"I can't believe I'm falling in love with someone that has the same face as the three women I hate most."
"At least I know you're not using me for my good looks."
In which the first ever doppelgänger of Amara has been dead a long time. Stuck...
Trigger Warning: slight description of torture and dying, frequent mentions of death, brief mentions of mental illness and suicide.
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
Roughly 1,500 years ago
Witchcraft is a blessing given to them by Hecate, their renowned triple goddess. That's what Arietta's father, Thomas, always said at least. She had no reason to doubt him. The magic flowing through her veins was real. A liquid gold, some witches claimed.
There's something a little different about Arietta though. As in her family is directly descended from Amara Petrova. What was special about this girl? It's more like her actions were special. Resulting in a curse impacting Amara, her lover, and their descendants for all eternity.
The Petrova family would have a girl born every five hundred years. One that shared a direct resemblance to Amara, a doppelgänger. Similarly, the Salvatore family would have a boy born every five hundred years. One that shared a direct resemblance to Amara's lover Silas. These two doppelgängers would be tied together with a string tighter than fate. That is the strength of one of the most powerful witches to ever live.
Unfortunately, or fortunately, depending on who you ask, Arietta died before she ever got to meet her fellow doppelgänger. Her death happened on a relatively average day. Her father and seven older brothers were all out hunting. Likely for a few day's time. As for her mother, she was visiting her parents two villages over. Arietta stayed to take care of their home and gardens. It wasn't a good idea to leave a house unintended for days. Even with protection spells in place.
Arietta kept up with all the chores. Took care of their yard and their humble amount of farm animals. They had quite a number of horses, but all of them were with her family. Whenever she didn't have any tasks to complete, she mostly practiced magic. As the only one in her family that inherited that gift from her dad, he emphasized her nurturing her magic. Arietta was always fascinated with her abilities, so it wasn't difficult to listen to him in that regard.
In a field connected to her yard, Arietta was silently knocked out. With either a spell or a well-aimed weapon. She couldn't tell. It did not help that when she groggily regained consciousness she was bleeding from multiple slashes on her arms and legs. Her hand-sewn dress was ripped and dirtied beyond repair.
Arietta's body ached painfully. Her head was pounding from falling unconscious so abruptly. She also felt inebriated alongside the aches. Witches hazel. A rare herb used in high doses to poison and render witches' abilities stunted. Whoever attacked her knew about her magic, at the least. This had to be a personal and targeted attack. Which left Arietta feeling even more disoriented and confused.
As a young woman that didn't travel, hardly associated with anyone outside of her family, and strived to treat people, nature, and animals alike with kindness. The only thing they had grounds to hate her on would be the witchcraft. Although her town was mainly pagan and so were the surrounding towns, Arietta knew Christianity was making recent waves. Claiming magic a thing of a devil, some great evil that would torture you for eternity after death.
