Chapter Text
The process of witchcraft itself becomes a delicate art when trying to justify its ethical use. Reasoning with magics wildly defined as evil in an attempt to help others brings about a moral dilemma, how far is too far? If one sells oneself in exchange for the power to save lives, is this choice morally just, or is it self serving and damning? God tells us that such power is the Devil’s work, and should never be put into the hands of the righteous, for it will always corrupt. But the Abbey have always been those seeped in the asceticism of logic. God, for all his wisdom, is one unknown to us, and the writings of the clergy and from decades ago are not, in their essence, the word of God.
But almighty power aside, our question remains unanswered. How far is too far? When does man become monster? How far can altruism really be trusted in the hands of mortal hearts, so vulnerable to sin? It is not a question that can merely be answered with a yes or no.
It is reasonable to assume that -
“Moira?”
Moira started in place at the voice, heart skipping a beat as she looked up towards its source. Angela was next to the table, a platter of dishes in her hands, and that always sweet smile on her face. It was becoming a habit, her entering the study and Moira being so engrossed in her studies that she wouldn’t notice. Despite the fact that it had been a month since Angela had begun her tenure in Moira’s halls, she still wasn’t used to the constant company.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to frighten you.” Angela said, setting the wooden plate down. On it were two bowls of steaming broth, lunch apparently. Moira hadn’t even realized it was that time, she’d been sure it was only dawn. The overcast skies outside had let little enough light in for Moira to keep that assumption.
“It’s fine, thank you for making us food. I would’ve, if you’d told me it was lunchtime.”
“Don’t be ridiculous, I’m happy to do it. I don’t expect you to cook every meal for me while I’m here. And besides, I could tell you were focused, and you’ve hardly left the seat since I found you here. I figured you’d need it.”
Moira smiled and laid the textbook down on the pile she’d been working through, before awkwardly shifting her notes to the side for room. The soup Angela gave her had a deep, rich smell, carrots and lamb bobbing in a sea of grayish brown. One taste had Moira entranced, it was far better than anything she’d ever produced. She didn’t realize just how hungry she was until the first spoonful went down her throat.
“Thank you, my dear. You’re a mercy.” She sighed before going back in for more. Angela didn’t respond right away, and when her eyes flicked towards her in question her mouth was slightly agape and her expression was filled with surprise. Moira’s brow furrowed and her head quirked.
“Did I… say something wrong?”
Her eyes seemed to focus again on Moira and she shook her head, laughing ever so slightly.
“No no, it’s just not the first time someone has called me Mercy. My comrades from Overwatch, I’ve saved their lives more than once on a battlefield, and one of them said I was a mercy to them, just like that. It caught on, and it sort of became a nickname.”
“Hmm.” Moira said through her eating. She took a moment to wipe her mouth and think on the story, realizing she hardly knew about the mercenaries Angela was a part of. It was strange, imagining her in the chaos of war, running from soldier to soldier, patching wounds and saving lives. She didn’t seem the type to enjoy violence, more like someone who found it deplorable, so choosing that profession seemed an odd choice. It wasn’t her place to judge, though, so she just nodded.
“Shall I call you mercy then? Would you prefer it?”
Angela laughed and shook her head right away.
“Oh please no, just Angela. Ugh, the thought of being called Mercy in bed… no thank you.”
A chuckle was pulled from Moira’s throat as well, and she went back to finishing her food. The rest of the meal went in silence, a satisfying experience in Moira’s opinion. Her time spent with Angela had been a mixed bag, and how agreeable they seemed to get with each other in such a small amount of time was surprising. Although, maybe a month in one’s company wasn’t such a short amount of time, and she was just used to the solitude. They talked often, but usually about science, magic, medicine and the likes, or fell into comfortable silences while they both worked. They shared their histories, now and then, but it was the rarest of their interactions. Oh, and of course there was the sex, which was sensational.
She’d never before found herself so constantly wrapped in lust and heat and exhaustion as she did with Angela. The woman was insatiable, almost every night she’d climb onto the bed and push Moira down, and do things that would make the oh so seductive Countess LaCroix blush like a nun. Moira generally remained in control, or at least, had the illusion of being in control. When Angela would drop to her knees below her and present herself with that coy smile, it did not feel like Moira was in charge.
And, for some reason she didn’t mind it. She usually hated being the center of attention, or the one being led and drawn, but with Angela all she could manage to do was whatever her Aingeal wanted.
It was painfully domestic, and at all times part of Moira was prepared for things to go poorly, for something to break this blissful companionship, but nothing yet had come. She knew that Angela would be leaving eventually, of course, that was part of the deal. But the thought put a pit in her stomach. She hadn’t realized how deeply she missed the warm touch of another until she was caught in it like a storm. She would be fine. It wasn’t all that different from her other dalliances. It would be ridiculous to form any kind of attachment to Angela. Illogical. Foolhardy.
But then she’d watch her smile and swoon and laugh over a cute squirrel outside of the castle, and Moira’s unliving heart would pound like hammer to the anvil.
Lunch was finished and their dishes deposited for the time being, and Moira had only just picked her book back up before Angela’s words cut into her.
“What happened to your arm?”
Moira froze in place, the numb and dull sensation of that wretched appendage all too present at the question. Her tension was clearly noticed, and Angela was scrambling to backtread when Moira held up a hand.
“It’s fine. Don’t apologize. I’m surprised it took you this long to ask.”
Angela had the decency to look sheepish, curling in on herself ever so slightly, which was adorable beyond compare. Moira took a heavy sigh and put the book down again, using one hand to fiddle with her glasses as she debated how to brooch it.
“It was a mistake. An experiment I attempted, when I was young into my new blood, and overconfident for it. I thought I was invincible, thought my genius was incomparable. Any mistake I made would just be a stepping stone for my research, for my power.”
Her mind drifted to the evening it happened, the burning in her arm that felt like it would never stop, the screams she echoed to no one as the curse rebounded. On instinct it twitched, and Moira couldn’t help but shut her eyes at the memory. She only opened them again when she felt Angela’s hand brush over that vile, unsightly thing.
Moira flinched the arm away on instinct, and her eyes met hurt in Angela’s.
“I’m sorry.” Moira whispered, and put her arm back out for Angela to touch. She did, and her fingers were a soothing cold over the affected skin. The touch traveled up past her sleeve and over her shoulder, tracing the veins in her neck up to where the purple had reached her jaw. Usually she made an effort to cover it with concealer, but time and safety bred carelessness.
“I thought… I thought that perhaps I could go further than the powers my vampirism brought. Change the essence of my being, become something more, something beyond immortal. Push our species forward, like I’ve mentioned to you before. So I attempted a curse, a rather simple one at its base. Designed to change my shape, my biology, not just on a physical level, but on a chemical level. A permanent change at will.
“The plan was to test on my arm first, using a solution I’d mixed to increase my blood's potency to the arcane. It worked, at first, I’d tied off the section for testing, injected the solution, and began the ritual with no issue. It went wrong quickly, the ritual rebounded and my medicine became a poison, fundamentally part of my body, the veins in a permanent state of arcane decay. And now…” She flexed the arm. “Now I’ve got this. It’s spread up to my neck, you can see clearly, but I’ve managed to mostly stop it.”
The hand rubbing up and down slowed for a moment, and then gently took Moira’s chin and turned it to face Angela. Her eyes were torture, all of her worst nightmares come to life. Because Angela Zieglar was worried. The empathy was clear in her gaze, pain reflecting and echoing a useless pity that a parasite like Moira didn’t deserve. She didn’t turn her head away, but she couldn’t hold those cerulean eyes any longer.
“Does it hurt?”
Moira shrugged, flexing the appendage again in an attempt to generate any value of feeling in it. It managed a bit, but not much.
“Now and then. Usually it's just numb. I can feel when it touches something, but it doesn’t… doesn’t register the same. Warm hands like yours feel exactly the same as the cold stone of my castle.”
Angela must have been satisfied with the answer, or at least struck enough not to talk anymore, because she simply stayed there at Moira’s side and continued to rub the arm, even when Moira picked her book back up and went to work.
--
The morning after, Moira woke up early to set up Angela’s cart. Most of Angela’s equipment had been transferred to Moira’s study where they both did their work, but a few supplies still rested in the back. As she stepped out of the stable with the horse well fed, she winced as the first beams of sunlight snuck through clouds and struck her skin. It was always unpleasant to experience the sun.
No longer did it provide a simple warmth when she worked the farm at home, nor did it feel good to lay out and absorb. No, now it just made her skin feel sensitive, and her chest feel tight, and the very subtle notion of boiling in her blood. Not enough to truly pain her, but enough to be a bother. Like standing in a pool of what should be water, but for some reason your body refuses to accept it as water, and every instinct is screaming to get out.
Such was the price she paid. And it was all the more worth it for the boons it provided her. But a part of her did long to feel comfort from the sun. Just once more.
No matter though, now wasn’t the time for such thoughts. Instead she made way back into the castle up to her chambers. Inside Angela still laid under the covers, her golden hair bellowing around her like a halo, and her chest rising and falling softly with her breath.
She truly was radiant, utterly incandescent, to the point of her name angelic. Not only was this woman beautiful beyond comparison, her hair a color to get lost in and her eyes like the shores of Cill Mhantáin, but Angela Ziegler was a genius. She was incredibly versed in modern medical practices, and that was bolstered by her own understanding of witchcraft and magic. And then even still Angela was crack on with new concepts. The basics of Vampirism, Vitomancy, deep magic and new Angela could wrap her head around. Now, performing it of course was a different story, but understanding the concepts in themselves was no issue.
To finally have a peer that could not only match her own level of understanding, but add on to it. Meet her in debate to challenge her own understanding of science and magic, sharpen the steel of her mind. God it was refreshing.
And then of course, Moira admitted, her body was very much to Moira’s enjoyment. Curvy at all the right angles, soft where she should be held, elegant and voluptuous. Slowly she stalked closer, careful not to make a sound and wake her, lest Moira lose out on another second on seeing her at rest. In their month together, one thing that had become abundantly clear was that Angela had an equal work ethic to Moira. Meaning that they would rather push themselves to the point of exhaustion before considering a break. Before Angela, Moira would always prefer to be in her study than any other room in the castle, and that included the times she’d bring a lover to her bed.
But now, perhaps in part due to the consistent sex, she was finding herself taking the time to appreciate things like this. Once Angela had woken she too would throw herself into research and testing and all of their other pursuits, not taking a moment to breathe except to eat, fuck, and sleep.
Angela’s eyes fluttered gently from behind closed eyelids, and she muttered something incomprehensible. Then in her dream took a sudden intake of break, followed by a whimper.
“Moira…” She all but moaned.
Moira froze, like a cat caught eating something it wasn’t supposed to be eating when the lights came on. Then, a heat filled her from chest to thighs and a mischievous smile crept onto her face. Angela was dreaming of her. Having filthy, lewd dreams by the sound of them. And who would Moira be if she did nothing but watched? No, she was a gentlewoman, and she would take responsibility for what she apparently caused.
Leaning down over Angela’s form, she let a hand drift over Angela’s hips, threatening to move down over her ass.
“Aingeal.” She whispered into Angela’s ear with no small amount of husk. Beneath her Angela shivered, not quite waking up, but clearly registering the words. “Don’t hold back for me. Let me take you.”
“Y-Yes…” Angela moaned, her legs rubbing together and her head tilting upwards. With no small amount of care Moira pushed Angela down so that she was laying on her back, and drew the covers away. She was still naked from the previous night, bruises permeating the spots that Moira had sucked and nipped at, never drawing blood, but teasing and marking. That lit a fire in her, and Moira was filled with the sudden and desperate urge to feed. She couldn’t though, not yet, not until Angela was with her, in the event that Angela might reasonably decide that she did not want a monster to take her in her sleep.
The thought stopped her as she climbed onto the bed, her legs bracketing Angela’s and her arms holding her up on either side of her head. This was a mistake, she was overstepping her boundaries. Angela had initiated in the morning before, but that didn’t give Moira the right. She was just starting to move away and pretend this never happened when Angela’s eyes fluttered open.
Again Moira froze, staring right into Angela’s eyes as she blinked sleep away. Then she searched her surroundings quickly, and her mouth opened in a gasp. A heavy breath out followed it, and Angela squirmed ever so slightly.
“I’m sorry.” Moira said, unsure of what else to say. “You were having a dream, and I had an idea. It was foolish.”
Before she could move any further though, Angela clasped a hand around her good wrist, and in a pathetic and needy tone, spoke.
“Please don’t go, I need you Moira.”
Now Moira shuttered her own raspy breath, still able to be surprised and put on the backfoot by Angela. She would never call a woman a slut, not without their explicit asking of course, but never had she quite met a woman who wanted so much as Angela. Perhaps that was hypocritical, considering she’d had the idea to climb on top of a sleeping Angela, clothed while her Aingeal was naked. But still, even in her dark fantasies, Angela could say one little thing or wiggle her hips in that desperate way, or bat her eyelashes, and it would turn Moira to dust.
“What do you need?” Moira whispered, picking up what embers of her confidence still burned.
“Your leg.” She answered. “P-Please let me get off on your leg.”
Without a single argument, Moira slotted one of her long legs between Angela’s, and Angela immediately raised her hips to meet at the thigh. She could feel just how wet Angela was against her trousers, but she didn’t care. All that mattered was Angela.
“Don’t play coy, pet.” Moira said. “Take what you need, and don’t hold back. Finish as soon as you can. We have business today.”
Angela moaned, and nodded. Without a moment to pause she ground up, and Moira pressed her thigh down to give an adequate weight for her. She could feel the shake in Angela’s movements, whatever her dream was it had left her close, and she doubted that Angela would take much time at all. Still she held her, maintaining eye contact as Angela gasped and moaned, rhythm uneven and fraught.
“F-fuck… oh fuck, Moira. Moira please.”
She hummed and leaned closer, her eyes tracing the lovely line of her neck. Watching the way it pulsed. Feeling the throb of her heartbeat through her cunt. Imagining the lines of her precious blood.
“Pet.” She rasped, doing her best not to growl as a hunter’s instinct took over. “Let me feed.”
Angela’s eyes went wide, but without a second thought she threw her head back to expose more of her neck, and Moira dove in. She tasted like citrus, Moira thought. Warm and tart, like a fresh orange from port. Moira might have compared her to a wine, but far sweeter, and far more addictive. She growled at the taste as Angela trembled beneath her, her body spasming as she came from being bitten and from grinding her heat against Moira’s leg.
It was always a marvel to feed during sex. The two felt remarkably similar, at least when you had a living partner to feed on. So a mix went right to her cock, and Moire found herself grinding against air as she drank deep, relishing the mix of pained and pleasured whimpers from her pet.
Yes. Her pet. Her Aingeal. Hers . Angela was hers. Belonged to her. The thought sent her spiraling as she kept working Angela through her finish, intent on making sure that Angela would never have sex as good as what she had with Moira, and that no one else would ever get to taste Angela in the way she could.
When finally Angela began to weakly push against her shoulders, Moira released. She pulled back, a bit too fast, and spilt a bit of blood, making a mess of her mouth, and Angela’s shoulder, and the white bed sheets beneath them. But it was worth it to see the hazy look in Angela’s eyes, lost in the euphoria of their pleasure. She could take an eternity to look at those eyes, and she likely would’ve if Angela’s hand hadn’t reached down to cup her bulge.
“Don’t hold back from me either.” She said, voice dreamy. “ You said we have business, yes? Let me take care of you .”
Moira had to fight herself not to immediately refuse. It was a habit to not accept reciprocation during sex, if for nothing more than the convenience of not having to explain her body to a new woman who might have a less than stellar response. But Angela knew of course, and was already very acquainted. Admittedly, that didn’t make it that much easier. Letting herself be vulnerable, be touched by another, have focus put onto her and all the ugly monstrous parts that she came with… it wasn’t easy.
But with a moment of thought, the taste of Angela’s blood was still on her tongue, and Angela looked so filled with want and a desire to please Moira. She wanted to touch Moira. It wasn’t an obligation or a bother, she loved taking care of her.
In lieu of a response, Moira reached up to work off her suspenders, and in a quick few moments her trousers were pulled down to her thighs, and Angela’s hand was wrapped around her length.
“Mmm.” Angela hummed, one hand stroking while the other cupped Moira’s face. “I love that look you give me.”
Moira pointedly stopped the look she was apparently giving, which made Angela pout.
“I know you’re still getting used to letting me have control, but don’t deny me seeing you. I don’t ever deny you, do I?”
A long sigh left her lips, and then Moira closed her eyes, and let the pleasure take over, no longer thinking about whatever face she was making, or how pathetic she might look.
“Good…” Angela purred, her own finish leaving her voice low and raspy. Fuck she was perfect, and Moira knew after tasting her she wouldn’t last long. She hardly ever did with Angela.
“Angela.” She begged, her arms wavering as she held herself up, struggling to maintain while Angela turned her muscles to jelly with every practiced flick of her wrist.
“That’s it. That’s it darling. Don't wait, don’t prolong it, I’m here for you. Your Angel is here for you. Here for your needs, for you to drink, for you to take.”
That was enough for Moira’s spine to suddenly go ramrod as warmth bloomed between her legs, and rather unceremoniously Moira spilt herself onto Angela’s stomach, every rope coaxed by Angela’s hand, still moving until Moira’s arms gave out and she collapsed down onto the bed. And awkwardly, on top of Angela.
With a grunt they both managed to deposit her next to Angela, taking deep lungfuls of air that she didn’t even need. Angela curled up beside her, and together the two lost themselves in the afterglow. From inside her chest Moira’s undead heart throbbed, pleasure filling every inch of her form as relaxation settled over her. She truly still couldn’t believe she was in this position, after years of secluded work.
Eventually Angela pulled them from their stupor.
“So, you mentioned that we have plans?”
Right. God she’d forgotten.
“Yes. I was thinking that once you woke up we would take a trip into town. My pantry is in need of filling, and I figure you should also acquire what amenities you need. The cart’s already ready, actually. I had planned on leaving earlier than this, but-”
“But you saw me in the throes of a lustful dream and couldn’t help yourself.”
Moira grinned sheepishly.
“No one in the world could blame me. You’re just perfect like that.”
Angela hummed, placing a kiss to Moira’s collarbone, feasibly all she could reach from where she was.
“Such a charmer. Alright, let me get a bath and get ready, then we can go. Sorry for being irresistible.”
As Angela left her chambers, Moira tried her best to ignore the swooping feeling in her chest, and the loss she felt at her side with Angela not pressed against her.