Behind Their Backs || Douxie Casperan

5 || Secrets, Secrets, Everywhere

Based Between Season 1, Episode 4: Gnome Your Enemy and Season 1, Episode 5: Waka Chaka!

(Unedited, Not Proofread, 2797 words)
Trigger Warnings: Mentions of abandonment and other slight mentions of trauma

"Claire, it is crucially important that what I am about to tell you does not leave this living room," I say calmly, sitting down on the floor across the coffee table from the couch. Claire sits on one of the cushions, her legs pulled up into a ball with her arms wrapped around them. The coffee table between us now has two candles on it, mostly because I thought the room lights would be too bright and I do not own a lamp. "I need you to promise me that anything I say after this moment is not repeated. Not to your parents. Not to Darci or Mary. Not to any of your friends. And especially not to Jim and Toby. Do you understand?" 

"Yeah, I... I do," Claire replies, nodding a bit. We've both been on edge since I promised to tell her, but at least with both of us in such a state, neither one of us feel alone in this endeavor. 

"I have no way to prove this to you because I no longer practice magic, but I'm a witch," I say plainly. It's the first time I've ever admitted it out loud to anyone other than the Camelot boy. Between then and now, it's been common knowledge that the little girl with blonde hair and blue eyes was a witch. I haven't had to admit it. Everyone who came into contact with me already knew before they ever saw or spoke to me. 

Claire sits silently for several seconds, but I wait patiently for her to respond rather than trying to force her to speak. I've learned through other means that forcing people to speak in moments of discomfort is a recipe for disaster. 

"You're a witch?" she asks, needing clarification. 

"Yes," I reply, nodding. Another silent minute passes with neither of us saying anything. I hardly think of much, my eyes solely focused on a single dancing flame on one of the two candles on the coffee table.

"Can I ask you questions?" Her voice is soft and understanding. I have a feeling that, if I were to say no, that would be the end of this all. 

Oh, how amazing that would be.

"Of course." 

She's earned it.

"Promise to be honest," Claire begs. 

"I will spare you no detail, my friend," I respond honestly. "Ask anything you want, and I will answer." She takes a moment to think, candlelight dancing across her focused features. I watch her, waiting patiently for the questions to begin.

"How old are you?" she asks, staring off with an easy one I can answer without missing a beat.

"Nine hundred and sixteen years old. Physically, I'm seventeen, like I told you earlier," I explain, and she nods. 

"I'm only sixteen," she mumbles after several seconds of consideration. 

"Naturally," I tease, and a small smile forms on her lips. The gesture is enough to confirm to me that this is less intense than I am making it. We are simply two teenagers sharing secrets with each other in a living room. There is nothing life-altering about this. 

Especially since she promised not to tell. 

"Where were you born?" Another easy question that I am able to take in stride. 

"Camelot, January 13th, year 1100. My mother was an assistant for her father's small wagon-repair business, and my father was a self-proclaimed artist." Their memory is too faded for me to clearly recall. I was four— genuinely four— when they abandoned me. It was nothing personal, they were just protecting themselves. I was an aggressive magic-user from the moment I could move my hands well enough to cast spells, and since I didn't need incantations, I quickly became a prolific (but not proficient) spellcaster. That put me and my parents in danger, so they made a choice to protect themselves.