Author’s Note: This story was written as part of my midterm for the Witchcraft & Magic Literature course I took last Winter. It was an amazing class that truly taught me so much about the history of witches and their portrayal in literature. For this midterm, we had to choose a figure and write an analysis of them and then write a story inspired by that figure. I chose Medea from the Euripides play. I have always found her to be a fascinating manifestation of divine female rage.
Read while listening for maximum immersion:
The words struck Nerissa’s heart like a thunderous spell. She understood its meaning well enough, but her husband’s betrayal hung suspended in the air— a foreign, misshapen thing. Foreign. Much like she was in this holy country. Was this who she had sacrificed everything for? A man so desperate to restore his honor that he was willing to cast off the mother of his children?
And for what? A pathetic grasp for power he already lost.
It took every restraint not to set him ablaze with one of the many spells still etched into her being. Such a desire was sinful, she knew, nevertheless it gave her great pleasure to envision the pain he inflicted being returned tenfold. Nerissa had renounced the maleficium of her lineage, choosing to follow the path of faith and love instead. What foolishness that was…As she clutched onto the cross around her neck, the strength of her grip nearly tore it apart.
Isaac’s voice broke through her fiery ruminations.
“Do not think that I mean to abandon my sons. I will ensure that they are well kept for. They will remain here, to be trained up and made into real, honorable men serving the will of Dominus.” He turned his head to look towards them by the hearth as they played soldier, “But as for you, the King has ordered your exile at once. It seems that he dreads what you might do using your witch’s knowledge.”
She opened her mouth to deny these false charges, and yet she could not ignore the murderous intent forming within the seat of her soul.
He lifted a single hand to prevent her speech. “Worry not. I have assured him of your faith, and in doing so he has been persuaded to give you until tomorrow morning.”
“You vile, abhorrent man,” Nerissa snarled through her teeth. “You mean to separate me from my children?” Though the boys had belonged to them both, they were truly hers. It was she who had spilled her blood as she lay drenched in sweat to give them life through her agonized screams. What was war compared to the pains of childbirth? Isaac knew nothing. Nerissa had been ripped open for those little pups who were now destined to be groomed into wolves.
Isaac let out a deep sigh. “I know you may be cross with me, but what I do, I do for their sake. They will be brothers to princes, living in relative comfort for the remainder of their days.”
“What you do, you do for the sake of your wretched honor. Have you forgotten the oaths you’ve sworn to me?” She hissed, her words laced with poison.
His proud demeanor did not falter. “I have not. But have you forgotten that it was I who saved you? Who brought you out of your heathen land and into this blessed one?”
Nerissa’s eyes flickered with bitter tears, “I executed my brother and betrayed my father using the magick I have now renounced, and you throw me aside as though I were a leper!”
“I have friends elsewhere who will tend to your needs. True, it will not be grand,” his dismissive gaze returned to meet her burning violet eyes, “But it is a kindness that many here would think a Morrigan does not even deserve...”
Her vitriol boiled over. “Allow me to remind you Isaac, that had it not been for my power, you would not have gained the favor of this petty King or his little princess.” Glaring, she said with intent to wound his pride, “You’re nothing but a spoiled child who needed a witch to dirty their hands instead of your own. Both your earthly and Godly father continue to look down on you in shame.” The arrow had struck at his weakest nerve, causing him to furrow his brows.
The immense satisfaction she felt upon seeing his growing fear that she had spoken the truth was but the smallest taste of vengeance. It was only for a passing moment, a weakness he could not expose fatally, and so Isaac regained his perfected composure.
“You overstate your usefulness. Why must women resort to such low tactics when their marriage bed has been threatened? I do not wed this princess because she surpasses your intimate capabilities.” Here, he attempted to strike back, “Though, that has yet to be discovered.”
She did not deign to reply. Instead, she turned to face the products of her labor. They really were the reflected images of their father, so much so that it began to disgust her. What might she do to save them from his foul influence?
“When shall I be gone?” she asked, staring vacantly at her boys.
Isaac took her resigned tone to mean his victory. The corner of his lips turned upward into a subtle smile. “At last you see reason. I will send my men a few hours after tomorrow’s first light. I will not drive you out with pitchfork in hand, despite your venom.”
So, she had until well past dawn…Good. That would allow for plenty of time to do what she must. Nerissa no longer cared that she was giving in to her demonic urges. It was in her blood, was it not? From the pact that was made all those millennia ago, bestowing her family’s gift as well as their curse. Or, perhaps it was not a sin, but an inevitability—a reckoning that demanded to be acted upon. Dominus surely did not have a claim to all of fate.
“Nerissa, magick is a tool of willpower. It has equal capability to heal as it can destroy.”
“As it can destroy…”
She found herself recalling her father’s words when she had received her first grimoire. And although she had burned it at the altar of her love, the spells and rituals remained as a phantom in her memory. She might never return to the height of her former power, but it would be enough. Enough to end the princess, the King, and Isaac’s future.
Why should he live as a prince while she wastes away in the outskirts of some village? How could she be expected to have her sons taken from her and absorbed into the very fibers of his rotting honor? No. This she would not allow. He had already attempted to purify her Morrigan blood, but if she was to truly cause him pain—then his lineage needed to end as well, and it must end with their sons. Her body ached at the thought of performing the bloody deed, but as the ancestral curse of her Shadow emerged, it made a vow to consume it all.
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If you enjoyed this dark fantasy story, check out some of my other ones:
This took a dark turn. I'd like to see more of the story.
your work is so captivating, can’t wait to read this