The moment the door closed shut behind Madam O'Germanova, she clenched her shawl closer around her body. She had no time to appreciate the grandiose study rather her eyes are fixated on the wizard before her. Tall and slender with stern features, Reginald Prince held himself like many pureblood wizards. Yet the icy coldness in his eyes and demeanor in his eyes could not be hidden. This was a wizard who had spilled blood and would not hesitate to do so again.
Madam O'Germanova finds that she is rooted to the carpet. Her every instinct screamed at her to not move a muscle until finally, Reginald Prince leaned back in his seat. "Sit, Sorceress," he demanded not requested.
Madam O'Germanova takes a seat causing the beads on her shawl to feebly twinkle as if in fear. Her gnarled, spotted hands clenches her shawl before forcefully settling her hands in her lap. "I have a tale to recount, Old Prince, if I may," she humbly requested revealing the gaps in her aged yellow teeth.
"Speak then," Reginald gestured at the Sorceress to continue with her tale.
"In my youth, I was foolish enough to seek the power that should remain lost in the analogs of time. I gained wisdom with the passing of time, but not before I had delved far too deep dirtying my hands with the blood of innocents," Madam O'Germanova wearily sighed. "Still, the blood of the wanders is within and so I have traveled across the lands for many years casting fortunes and charms for a price."
Madam O'Germanova raised her yellow-tinted eyes and grimaced. "It was the night of the Hallow's Eve, and I felt the calling of the homelands. I departed swiftly into the night, but I was caught unaware of an abomination seeking for the future to be revealed by old dark blood magic."
"And what did the future entail, Sorceress?"
"The entrails split into three," Madam O'Germanova croaked. "Three paths lay before, destiny, similitude, and aversion. The first path is smooth and guaranteed the abomination's success; the second promises twists and turns and even failures, yet inevitable success is achieved in the end; and the last is aversion, success, and failure intertwined returning to the natural order. The natural end of all things, Death."
Reginald narrowed his dark eyes at the Sorceress recalling the creature spoken to him by his granddaughter, Hydra. His brow deepens, but he does not interrupt the Sorceress. He would only speak once the tale had been finished.
"The liver held three cuts meaning three exist touched by Death, the broken serpent, the roused lion, and the runespoor with three faces," Madam O'Germanova gravely whispered causing Reginald's face to grow more solemn.
"And lastly, the forsaken will gather anew for Fate continues to weave her tapestry," Madam O'Germanova murmured. "For Destiny has yet to be firmly written in the stars."
"Sorceress," Reginald coldly pursed his lips, "what you speak of is merely an insight of what might come to pass for that is all prophecy. We take them and make them our own."
"Aye, your words are filled with truth, Prince," Madam O'Germanova acknowledged. "Yet at the intercross of Spring and Summer, the veil to grows thin."
Reginald's icy eyes stared at the old crone. "The Spirits do not kindly take to the future being revealed unless it is one of their descent or chosen ones."
"Indeed, a price must be paid," Madam O'Germanova admitted. "Have no fear, Prince, the price to be paid shall be my hand. The blood of innocent forcibly spilled must be repaid. My debt comes due."
A wry expression flashed across the aged, wrinkled face of Madam O'Germanova. "I have eased the path forward for the kin of that still innocent youth." Indeed, she possessed two emergency vaults at Gringotts. The contents of the vault would go two, the blood sister of the sacrifice and a cousin as revealed in her divination. The goblins of Gringotts would take care of her will upon her death.
Rising to her feet, Madam O'Germanova sincerely bowed. "I am old, Prince, and I have not much time left, but I will seek to clear my debts before the end. I only request the use of your floo to return home to die in the arms of my children."
The silence stretches until Reginald bows his head toward the Sorceress. "I will have my house elf return you home," he solemnly promised.
Reaching for a small red pouch held at her side, Madam O'Germanova carefully unties the touch. With great reverence, Madam O'Germanova begins to chant in her own language welcoming the spirits of her ancestors, "Miśto Avilăn." A cold air sweeps through the study causing the light in the chamber to grow dim. While outside of the grounds heavy storm clouds converge over Prince Manor and the surrounding valley.
From inside the red pouch, Madam O'Germanova withdraws a pure white cloth without adornments. She carefully spreads the cloth on the desk, before casting all of the bone rune stones with her own hand. A clap of fierce thunder is heard as bright streaks of lightning brighten the dark skies.
Madam O'Germanova lets out a hacked cough wincing in pain as the bone rune stones before her very eyes begin to loudly crumble into pieces leaving nothing but broken bone shards behind. Pulling a small silver knife from her person, she cuts into her hand. She permits the blood from her to fall onto the broken fragments. Her blood is greedily absorbed by the broken rune stone fragments before vanishing leaving not a single mark on the spotless white cloth.
Abruptly the thunder and lightning ceased and the valley falls silent. Underneath the white cloth, something begins to grow as the white cloth impossibly grows wide enough to drape over the desk. In the end, something stands on the desk covered by a pure white cloth. The figure does not move nor is there a sign of breathing.
There is a stunned silence until the covered existence in a soft, rustling female voice asks, "Pure and bright, I am called, I know and see what can be. I granted that gift to another. My foolish grandson, Apollo, who squandered the Delphic vessel. Now I ask, who am I that I might answer with clemency?"
"Phoebe," Madam O'Germanova answered.
A scornful laugh fills the air, before abruptly halting. "Indeed, I am the one once called such a name. Yet where there is light, there are also shadows." The figure beneath the white cloth leans forward in a predatory manner over the sorceress.
"Tell me, mortal sorceress, what is that you seek to know?"
"My debt has come due, the scales must be balanced, and it must be," Madam O'Germanova steadily said trying to hide her fear from the awful hovering presence before her.
Phoebe lets out a cackle, before crouching down on the table like a beast. The covered head of the Spirit leans closer to Madam O'Germanova as if smelling her, before pulling back.
"Delicious," the Spirit whispered moving its head from side to side, before stopping at an awkward angle feeling no pain whatsoever. The Spirit's hand rises as if to touch the mortal when her hand halts merely a centimeter away.
Phobe hisses in pain and pulls its hand back. "Legba," the Spirit hissed in fury turning around to peer into the darkness as if sensing the presence of the gatekeeper, the spirit known as Papa Legba.
A loud enraged shriek is released from Phoebe, before growing still as if having heard a threatening warning. The figure underneath the white cloth pulls back to a demure kneeling position on the desk. The head of the figure falls onto her chest before its hand slowly rises to point at Reginald Prince. "The end is near Prince, the forgotten shall return, and Destiny shall be rewritten."
The hand drops as Phoebe says, "Nothing more can be said, there are too many threads to be woven and destiny is not yet set in stone. My time is up." The white cloth begins to shrink before them as the figure inside grows smaller and smaller until the original-sized cloth only remains on the desk.
Madam O'Germanova face is ashen and wanes as she grasps the white cloth from the desk to wipe the cold sweat on her brow. Her hand trembles as she wipes her face and her breath is labored. In the shadows, she can see an unnaturally tall figure standing gazing past her toward Death, who patiently awaits behind her.
"Will it be painful?" Madam O'Germanova uncertainly asked out loud,
"For some," the smooth, accented voice of Papa Legba truthfully answered, before turning away to close the door for the moment. They would see each other soon enough.
Reginald Prince feels the hairs slightly on the back of his neck at hearing the breathless question of the dying sorceress. Even more so as he saw the elderly sorceress intently listening as if to a response. He had the feeling if he turned around, he would see nothing, but that did not mean there was not something there. He had known death for much of his life and even now he could sense that death was nearby patiently waiting.
A faint pop is heard as the house elf, Tadbey appears summoned wordlessly by his employer. "Where too?" Tadbey politely asks the dying elderly sorceress.Madam O'Germanova stumbles closer and whispers into Tadbey's ear before the two vanish away.
Reginald rises after a moment and briskly strides through the halls before arriving at the front hall. The front hall is chilly and frigid as if in the middle of winter. Reginald pulls the front doors open to see the ghastly appearance of Sir Knight Prince.
In his inhuman state, Sir Knight Prince frigidly says, "The sorceress had not much life left, Death followed in the wake of her shadow."
Reginald did not acknowledge the statement. "Keeper, I know you heard what the Spirit had to say. Did the Spirit twist the truth?"
"The Spirit spoke no falsehoods," Sir Knight Prince emotionlessly responded neither confirming nor denying in answer.
Reginald's face grew hard. "Then there is much to be done," he matter-of-factly said, before turning around and departing.
Sir Knight Prince did not respond as the dreadful inhuman existence vanished as his head once more slid off his neck to be caught by pearly white ghostly hands. Sir Knight Prince's head is cradled by his ghostly body gently raising him up as he gazes at the now cloudless night. The storm had come and gone as quickly as it had arrived leaving the stars twinkling eerily in the heavens. There is always a price to pay for going against the will of the heavens. Always.