Sigil

Ye Be Warned: Mentions of murder and non-violent sexual assault. Nothing graphic, but be aware.

The result of a forbidden love between two opposing cults, Sigil has always been of two worlds. Like his parents before him, who both acted as vessels for the fae they worshiped, he has one hoof in reality and the other in the feywilds. His bloodline was always meant to act as a means of allowing both the Willow (on his mother's side) and the Nightmoth (on his father's side) access to the mortal realm from which they have been denied entry by higher powers. The bloodlines were never meant to cross. Though his parents had hoped only one fae would lay claim to him, both the Willow's eye and the marks of the Nightmoth appeared on Sigil's skin shortly after birth--and neither fae would recant. As punishment for forcing them into a permanent war over the child's body, the fae ordered their cults to slaughter Sigil's parents and take possession of him, hoping one or the other would succeed. But neither cult would relent when the other took hold of him. They continued to attack one another at the behest of their fae.

Sigil was constantly moved and hidden throughout the vast forests of his home. He was never allowed to wander far or climb trees for fear that the opposing fae would be able to pick out his location through his eyes. His caretakers often died at one another's hands and he never stayed in one place for more than a few months. There were a few fortunate times when he would toddle back home after exploring in his little designated area to find someone new, with fresh blood on their hands, to take him to his next home. Sigil preferred losing his caretakers that way. It was harder to pretend nothing bad was happening when he was in the room to watch them die.

He didn't know what would happen if he chose one over the other, but the two fae that whispered in his ears suggested he wouldn't like it. Willow and Moth were the only constants in Sigil's life, but he'd never fooled himself into believing they actually cared for him. After all, his parents had been their vessels, too, and the fae still had them executed. The older he got, however, the more outwardly rebellious he became. He openly cursed the fae he shared his body with part-time and started trying to run away from wherever the cult of the week was keeping him. 

The very last time he was with either of the cults, he watched as his current guardian was butchered alive--and he decided he was done. Done with the cults, done with the fae, and most especially done with watching everyone he ever grew to love die before his eyes. Being a vessel, he'd always had powers, but that was the first time he'd used them to do harm. He murdered the last cult member in his way and walked out the door, into the woods, and never came back.

Sigil has spoken with the cults in the years since, but he refuses to side with either of them or return from the depths of the forest. Since leaving, the cults live in a tenuous peace with one another. The fae aren't happy about it, but Sigil has been telling them "no" since he was 13 and murdered his way into the woods. As it turns out, they're pretty harmless without mortals to do their bidding. They can't even stay inside Sigil for more than a few hours before being kicked out. Most of Sigil's life is his own. The fae have begrudgingly adjusted to his temperament.

He settled at the base of the Willow's sacred tree--an enormous weeping willow with glowing golden sigils carved all over the trunk and vibrant pink to purple leaves (mortals without Sight will merely see a normal, though gigantic, willow tree except on certain nights of the year). The fireflies, moths, and butterflies of the Nightmoth followed him, filling the surrounding woods with light and fluttering wings.

This is, in part, what brought Damaris to him.

She was a noblewoman who hardly spoke a word with a blind eye that could see the Willow's sacred tree for what it truly was. Sigil wasn't sure what to make of her at first. But he was patient and he sat with her and drank tea and listened to the sound of the forest. It was apparently more than her husband had done for her. She kept coming back to his little grove, just to sit with him, share a meal, have a cup of tea, and then he'd walk her home. It went on like this for weeks and Sigil grew accustomed to her company and mannerisms.

After what Sigil had heard from her husband had been years of silence, she began to speak. It was quiet and it came in short bursts, but Sigil waited and listened until she was ready to talk again. 

He didn't like what he heard. She had been near catatonic when her dream to be a Valkyrie had been shattered, no state to be making major life decisions in, but her husband had married her anyway. That was questionable all on its own, but then came the kicker--she was pregnant. Her husband had been having Damaris, who was basically a vegetable for years, perform her "wifely duties" in spite of her condition. This didn't even seem to register on Damaris' radar, but then, Sigil had watched her skirts catch fire once and that didn't register either.

Sigil confronted Duke Argus to mixed reactions. Damaris' own father wasn't sure it "technically counted" because, after all, they were married. He, at least, was merely ignorant. Ignorance could be fixed. The duke knew what he'd been doing and no amount of "the Oracle Irini said such-and-such" would convince Sigil otherwise. Argus tried to have him arrested, but Damaris spoke up, throwing her husband and his men off-guard. It was enough of a distraction to let Sigil escape.

He hunted down this "Oracle Irini," Argus' aunt, to get her side of the story. She was horrified to find out that Argus had married Damaris--she had explicitly advised against marriage. Starting a family was completely out of the question. Argus had come home and lied to Damaris and her father to get the marriage to go forward. Irini was furious and returned to the duchy with Sigil to confront her nephew. The duke did his best to assuage his aunt and his father-in-law, but to no avail. He pointed out that the marriage had happened and the child was already growing inside his wife--it was too late to change all of that. They didn't have a rebuttal to that, but Damaris did.

She punched him in the face, said "watch me!" and dragged Sigil out of the estate with her.

It was the first forceful thing Sigil had ever seen her do.

He knew herbs and poisons and tea. At her request, he created a mild poison that would wither the child inside of her. And then she stayed.

Argus and her father came to argue with her, begging her to come back home, but she refused. When they cited the health of the child, she told Argus what she'd done. He left, silent and stricken. From that day forward, Damaris stayed in the forest under the sacred willow and Argus has seethed at a distance. The longer she stayed with Sigil and the more they had to deal with her husband's attempts to dispose of him and reclaim her, the more she opened up. The more she opened up, the more Sigil's fondness for her grew. She didn't mind the bugs, she laughed when he picked moss out of his hair in the morning, and her blind eye could always see when the Willow or the Nightmoth had taken his body. And, more importantly, she could stand up to them as well as she could stand up to her husband.

The following year, Sigil and Damaris married under the sacred tree. In the eyes of the fae, Damaris' marriage to Argus dissolved when she left his household. Argus himself disagrees, but Damaris' father and Oracle Irini have sided with the fae on the matter. They're pleased to see Damaris healthy and happy. While Argus has continued to make threats to Sigil--who has the backing of two cults that defend the legality of the marriage and a forest Argus has no dominion over--they're largely empty. For now.