first her eyes then her mouth. She wanted to say 'all right' again, but it wouldn't come out. She could only wait for Lilith to continue, once more.
“I'm sorry.”
Mary only shook her head, at the overwhelming idea of it.
“I won't let you see me go. If you like, I can... I can make you forget.”
With no warning from her body, Mary batted Lilith's waiting hands away, so quickly that her fingers stung. “Don't you dare. The very least you can do is let me mourn you.” The tide was slipping through, the doors creaking and trembling.
Lilith withdrew her hands, turned fully so that she sat cross-legged before her, and Mary saw that little rivulets of blood had made their way down to Lilith's pelvis, following the curve of her hips, towards the earth. The witch's pale eyes too reflected a siege of flooding.
“Of course. Then... I will leave it to you, to take what is left of me. After the flames subside.”
Mary nodded, but she had been struck by water-blindness. It reached all the way down her throat, so that when she spoke, she gurgled. “When?” She swallowed herself back from drowning, just enough to speak again. “When do you want to do it?”
Lilith considered it for a while, her gaze lowering to rue upon the sight of her abused midriff.
“Soon. I'm sorry, but... soon. Please.”
“Next week?” Mary coughed, from beneath the waves.
“Yes. I think so. Only...” she frowned at some realisation. “You have the parent-teacher meetings. From Monday to Thursday.”
“I do.”
“Then... the week after that.”
“Fine.”
“All right.” She reached for Mary's hands again, and this time it was allowed. “Two weeks. I will speak to the creature in two weeks.”
“Understood.”
“Oh. But, Mary... that's Bonfire Night.”
“Yes.”
“You were looking forward to that. To the fireworks.”
“I suppose I was.”
“I want to do that with you.”
“I'd... I'd like that.”
“Then one more week. And I will go see her.”
Silent agreement descended, hands slowly warming each other in the desolation. Unable to entirely avoid Lilith's belly, Mary moved to join their bodies more fully, and pressed her tears into Lilith's neck.
“Wait,” whispered Lilith, just above-water, “two weeks after that is your birthday.”
“It is.”
“Then... just one more week beyond that, and... and then...”