edgelordfinalboss

Edgelordfinalboss

✨🦁Leo or Lacy - A.K.A The Sad Lioness🦁✨ ✌️Lvl. 19✌️ 🛹🖋️Writer, Skater, Guitarist🎸🛹 🖤DMS Open for Lost Boys one shots🖤 💞She/They💞

87 posts

OF SHARP STONES

🌊OF SHARP STONES🌊

SECTION ONE: OCEAN

Chapter: Introduction//Prologue

Fandom: The Lost Boys (1987)

TRIGGER WARNINGS: Blood, Violence, Witch hunting, Witch burning, Witchcraft, Trauma and Character death.

Summary: A coven of witches living on the beach of Santa Carla have to deal with the death of their leader after a lethal witch burning that leads to the bounty hunting of both them and their romantic partners, the notorious lost boys of Santa Carla. Yet, something more terrifying lives in Santa Carla and it's the spirits of those killed by the hunting, begging for revenge.

Note: Please Like and Repost! It would be much appreciated. Thank you so much!!!

Fanfiction playlist:

🎠Kimora🎠

Night has long fallen.

Upon the pier sits a gathering of birds, crying out my summons within their own strange language. The beat of their wings, silvery and onyx along with the song of their caws once had filled me with awe. Now it's only a nuisance and a reflection of my shortcomings.

A witch without her familiar is as dangerous as holding a wild viper, no protection in her craft or against those who seek to harm her. The birds call out to a familiar seeking a witch but it seems that all of them are too far from earshot.

"Maybe they're dead, Kimora." The blonde lays across my lap, his blue eyes tinted with flecks of gold. "Or deaf."

"Don't speak of misfortune." I'm quick to hush him. "Paul, you know what happens when a witch loses her familiar or worse, never finds them."

"Maybe you have found them." Paul reaches for my hand, his bracelets shimmering and clinking against mine.

"What is that supposed to mean?"

"Star has David. She lost her familiar but with him, she seems quite fine." Our hands intertwine, the cold of his fingers becoming less bothersome with the passing of months. They cling on to the warmth of a recent feeding, but it's quickly passing, leaving the warm tone of his skin to pale to his unique silvery gleam.

"But she's not. You can't be my familiar, Paul. That doesn't even sound right." I lean back and listen to the magic below, the blue and turquoise waves crashing on the shore of the beach. It sounds much like electric currents, shifting through the waves, up and under the crash in the way that fish do.

"Oh, am I far too lame, not magical enough?" The dramatic part of him itches to push at my core but I can barely hinder my laugh, the true me that all the harsh training and shadow work could never bury away for good.

"No way."

"Then what is it?" Lifting himself, he throws his head back to slap me in the face with his golden hair. His beads and bangles chime softly, even the hook of sapphire stone and vibrant sea glass I hooked in his hair creates their own song.

"You don't understand witches. Our familiars can't be humans."

"You talk about witches like you're some kinda secret club, much like us vampires but witches always have to be superior, you can't sit with us types." Paul jokes around. "Well, I'm not human."

"Familiars have to be ancient spirits in the form of animals," I say, pretending to be tired of going back and forth with him. "Not human, not vampire, not werewolf, not witch."

"I know." His breaths slow. "But what about us? When that animal comes, cat, dog, or whatever you'll have less time for me. Less time for our jukebox dinners, less time to play records or shred a guitar with me. I'm scared that I'm gonna lose you."

Paul has always been the small feeling of warmth that lasts in my heart through the lonely nights, the reason I would sneak away from the coven's beach house at twilight. When I had first met him I was far different, plump with pecan tan skin and a hunger for familiarity, a hunger for the snow-capped mountains and the endless wildness of home.

Now my muscles have formed from straining the magic within my blood, dancing with it, and burning my skin under the scorching Santa Carla sun. My body, one I was unhappy in had grown consistent in muscle mass, yet, still, I've found no peace in my self-perception. Paul was a force to be reckoned with on his own but still, somehow he'd remained playful and carefree.

It was what drew me to him amongst other listable things, of course.

He was the cool water on the scorching sand.

"Do you really think a familiar will change things?" I lift my hand to his face, cupping his cheek.

"You'll be doing much more magic." He whispers. "You and the coven might disband."

"Never."

"Star left the coven and joined us." He looks off in the distance as a ship rings its bell across the waves. The chime echoes in my head, ringing as I try not to get lost in my thoughts.

"She lost her familiar. It was no way that we could convince her that she was still one of us. She was also terrified of her family's judgment." I hold his hand tight.

We both sit in silence as the ship passes below us, heading towards the boardwalk. Leaning against his shoulder, I wonder if he truly believes it. Lines of bright gold lights up a clear path through the ocean as the blue and white hunk of metal slices through the waves.

"And you know how much Darla loves Marko and Dwayne has the hots for Angel."

"Yeah."

"Your uncontrollable powers and my hunger for blood." He chuckles. "We make one deadly duo."

"And none of us will age." I say. "We'll always be young."

I stand up, called to the trees by something that rings through my blood like the bells of the ships docked. I know it isn't that though because this sound is far too strong. It isn't tangible or has a source I can pinpoint. Though, it's personal.

Paul stands with me, the metal decor of his jacket jingling softly as we leave the wooden pier and head toward the beach. He silently follows close, not questioning my reasoning as he used to. It's our ever-growing trust combined with the little things that my magic has found that keep him from stopping me. Antiques and small trinkets, sometimes trespassers on witchland that made him a nice blood snack, and another picture on the missing board.

The lights of the ferris wheel and the millions of attractions splayed out across the boardwalk catch my eye but the feelings running strong through my veins keep me on my path, strengthening it so that if I wanted to break away from it, my attempts would be in vain.

The wood of the pier disappears into metal gates, chain link fences, and sand as we cross the threshold, the waters fading into golden sand stretches and shrubs. The salty smell of the water fills my nostrils, a smell that took nearly six months to get used to.

My eyes stay on the trees swaying in the wind, the shadows that dance on the forest floor through the space where light pierces through the veil of darkness. The birds on the pier, the servants of the witches lift and fade into the night as flashes of black.

Maybe it's my familiar. I doubt it though.

My feet don't stop as Paul steps to my side, his eyes filled with worry and a silent plea to turn around. It's unclear if he can sense that something is wrong. If even the vampire feels the stillness in the air, I know I should note.

The tree branches poke into my sides as I slap them away, moving farther and farther through the forest. They leave scars on my face, drawing blood as the pines reach out. The ground thins but my feet are dragged along by a sensation burning through my body, seeping into every part of my being. The sweet smell of pine hangs on the leaves, getting stronger with each step.

"No!" I fall to my knees as the earth slants downward, leaving me without a foothold as Paul does the same. Shocked, even he's not fast enough to hold us both up as we plummet down into the earth's pore.

Through the crashing and thrashing, nothing holds me. With every rock that my feet touch, they simply fall with me and the awkwardly twisting branches snap.

I dislodge pieces of the earth as I grapple at stones, slippery with what feels like ocean mist. My feet kick up stones and gravel as I fall. Paul calls me as he half floats, half falls through the space.

"Blood!"

Halfway through calling me, he stops.

With one last slam into the earth, it all gives away and I hit the ground with no warning. Pines cones and needles lay under my back with the occasional stone ripping into my skin.

The sky hangs above dotted with thousands of blinking stars, twisting and twirling in the night sky. They fall around the moon as if in mourning, a sign that had only happened during the final witch trials, the symbol that marked the last burning, never happening before or again in history.

Crunching on the leaves breaks my eyes away from the sky, the panic of Paul reminding me that this isn't some weird dream. That this is real and my blood, the life of me led me here.

"Kimmy." His hands find my face.

I look up and see his fangs and the tremble of his body, the attempt to keep himself from vamping out.

"What?" I lift my eyes to the circle of sticks that surround me against the trees, each stick only a few feet away from the other in the clearing with charred lumps attached to them with the smell of magic and blood in the air. I can barely make out what they are, but like some ancient connection that ignites the primal fear of all witches, I scream loud and guttural.

I gasp, dragging myself up despite the pain in my back and arms. My feet threaten to drag me back down as Paul fights against his hunger and true nature.

"No. No. No!" I scream to the poles, to the bones that remain, and the blood that seeps from the pine wood to the earth. Small crosses litter the earth, poking up from the litter of dried-out pine needles.

My magic threatens to burst from my veins and set the entirety of Santa Carla's forest ablaze but Paul's grip on me keeps me restrained. Not that could but I would do anything to calm my anger and fear.

The memories of this place go straight to my head with a hazy fog as I touch a torn piece of fabric from a frilly young witch's blouse that hangs on the splinters of the partially burnt pole.

The scene comes to me. It smells of sage and warm cinnamon pies, the dinners of the witches of the bluff, a coven far from the boardwalk but within walking distance of the beach. They had always been rather kind but different from my coven.

The witches of the bluff were far more open with magic as the sight of tarot cards, wands, crystal balls, and herbs come to mind, attractions to bring in humans, to make money.

The scene shifts to darkness, of the blue-tinted sky of the evening shifting into the night, of the first stars blinking around the moon. They're alive.

Screams come next and magic, oh, glorious magic. Gold and pink, cobalt and deep green as men dressed in black march with each witch carried and dragged with rope, their powers subdued with flames upon wooden sticks wrapped with cloth.

A young hippie witch, much younger than me, dressed in pink falls to the ground as a man pulls on her ropes with a cruel laugh that boils my blood. Pieces of sleeves rip as she fights against a pole, her magic, a flash of bright yellow flares from her palm so bright that the man who holds her rope shrieks.

She's so ferocious and strong but in the face of hatred, in the face of terrified men, she's nothing but a weak attempt.

I gasp, my lungs burning as life returns to me and the past fades away. The witches are no longer fighting for the last bits of life. They're long gone, burnt corpses above us like angels of death.

Paul holds me tight, suppressing his hunger. His claws dig into my skin as I linger at the foot of a pole.

My head twirls again and I hear her voice. The voice of our High Priestess calling in my head, her cries strained by sobs and gasps for air. Between her screams for help is the sound of leaves crunching as something heavy drags across the earth.

Her life flashes away like smoke, the scene of ropes binding her hands as magic the color of fire spills from her fingers as she tried to do what was right fades.

I know her intentions as if they're my own. She gave her life as the ropes of death snatched her noble existence away in little more than a few seconds. Now our coven is without a leader. Without a teacher, without a figure to keep us strong.

She's dead, snatched away from my coven when I should have been right at her side, even if that meant death.

And I'm without a glimpse of the faces and the bloody hands that took her away from me.