"I want to hide the truth, I want to shelter you, but with the beast inside there's nowhere we can hide" – Imagine Dragons, "Demons" (2013)

look into my eyes, it's where my demons hide

Constance

"Quick, Mildred, we have to get you out of here! Mistress Broomhead is looking for you!"

She recoils internally at the tremor of fear on her voice that reverberates around Mildred's dingy room. She grabs Mildred forcefully by the upper arm and quickly ushers her out into the corridor, heart pounding in her chest.

"Me?" Mildred questions, her voice hysterical, resisting ever so slightly against Constance's forceful hand.

"That's what I said," Constance replies, fighting to keep her own fear at bay as she practically pushes the second-year girl down the corridor.

"But…" Mildred starts.

"Come on, come on!" Constance urges, quickening her pace. If only the wretched girl would stop questioning her and shut up, time was of the essence. She barely registers Mildred's question as to where they were going. To be completely honest, she doesn't know. There was nowhere in the school completely safe from Mistress Broomhead, a fact that Constance knows only too well.

She draws slightly ahead of Mildred as the two of them hurry down the stairs, Mildred's questions having fallen silent, subdued by the anxious air surrounding her form-mistress.

"Come on, move!" Constance urges once more as they reached the bottom of the stairs, grabbing hold of Mildred's upper arm once again, and ushering the girl ahead of her, "She could turn up anywhere."

Constance's eyes dart around as she moves from corridor to corridor in the shadows, peaking ever so slightly around each corner before moving onwards, her mind racing as to where she could possibly hide Mildred until Miss Cackle could head off the OFWITCH inspector. They arrive at the courtyard, both breathing heavily although Constance's hitching breaths were more to do with the prospect of Mistress Broomhead finding them rather than the trip down the stairs from the second-year dormitories.

Her eyes come to rest on the storage cupboard and she feels the tight noose around her chest loosen slightly as she remembers the Almanac, hidden safely in the chest inside. If she could just get to it, she would be able to keep Mildred hidden from Mistress Broomhead indefinitely. She stalks across the courtyard, her head moving around as if on a swivel, keeping a keen eye out for her old tutor, fumbling for the key at her waist as she went.

She inserts it into the keyhole with fumbling hands and turns the lock, throwing the door open in her haste. The two soft gasps from the other side of the door tell her that she was not the only one who had deemed this spot a suitable hiding place. She stands there for a second, framed in the doorway, her muddled brain fighting against itself to form words.

"Sybil! Fenella! What are you two doing in here?" her eyes rake threateningly across the first and third year, disgusted once more at the way her voice broke slightly halfway through her sentence. Her eyes come to rest on the book clutched in the younger girl's arms. The Almanac.

"Sybil Hallow, give me that volume at once!" her voice darkens with urgency as the younger Hallow sister holds it out to her, startled and frightened. Constance had barely formed the thought to step forward to take it when the familiar whooshing sound of a transference spell filled the room.

"Ah, there you are Constance."

The voice washes over her painfully as the form of her old tutor materialises between herself and Mildred, and Fenella and Sybil. The vice like pressure that Constance had felt on her chest since hearing the name Mistress Hecate Broomhead uttered the previous day tightens once more and she feels herself recoil in surprise and alarm.

"Don't look so surprised," Mistress Broomhead says curtly, "It was me that taught you how to appear from nowhere."

Mistress Broomhead reaches out, her hand touching Constance's shoulder as she pushes her aside.

And suddenly, she is eighteen again. Cowering in the corner of Mistress Broomhead's dungeon classroom as she bled from a fresh wound inflicted on her shoulder. Crying out in pain as Mistress Broomhead cast curse after curse on her as she failed to successfully complete a transference spell. Lying on the cold, cobblestone floor, dying slowly from the euthanasia potion she had been forced to test…

"And this, I take it, is Mildred Hubble."

Constance snaps back to reality as she hears her students name uttered from Mistress Broomhead's lips. Chest heaving, she pushes herself off the door she had evidently backed into, attempting to interject, to try to deny that this was indeed the student for which she was searching. Her protests are barely audible, coming out as high pitched whines as Mistress Broomhead takes Mildred by the shoulders and steers her away from the store room.

"You're very elusive, Mildred," Mistress Broomhead says sternly, "Can you tell me what you have been doing today?"

Constance doesn't know what carries her after Mildred and Mistress Broomhead, because it certainly isn't confidence or courage. Her heart still beating she finds herself hurrying after them, attempting to interject again and again. And again, and again, words fail her.

"I… um…" Mildred stutters, looking at the floor.

"Well, speak up girl!"

Constance winces as the harsh voice drives daggers into her heart, and she feels the memories threaten to overwhelm her. She can't think, she can barely breathe as she fights to keep her mind clear, to make sure that Mildred stayed out of Mistress Broomhead's clutches.

"Mistress Broomhead, please can we stop this?" Amelia Cackle's voice washes over the scene and Constance lets her breath out in one long whoosh as the headmistress descends the stairs. "I admit it, we've been trying to conceal one or two things." Amelia says, her voice laced with guilt and Constance looks at her in confusion, surely, she wasn't going to give in to the woman?

"Is that so?" Mistress Broomhead questions in a sickly-sweet voice, her cruel smile playing around the edges of her mouth as Amelia began speaking once more.

"I'm sorry, I'm not proud of it, but please, forgive us." Amelia's eyes did not stray from those of Mistress Broomhead's as she made her plea, "OFWITCH is so powerful, and I was only trying to protect the school."

Constance can practically feel the tension building in her old tutor as she sees her stand up a little straighter, her shoulder blades pushed back, pressing together, poised as if she was about to strike.

And strike she does.

"Miss Cackle," she begins, stepping forwards towards the shorter witch, "you can't really expect leniency, can you?" Constance's panic rises slightly as Amelia finally looks away as Mistress Broomhead comes to rest, standing a mere ten centimetres from her, towering above her with a malevolent expression on her face, "your academy is not only failing, it is a den of lies and subterfuge"

Constance could only stare grimly at the irony and hypocrisy that emanated from that statement. If her university life at Witch Training College wasn't the very definition of lies and subterfuge, she didn't know what was.

"Things at Cackle's are far worse than I feared," Mistress Broomhead says, turning to face Constance and the three students once more, "OFWITCH will want to take immediate action."

"You won't close us down, will you?" Amelia pleads once more, a last-ditch effort to save the school that had resided in her family for generations.

Mistress Broomhead draws herself up to her full height, a smug expression on her face in the place of the cruel smile that had been playing there before, "Whilst I believe that Cackle's Academy could greatly benefit from having its GAS removed, no I will not be closing the school."

"Then what…" Amelia starts, looking from her deputy to Mistress Broomhead and back again.

"Instead," Mistress Broomhead continues in her booming voice, "I shall take over as headmistress. The foundations of this establishment are strong, however there is a clear need for rules and implementation of standards. OFWITCH will be able to see it is for the best." Constance sees her eyes linger for just a moment too long on Mildred.

Constance shoots Amelia a distressed look, but her headmistress and confidante was simply gazing at Mistress Broomhead, dumbfounded that she had been so unceremoniously uprooted from her hereditary position. Mildred, Sybil and Fenella stand there beside Constance, looking from their headmistress to their deputy for signs of resistance. And oh, how Constance wants to step forward and contest the decision, her blood burns in her veins as she sees the window closing and the smile that had been playing at the edges of Mistress Broomhead's lips spread widely across her face. She has merely seconds, all she has to do is say no, to stand up for her school. But the words don't come, and their fate is sealed.

"I shall need to alert OFWITCH of the change in staffing arrangements." Mistress Broomhead says turning towards Amelia, "Gather the students in the great hall, we shall need to inform them of the new standards that will be expected around here in future."

Constance feels herself grab onto Mildred's wrist instinctively as Mistress Broomhead turns to face them once more, moving towards them. She pushes the girl behind her, standing between her old tutor and the worst witch in the school. She can sense what is about to happen, had seen that look in Mistress Broomhead's eyes many a time in Witch Training College. It is almost predatory, the way she looks past Constance with a gaze only reserved for the black clad witch, to the cowering girl standing behind her, tense and afraid as Constance does her best to prevent the inevitable.

Once again, Mistress Broomhead's touch crumbles Constance's resolve as she puts out an arm, pushing Constance aside to reveal a terrified Mildred, who, to her credit, gathers herself and stares back into the older witch's beady black eyes defiantly. It takes everything she has to pull Fenella and Sybil aside with her, backing into the wall, desperately hoping against hope that Mistress Broomhead wouldn't deem them 'troublesome' as well.

"And you, Mildred Hubble," she says, one hand reaching inside the pocket of her dress and pulling out a thick bracelet, the other grasping onto Mildred's wrist firmly, "It's high time someone instilled some discipline into you." she clasps the thick bracelet around Mildred's wrist and Constance sees it tighten there. She's only vaguely aware of what is happening around her as she feels her own wrist throb, as if the bracelet that had resided there for eight years still rested beneath the long sleeves of her dress.

"You shall have personal lessons with me every night after dinner, until you are fit to call yourself a student here."

And with that, she turns and walks towards the staff room, leaving Constance, Amelia and the three students equally as dumbfounded as each other.

Everything seems to move in slow motion as Amelia rushes forward to Mildred, examining the bracelet now clasped around her wrist. As Sybil begins to cry and Fenella begins to protest loudly. The walls seem to be shrinking around Constance, the spacious entrance hall becoming smaller and smaller until Constance feels she can't breathe any longer.

For only she knows what is to come, only she knows the terror of what that bracelet and lessons with Mistress Broomhead signified. As brown eyes bore into blue, she can only watch as Mildred Hubble starts down the same treacherous path as she did.

Mildred

It takes two weeks' worth of lessons with Mistress Broomhead before she realises what that look in Miss Hardbroom's eyes meant. Two weeks of limited food, sleep and an entire world of pain before she finally puts two and two together and comprehends why her form mistress is so unbelievably afraid of the older witch.

Miss Hardbroom's eyes had said it all. That moment in which they had locked their gazes seemed to last a lifetime, Mildred searching for a meaning behind the wide, brown eyes and finding nothing but questions that she dares not ask for fear of what Mistress Broomhead would do to her if she did.

For the third time that week, her screams reverberate around the potions lab as the full force of Mistress Broomhead's curse hits her square in the chest, throwing her backwards into the wall where she feels jars of potions ingredients fall and smash over her head. In the first few lessons she had been indignant, fighting Mistress Broomhead's cruel methods, thinking desperately that surely someone would hear the commotion and come to her rescue, that H.B could always hear when they were out of bed at night, that surely, she would hear the high shriek of a thirteen-year-old girl and the sound havoc being wreaked in her precious potions lab. But Miss Hardbroom did not come, and as the weeks drag on, Mildred comes to realise that she never will.

"Well, girl, what have you got to say for yourself?"

Mildred forces herself to stagger to her feet, tears glistening on her cheeks as she fights to contain them, looking blearily at Mistress Broomhead, who was standing at the head of the classroom, before her was Mildred's destroyed cauldron, the butchered concoction the catalyst for her punishment.

"I'm sorry, Mistress Broomhead," she says softly, moving back towards the remnants of her cauldron. Mistress Broomhead looks down at her over her glasses, her beady black eyes ablaze with anger.

"Sorry just isn't good enough Mildred Hubble," she says, her voice laced with malice, ""Sorry" does not a good witch make. Repair it."

Mildred looks hopelessly down at her ruined cauldron and desperately tries to think of the repairing spell. Her head throbs, she lifts a hand to feel the point where she had hit the wall and feels sticky blood meet her fingers.

"Well?" Mistress Broomhead says, looking expectantly down at her.

"I-I'm sorry Mistress Broomhead," Mildred stammers, "I can't remember the incantation… perhaps if you let me look it up in my OUCH! "

The exclamation leaves her lips before she can even try to contain it. She claps a hand to her upper left arm and sees her lilac blouse turn a deep crimson around the gash that had formed there. Now joining the other half-healed scars that told the story of her time as The Worst Witch under Mistress Broomhead.

"Did that hurt, Mildred Hubble?" Mistress Broomhead says, a malevolent smile spreading across her face as she stands from her place at the desk, moving around to rest in front of Mildred.

"Yes," Mildred says defiantly, her voice trembling as she spoke, "And I'd really appreciate it if you would just let me look at my spellbook! I just need prompting sometimes Mistress Broomhead, honest, I can remember it if I can just see the first word of the incantation."

Mildred draws her breath in in a sharp whimper as Mistress Broomhead flicks a finger at her, a gash opening on her upper thigh. She presses a hand to it instinctively, tears forming in her eyes as her entire being throbbed in pain.

"Every day you astound me with your immense density, Miss Hubble," Mistress Broomhead says scathingly, pacing up and down in front of Mildred's potions station, "A true witch does not have to resort to spellbooks and memory aids. A true witch has the power of magic at her fingertips, can channel it without forms help or assistance. A true witch does not succumb to pain and suffering," she says severely, transferring behind Mildred and seizing her arm as she attempted to keep pressure on her bleeding leg, "A true witch overcomes it, to take their place in society."

"Now, we shall remain here until you are able to repair this cauldron and concoct a successful healing potion."

"But Mistress Broomhead, we don't learn those until fourth year!" Mildred protests, knowing she has no hope of successfully creating a healing potion without the recipe. The protest falls upon deaf ears as Mistress Broomhead settles behind her desk, her beady black eyes settling on Mildred as her hand shot out and turned over a timer.

"You have until the last grain of sand reaches the bottom, Mildred Hubble," she said, her eyes glinting malevolently, "Or there will be consequences."

Mildred looks hopelessly at the hourglass, watching the sand trickle through the narrow opening in the middle and collecting in a small mound at the bottom. She knows that she has no hope. She knows that tonight will not be a good night, that she'll return to her dormitory at one o'clock in the morning. That she'll have to change quickly into her pyjamas and hide her blood-stained uniform at the bottom of her laundry basket to avoid Maud's probing questions. That she'll have to lie again to her four best friends to keep them safe.

"I am waiting, Mildred Hubble."

Mildred draws in her breath and prepares herself for the worst.

Constance

She wants nothing more than to help the girl, yet she dares not risk it, not with her always so close by.

She sees the way that Mildred has altered her uniform, wearing her winter blouses and long stockings even on the hottest of days. She sees the girl struggling to stay awake during her potions lessons, sees her limping up and down the stairs between her classes, all the while pretending that she was fine. That nothing was wrong.

But Constance knows otherwise, and she has never felt more helpless in her life. She does not need to hear the thuds, crashes and screams to know what is going on inside that potions lab after hours.

Mistress Broomhead's new regime is taking its toll on all of them. The sound of the breakfast bell ringing sharp and shrill at six o'clock in the morning for a seven o'clock class start does nothing but remind Constance of her days at Witch Training College, where the gruelling twelve hours of classes, followed by her personal lessons with Mistress Broomhead had left her getting no more than four hours of sleep per night. She finds herself ever more dependent on the Wide-Awake Potion, pushing herself to the very limits of its use of which she has dared not venture to in years. And when she does sleep, she dreams the same nightmare in which she discovers the worst witch in the school dead at the hands of her old tutor.

She lies awake at night, brain whirring, her protective enchantments that keep the memories of her time at Witch Training College locked deeply in the back of her mind rendered useless as their creator was in the building. She cannot escape.

She is eighteen and trapped in a room rapidly filling with water to test her ability to think on her feet. She is nineteen, looking at two vials, expected to know which one of the identical liquid contains poison and which one is a happiness potion. She is twenty-one and about to finish her undergraduate degree when Mistress Broomhead enrols her in the Advanced Witch Training Program. She is twenty-four, trapped in a smokey classroom as the flames lick at her hands and feet, solid wall standing in place of the door and the only way out via transference spell.

The memories swirl around her like a constant tornado, weakening her resolve further with every passing moment. She wishes Amelia had been allowed to stay on after Mistress Broomhead had taken over, however OFWITCH had seen to that, no doubt at the orders of Broomhead herself.

Constance doesn't know how much longer she can remain at the school, and she thinks that if it wasn't for the girls, she would already be gone. For as much as she hates her old tutor, she knows that she has to stay to ensure Mildred doesn't do anything stupid. The young girl doesn't know what Mistress Broomhead is truly capable of, after all.

It is four months since Mistress Broomhead took over when she's moving along the fifth-year corridor at eleven thirty at night, having hurriedly ushered Olive Spellbody and Eva Lightspell back into their rooms from where she had caught them attempting to sneak into the library to continue studying. She bids them goodnight with stern words and a reminder that they must not use magic after lights out under any circumstances. Her night-time rounds, along with the other teachers, had become less about discipline and consequence, and more about protection as Imogen and Davina discovered more and more about Mistress Broomhead and what she was capable of.

The sound of footsteps on the main stairs drives her attention away from the fifth years as she transfers sharply to the top, gazing down with thunderous eyes at none other than Mildred Hubble.

Constance bites back her reprimand instantly as she sees the state that the girl is in. Her lip is split and bloodied, her blouse ripped in places and stained with blood, her eyes red and puffy as she nurses her left arm, tears spilling silently down her face.

"Mildred Hubble," she breathes, and she is sure that this is the first time that the girl's name has ever left her lips without an element of anger or frustration, "What in god's name has happened, girl?"

Mildred looks up at her with wide, pleading eyes and Constance does not need to pry further to understand as the girl opens her mouth and utters a lie, "I-It's my fault Miss Hardbroom," she says, "I was coming back from my lesson with Mistress Broomhead a-and I tripped over my bootlaces and fell down the stairs."

"Well," Constance says, barely maintaining her stern demeanour, "I don't know how many times I have told you to do up your bootlaces, Mildred Hubble, but now hardly seems the time for a lecture."

They stand there for a few seconds, the teacher and pupil, both desperately trying to communicate non-verbally with each other, so much going unsaid in the unbroken gaze.

"I think you had better come with me, Mildred, that arm looks rather painful." She says, breaking the silence between them and moving gingerly towards the young girl, who, to her surprise backs away, shaking her head.

"No, it's okay Miss Hardbroom, honest!" she says, her voice raising a few octaves, "I-I can take care of it myself, thank you, though."

"Don't be ridiculous girl," Constance says, the bite of her voice seeming to jerk Mildred back to reality, "Come with me, quickly now."

She moves down the stairs to the lower floor and is relieved when Mildred follows without complaint. Her mind is suddenly filled with worry and anxiety, wondering if her protective enchantments would hold against anything Mistress Broomhead had placed on the bracelet clasped firmly to Mildred's wrist. She turns the corner and carefully selects the key to her quarters from the set in the pocket of her dressing gown, inserting it purposefully into the lock and turning.

"I-Into your room?" Mildred questions, hesitating slightly at the door, "B-but I thought, Miss Drill – "

"Miss Drill is not the only member of staff qualified in first aid," Constance says jerking her head to urge the girl inside. She limps cautiously across the threshold and looks around the room. Constance moves to the opposite wall, extracting a cauldron from under the desk and conjuring a fire underneath, beginning the first stages of a healing potion.

"Sit down, Mildred," she says to the girl as she directs her casting fingers at the door, muttering the words of the protective enchantments that had kept Mistress Broomhead away from her since her first day here. Mildred sits gingerly on the end of Constance's bed, the fear in her eyes palpable, petrified of what would happen next.

"Let me take a look at that arm, Mildred," she says kindly, the tone unfamiliar on her tongue. Mildred closes her eyes and moves her left side around to face Constance. Mildred draws her breath in in a hiss as she probes gently at the break, attempting to assess the damage done, "It's no good, I need to get a better look. I'm going to have to sever your sleeve, Mildred, is that okay?"

Mildred nods, her eyes still shut, her teeth encasing her lower lip as she bit down hard. As gently as she possibly can, she mutters the severing charm under her breath and Mildred's sleeve falls away, revealing to Constance a smorgasbord of half-healed cuts and gashes, some of them deeply infected, and some most definitely fresh.

"Oh, Mildred," The words tumble from her mouth with a sharp intake of breath, before she can stop them. She runs her hands over the cuts, muttering a healing spell that she knows will work on the fresh ones. She turns her attention back to the break in her upper arm and sees Mildred looking at her with desperate eyes, tears threatening to spill forth.

"This is going to hurt a little bit," she says, placing her dominant hand over the break, Mildred whimpering a little in acknowledgement, "Brachium emendo." she hears a crunch and feels the bones move back together under her hands. Mildred lets out a loud cry, springing back from her teacher's grip and nursing the healed arm in her uninjured one.

"Th-thank you, Miss Hardbroom," she says, "I-I think I should be getting to bed now."

"Mildred," Constance says quickly, stopping her from walking towards the door. The young girl looks down at her, frightened, "If there is anything that you would like to tell me, now would be the time."

Mildred shakes her head, her eyes filling once more with tears, "I can't, Miss Hardbroom." she whispers, tapping the bracelet on her wrist.

Constance smiles softly, "It may be news to you, Mildred Hubble, but I am quite an accomplished witch, and I have certain methods of ensuring that enchanted tracking devices do not work within these walls."

Mildred looks as if a weight has been lifted from her shoulders, "You mean… she can't…"

"No, Mildred, she cannot hear you in here."

Mildred's resolve crumbles immediately as she sits back down on the bed. Sobs wracking her slender frame as she buries her head in her hands. Constance's heart breaks as she looks at the girl, seeing herself, twenty years previously, alone in her dormitory, crying herself to sleep after lesson after lesson with Mistress Broomhead. She places a hand on Mildred's shoulder in what she hopes is a comforting gesture, unsure of what to do in a situation such as this. She doesn't normally deal with the girls when they are upset, preferring to leave that duty to Imogen or Davina, who were much more… maternal than herself.

"Mildred," she says softly as the girl's sobs subside into sniffles. She looks at her with puffy eyes, "I'm going to tell you something that you cannot repeat to anybody. Not even your friends."

Mildred wipes her eyes and nods. Constance draws in a shaky breath looking at Mildred with pained eyes as she utters the words, "Mistress Broomhead was my personal tutor at Witch Training College. She taught me everything that I know… so Mildred, please believe me when I tell you that I know how you feel."

Mildred nods, "I thought as much," she says her voice quavering, "I mean, I didn't know the details but I knew you must've known her at some point."

"How could you have possibly known that?" Constance asks, her voice harsher than she would've liked it to be, rattled that Mildred Hubble of all people had been able to see through the perfect façade that she had create for herself since the day she had left Witch Training College all those years ago.

"The look in your eyes," Mildred says softly, "When Mistress Broomhead took over and put the bracelet on… I didn't quite get it at first, but after a few weeks with her I… came to understand."

"Please, forgive me for not intervening," Constance says, guilt seeping into every fibre of her being as she looks at the girl in front of her, thirteen was much too young to have suffered as she did. Even she, Constance, had not come into contact with Mistress Broomhead until the age of eighteen, "I hoped that she would not inflict the same… methods as she did on me. Clearly, I was wrong." She gestured to the half healed lacerations on Mildred's arm.

To her surprise, Mildred does not spit back her retort, in fact, she is not even upset, her face breaking into a small smile as she laughs softly to herself, "It's alright. I will admit that I was a bit upset at first, but then I thought about what I would do if someone else was to come to be in my position and… oh Miss Hardbroom it's such a horrible thought… but I would probably just be glad to have Mistress Broomhead's attention elsewhere!" she is in tears again by the end. Constance is shocked at how much the girl has matured in just four short months. She moves closer to Mildred on the bed, putting an arm awkwardly around the girl's shoulders and pulling her in close, unsure if this is what she should be doing in a moment such as this.

"Isn't there something that we can do, Miss Hardbroom?" Mildred asks, helplessly, resting her head against Constance's shoulder. The gesture reassuring Constance that the hug had been the right way to go in comforting the girl.

"I-I am trying, Mildred," she says softly, "But it is not easy to gather evidence against someone so thorough. But I am trying."

"I don't know how much more of it I can take," Mildred sniffs, "I'm so awful at potions and I can't concentrate when she's hurting me or when she keeps me up until three o'clock in the morning. And I can't even tell Maud, Enid, Jadu or Ruby or she'll start on them too!"

"I know," Constance murmurs, "You mustn't let her see your weaknesses, Mildred. Lessons with Mistress Broomhead are a poker game that you cannot afford to lose."

"I'm trying, Miss Hardbroom, I really am, only I'm sure she can read minds!" Mildred says miserably, "She always knows what I'm thinking."

"It's your eyes, Mildred," Constance says, "They are the windows to the soul, quite literally when you are a witch as accomplished as Mistress Broomhead. She can see all of your past and all of your demons laid out before her like a book."

"How can I stop her?"

"There is a spell, however it is highly experimental and has only worked on one person before." she says grimly. Mildred's eyes light up slightly.

"Oh, Miss Hardbroom, please can you teach it to me? I would give anything to stop her from getting inside my head again."

Before she knows what she's doing, she's agreeing to teach the worst witch in the school a complex spell of her own invention, inspired by the endless lessons with Mistress Broomhead between the ages of eighteen and twenty-six, spurred on by the unbearable taunts made at her about her mother's death and her father's alcoholism.

"First, let me fix the infected ones," she says, gesturing to the puss filled scabs on the girl's arm, as Mildred eagerly bounces to her feet, practically buzzing with anticipation at learning the spell. Mildred nods gratefully and Constance moves back over to the bubbling cauldron, unstoppering vials of ingredients that she keeps well stocked for emergencies.

As the potion simmers before her and she stirs it precisely, she cannot help but think that it was all pointless. That Mistress Broomhead would win in the end, just like she always did, that she would take the soul of yet another student with her, and that there would be more demons making their way into Mildred Hubble's eyes yet.

Authors Note: Oh, look at that, another 5000 word oneshot. I swear I don't intend for these things to happen... they just do!

I've been fascinated with the idea of Broomhead taking over permanently since rewatching "The Inspector Calls" about a million times. Just Like Clockwork was a good taste, but as she was only temping at the time I think she would've been a bit toned down. I find Mildred SO difficult to write so I really hope I've got her in character here. You should've seen the look on my brother's face when he walked in on me reading out Mildred's lines in my best impression of her voice!

The dialogue in the first part is transcribed from "The Inspector Calls" & I obviously don't own it bc I'm poor.

I also don't own the song "Demons" - although I wish I did because its hauntingly beautiful.

I'd love it if you could leave me some feedback as to what you thought!

Cheers,
Nay xx