silasnathaniel

ava's demon;; maggie/ava ;; werewolf/ghost au ;; death / gore warning

set in supernatural au verse, unfinished 'cause i lost interest.

-

Ava Ire is fifteen when she kills her best friend.

Ava Ire is fifteen when she kills her best friend.

It's not, technically, Ava's fault; it is the wolf's fault, first transformation and full of hunger, full of new teeth and new claws and new ways to defend. The only thought her wolf-mind is able to form under the moon is defense. Everything is black-and-white, but Ava knows better - she is full of every color, overflowing and bursting. Defense. She's never been this strong before. But the wolf has a mind of its own, the wolf as an extension of Ava, like reaching a hand out to the sky. The wolf moves without her permission. Wrathia said she would teach Ava to control herself, that first transformations are rough. She should've listened. She should have listened, eaten up the knowledge like a wolf's hunger. Even if it's from Wrathia it is useful information.

They're not supposed to be friends, either—humans and wolves don't mix, Wrathia said, the day she took Ava in. Her parents died. House fire, or something like it (thinking of it, Wrathia has always been like fire) (has always hated humans) (but—). She may stay with Wrathia and the others, but Maggie has always been her home. Ava made a habit of it over the years, sneaking out into the widespread backyard as they slept, climbing a fence, meeting Maggie on her front lawn (beautiful, green) (unlike the dry, dustiness of Ava's - prison).

Humans and wolves don't mix.

Maggie screams, or: Ava thinks that it's Maggie's scream; she is too busy ripping flesh off of a body to process, someone got in her way and she defended herself, that's what you do. Defense. Humans and wolves don't mix. They don't.

She falls back to human slowly as the sun comes up, and then she's just on top of Maggie's body, her best friend's body, all torn apart and ripped up. There used to be Maggie Lacivi. Now: there is something unsightly, something sick-to-the-eye. Maggie's throat ripped out. Maggie's face half-chewed off.

"M—"

She can't get the word out. Maggie. Maggie. The teeth in her mouth haven't shrunk back to "normal" yet. She's an abomination, human with the mouth of a beast. They're the last to go, Wrathia said, you get used to it. So she thinks it, over and over in her mind until her body gives out, until her head hurts.

Ava looks up to the sky and howls.

M a g g i e .

Three days later, a book flies off of her bookshelf.

She doesn't think much of it. These things happen in dens. The others like to upset her—Emma pushes on her bedroom wall in the middle of the night so she doesn't sleep, Charlie claws up her furniture. It's another prank. It's just another prank. None of them would miss her if she ran.

Another book.

Her lamp falls from her desk, shattering into pieces on the floor.

Another book.

The desk chair knocks over.

Another book.

"Wr—Wrathia?"

The entire shelf falls, trapping Ava in her room.

"Try again."

The voice is deep, distorted, broken. It echoes throughout the room, shaking it, like an earthquake. Like Ava's world is crashing, crumbling around her. Try again. Try again. She's enveloped with cold air and all that she thinks about is trying agan, trying again, as she freezes, as her hair stands up, as something breathes against her.

She turns around slowly.

This—God—this—this can't be real. Ava is dreaming. She dreamed of it every night, it haunted her every sleeping minute; Maggie coming back, forgiving her, loving her. Dreams of a world that will never be. This isn't real. Maggie is dead.

"You

K̼̭̳̳͙̥͝ ̤͜I L ̥̝L͠ ̰̤͟ͅͅE̡̲ ̝̙͖͢D̠̱̣̲̣̳͞

me, Ava."

"Maggie, I—I'm so sorry."

"Sorry doesn’t cut it," says the Maggie who isn't Maggie, can't be Maggie. This isn't real. This isn’t—

"This isn't real," Ava gasps, and falls onto her bed. She buries her head underneath a pillow; she can't look at Maggie, she can't. This isn’t Maggie, only a twisted trick of the mind. She will always be sick. Ava has never been - right. Her mind despises her, revolts against her core, every thought making her recoil in sickness. She is wrong. This is wrong.

"No," says not-Maggie. "This is. Somehow I'm still here. I can't touch anything without falling through it. I can move things with my mind. I'm back, Ava. You can't get rid of me that easily."

"Get rid of you?" Ava asks. "Maggie, I never meant for this to happen. It was an accident. I never wanted to get rid of you. I..."

A pause. Ava stuttering on her words, Ava choking on her words.

"You what? Ava, what? What is it?"

"I think..."

She feels herself twist on the inside, everything in her turning to nausea. Don't say it. She's already gone. This isn't real.

"I think—I think I—I—well—I think I loved you," Ava says, sitting up. She looks down at the floor, her feet hanging pathetically off the bed. Rough, wooden floorboards. She coughs. "There. I—I loved you, Maggie. I would. Never. Hurt you. Not on purpose."

Maggie's lips—somehow green-tinted now—form an O. Oh. Her mouth drops, her stance is wiped of its tension. Now she just looks vulnerable, like a wolf on her first transformation. "Ava," she says, voice low and soft. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"You talk nonstop about the boy you like," Ava says, and now she is broken. "I don't—I don't know. I guess I was just scared."

"Well," Maggie says. "Now that I'm, like, in the afterlife and all that, I can't really be with Gil, so thanks for that."

"Maggie, he's nineteen."

She sighs. "Look. I spent the last two nights watching my parents cry. I'm not going to forgive you now, maybe not ever, since you did kill me."

"Okay?"

"But I guess I'll see you around."

For a moment, it looks like she's smiling, until it, along with the rest of Maggie's transparent being, fades away.